THE ADVOCATE ORACLE - A RIP VAN WINKLE IN TIME

[beleos]

Sweet dreams are made of Bliss

As the twilight falls, and bearers begin to tuck in for their evenings on the night of the 15th of March (OOC time) and whether they tuck themselves into bed fully, or simply drift away in the middle of their dinner, work, indulgences, or what have you; bearers will fall into a deep, deep sleep. Perhaps you slump in your chair, or you wrap your arms around a teddy bear, or partner, or cup a precious shard in your sleep, it doesn’t matter, because as you drift away, into a sleep that seems to tug you under like the undertow itself, a question will echo in bearer’s minds: “If given the choice, would you show compassion in the face of adversity?”

It sticks with you, even as you fall into a dreamless sleep. As if it rotates in your mind, over and over, letting you worm over that. You know for certain what it is, that it is the calming, soothing voice of the Oracle, reaching out to you across the ether, telling you – promise you – that if you accept its promise, you will find that the Oracle could be in your hands. That thought leads you to dream of something else – of home, or your loved ones – of what you are fighting this war for. Even as you dream, you feel a presence next to you, and unlike the Harbinger’s winding, rough digging, this is more akin to a friend, who is asking you soft, coaxing questions. Things like: what was your childhood like? What were your friends like? What did you do? You cannot help but think of them, think of your home and your loved ones. Of where you came from, and how it made you what you are.

The advocate seeks to understand you, and where you come from. You can feel it, that overwhelming Acceptance and love from it, even as you reminisce, compelled to answer the multitude of questions, you can feel something building behind you, around you. “Don’t you want them all to understand this?” the impression is given through communion, and you cannot help but answer: yes.

Click your Heels together, Dorothy!

As you awake for the first time, it’s alien, the world that meets you. New smells fill your nostrils, new sights, the gravity is perhaps different than you’ve gotten used to on Kenos, even those slight shifts enough to make the world feel wholly different. You remember the advocate’s words, and it wants you to feel what it feels. Understanding. Compassion, and perhaps there is a sense that doing so would hurt yourself in turn, if you understood too much. That is the advocate’s way, after all, isn’t it?

You feel an inexorable, slight tug in your chest. Something subtle and gentle, the slightest of sensations, that gives you a direction. You know it, your mind only just now comprehending the advocate’s confusing impressions via communion, that there is something of this world’s… Soul/center/heart or whatever word you want to use for it. Something about this world that will help you along your path, and help you with the results you so desire. You know it will not guarantee a victory, but surely it will help. Especially as your numbers dwindle from world to world. You are left with an impression from the Advocate -- if you die, they cannot bring you back. There is apology in this, but alone, one oracle is limited. Only united, can they truly change your fate.

The lingering presence of the advocate starts to fade. You know this is a bearer’s world, if not your own. You look around, to see perhaps a familiar face nearby? Or perhaps you are alone. Does it matter? You know that this place belongs to a bearer, but whether they are a friend or an enemy, one has to begin to determine that. You’ll need your wits, you’ll need your strength and resolve to make it to the end of this, won’t you?

After all, as bearers were recently reminded: this is War. This is not simply the fate of this world, but perhaps all, as it will require you to find the answer to this question. So you start to move, you start to look around, explore, and search. For the soul of each world, for the bearers that lie dreaming within, and your foes that will seek you out. Stay steadfast, for the way out will come, if you make it to the end. The longer you spend in each world, however, the more the shadows look darker, and deeper. Hungrier. The more the spaces seem smaller or compressed. As if there is something gnawing away at the sides, making their way to the heart.

Around the world in 60 seconds 12 hours

When you find yourself at the end, when you close your eyes – only a blink, but it hangs, as if the momentary motion is enough to suspend you into a suspended space before. You can see the two options stretched out before you – metaphysically – the impression of it. A long, long shadow cast over one. As if there is a presence hovering over and above, like waiting jaws, ready to strike. In the other, there remains…nothing. It is not pleasant, it is not comforting, it simply… is. A sense that there is now a lack of anything, almost like it had never existed before.

Does this world have value? You can feel the Advocate ask. Do you want to give them a chance to live? Or does should this world cease, is there nothing here to save?

And though you are compelled, required to answer, you know this question for what it is. Short-sighted. Both, in the end, will lead to its destruction, but which will you choose? Will you allow the world to continue, even with that long shadow cast, like a hungry beast with snapping jaws; or will you erase it from existence and spare it that oncoming apocalypse?

Catch [???] Winks

The last world’s fate decided, bearers float in an endless sea of stars. You can see them all, spread before you. Intermittently, they wink out, swallowed into the darkness, consumed as the shadows, that inky-black nothingness grows ever-larger. It looks upon you, bearers. It is nothing, but you have its attention, and your blood runs cold, your limbs frozen. You cannot move, you cannot speak, you cannot breathe. You feel it, the power of being drawn into it, like it wants to consume you. Like it knows you.

T̸̢̼̯͓̬̘́̀̋̆͊h̷͔̣̱̝͍̬̣͕̄̂͗̆͒͌͜ͅẹ̶̱̩̅͒̿̇͠ ̵̭̹͇͖̔̀ṃ̸̢̧͙̟̼̜͌͆̍͝͝ͅo̴̟̞̓̆̇̐̆͊̽͆̂̀r̶͈̺̮̠͙̗͌ę̸̤̻̈́͐͂̓̊͐̂͆ ̵̡̛͎̩̳̤͔͚̱̼̆̒̓y̴̺̞̹̺̝̤͂ǫ̷̡̣̱̥͊̈́̓͑̕͘ű̵̼͜͜ ̶̨̨̝̟̘̱͇̲̻̪̊͂̽̈̒͊f̴̱̐͌̌̓̋̔́̀͝i̶͖̤͎̬̝̦͒̂g̸̳̰̟̀̓̽̈́̐h̸̼͍̮͎̊̅͗͊̈͋̽̀͘t̴͔͚́̓,̷̨̧̱̠̙̠̙̱̒̍̽̾ ̷̖̰̼̬̟͐̊̂t̶̖̄͂̅̃̍͐̊̑̅͜͝h̴̢̛͙̪̞̫̝̺̋̅̿͛̇̚͝͝ͅͅȩ̶͉̤͍̠́̈͑̏͋̚͘͝ ̸̢̨̧͚̖̤̪̬̪̀̉̐͗̂͆͑̚̕̚c̴̠̩̳͎̲̪͔̟̈́͂̉͑́l̶̡̲̻̣̘̏́ͅo̶̢̧͔͈̬̳̰͈̝̻͌̋̆̃͒͗̏͘ş̴̪̺̣̥̎̽̿͗̒́͛̕̚̚e̴̺͍̤͖͂̇͑͂̋͂̆̾r̴̨̩̈́͋͠ ̷̧͚̲̩̖̋͒̉́͗y̶̘̖̝̑̈͊ǒ̵͚̽u̵͎͍̇̀̏̊̕͝ŕ̷͎̜̘͙̀̋ ̶͇̲̝̞̖̝̣̘̝̬͋d̷͔͈͔̀̿õ̴̝̯͇̹̘̏͗͜ö̵͚͓͆m̵͉̦̫̥̦̞̫͐̆͐̿͊͒͌͋͜.̷̼͈̻̥̜̾̏͐̾̐͆͘͜

You gasp, as you startle awake, and open your eyes for the first time in a long time.

CODING

Comments

[wolof]

[ She laughed. ]

Is that what you think it takes to have a place in a war?

[ Her tone shifted, a touch darker. She had accepted her burden as a participant in the weapon, had in fact gleefully taken to the challenge. She had, after all, once created a weapon that did something nobody had ever been able to do. This was just another step, another Challenge, and it was one she enjoyed. This was no genocide, but instead it had been targeted. Had that not been grand?

And in retaliation? Even better. She lifted her chin. ]

You are not? [ It was pointed, and sharp. ]

This is war, dear heart, and leaders rise and fall at the drop of a hat. Once I burned the seat of power of one of the greatest cities on my continent. Because it was war, and it had to be done. The same as only half a month's time ago. It is war, and actions must be taken, and directed, as they will.

[ It had been her own people's capital. The Tower, but it had also been necessary. ]

I think you greatly underestimate the amount of emotion I must invest to offer cruelty. This one? [ She gestured at the man. ] Was foolish. Yes, I taught him a lesson. Perhaps he shall learn it, and perhaps he shall not, but it is retaliation that I offer.

And yet you become angry? [ Her hand gestured vaguely toward his. ] Why? For a nobody that will likely be gone, if you have your way?

Or is this something more, Amos?

[baltimores]

[ She laughs. Akua's voice grows darker, more pointed, targeted. He can't tell if she's mocking him or not, but it doesn't matter either way. He steps forward, up into her space, batting away her hand vaguely gesturing towards him. It's far from a gentle touch, but it isn't so much a direct attack, either — more the promise of a real one to come if she does that again.

Still, on top of his other newfound features, why can't he have claws. ]

The more you talk like that, the more you sound like you're on my side. [ There's a curl to his lip, frustration in his voice. ] Could never figure out what the fuck was wrong with you, that you wouldn't be. But then you go and try to shoot down Yima and everyone who lived in the manor with her, and try to act like you're above cruelty when you treat others like they're playthings.

[ Amos locks eyes with her. He won't so much as acknowledge the man. The man's irrelevant. The man will cease to exist in a matter of hours, regardless of what either of them do — but to fuck around and set him on fire in the name of retaliation when it looks more like she's getting off on it has him rankled.

Like it's the same airy attitude she'd taken after Yima had disappeared. And he had never pulled that shit with Cyrus. Had tried for the opposite, kneeling with his body and trying to do... he still isn't sure what, but something kind.

Not this. ]

My leader hasn't fallen. [ He juts his chin up, defiant. An attempt at being authoritative, while he's at it. ] And just because there are things that have to be done doesn't mean the way you act doesn't matter.

[ A rare lesson that he's kind of always known, in his own way, and is increasingly trying to keep to heart now.

At the same time he's also kind of gauging just when he might take a swing at her. He really really wants to, and if that's just where things are going to go... Well, Yima did like giving him free rein to do as he saw fit. ]

[wolof]

No? You are certain of that?

[ Her eyes flash at the sound of certainty. She didn't even have to say anything, and he gave it away? No, it had to be a trick, right? No, perhaps it was not. She had never been able to figure out a man like Amos Burton, who was so loyal that his blinders kept him from seeing everything else. She wondered what it truly was that drove a man like him. He was always so angry that she wasn't Zenith, and perhaps that she could understand more than anything.

Were she a year younger, she perhaps would have chosen Zenith, a year before the certain destruction of her world. Her lips turn down, but her fingers relax, and the fire seems to sizzle, pop, and then with a soft "pff", extinguished. The man started moving to run.

He was irrelevant, really. An annoyance and she had taken her ire out on him. He would forget it soon enough when this world was gone. ]

Regardless, I have never once said I was above cruelty, dear. There are prices I am unwilling to pay, yes, but you and I both know that of all people here, I am just as cruel as some of your worst. If you have chosen to forget it, then that is your mistake, not mine.

[ A vision of raven black, her demon horns atop her head, she looked devilish like this. Cruel. A creature of darkness and violence. ]

Who are you really mad at? Me, for being nothing but what I am; or yourself for not predicting retaliation?

[baltimores]

[ Well, if Akua had been Zenith she wouldn't have played a part in Yima getting shot down — and ultimately, Yima might not have been shot down at all in that case — so... that's one reason.

Amos doesn't so much as acknowledge the man, now gone, through his peripheral vision. They agree on that much: he does not matter, Akua's attitude bothering him more than any sense of indignation on his part or justice for another. And while he may not have grown up with tales of demons and devils — didn't need to, where he came from — he's familiar with the way shadows could twist themselves, with the way the cruel could appear to elongate, all the ready to inflict pain.

She's going to act like this and the horns are going to suit her, he figures. His second set of ears blend in with his natural hair colour, but they... it doesn't matter, even as they involuntarily twitch again, as his lip curls up into a snarl, teeth still all-too human. ]

Retaliation doesn't come within a day. Not on that scale. That wasn't retaliation — that was you choosing a convenient moment to strike. You could've — would've — at any time. You didn't need to wait for me to hit, you just chose to.

[ The narrative is irrelevant in his eyes for that reason alone. The optics are stupid; Meridian no better than him. He'd consider maybe even worse, considering the threat they'd posed — they could have hit at any time, which is far different from the single strike he'd worked to execute...

... but for the additional deaths his side had caused. They'd be on equal footing, were it not for the fact that Yima was far more important than anyone on Meridian ever could be.

And so, because Amos knows he's in the right, he steps into Akua's space. Crowds her, damn her horns, and goes to grab her arm in what would be a forceful grip, should he connect. ]

Maybe we should just take care of what you are in that case.

[ Because she's right about one thing: he is pissed. And fighting's a lot easier than talking for him. ]

[wolof]

[ She laughed in his face, for Akua was just that sort of villain. Oh, she could contradict him, of course. They had not intended to use it at first, but instead have it ready to strike when Zenith became too big for their britches, but Akua knew that the argument would fall on deaf ears. It did not matter to Amos that they had planned it in realization. It did not matter that they struck first. Because he was above reproach in this. He likely had his reasons, but that mattered little.

No, Amos was clearly angry about this, and Akua was well aware. Those who let their hearts lead them often were. ]

We did, dear heart. [ She said, even as she let her skin burst into flame, a spell to force Amos back when his hand connected. Or try to.

She could not fight him hand to hand, of course, she knew that. She had never been the one to drive into the muck, like the Warden had. No, she was for the back line, the power. ]

How long do you think we had it?

[ Her tone hissing, almost mocking. ] This was not the first weapon I built, after all. The last?

[ Her fingers crooked like a director, and the entire space started to rumble, the ground beneath Amos's feet becoming unsteady, and then hot. Hot enough to burn rubber. Her own body seemed not to notice, a slight sheen to her skin, as if she were shielded. ]

The last one summoned fleets of fiends. You are fortunate I only sought a single shot.

[ The last one had led to a schism, the downfall of a Dread Empress, A Doom, and her death. ]

[baltimores]

[ Amos grips her upper arm — and then immediately releases it at the feel of flame, self-preservation overriding the anger and the need for some kind of revenge (if that's what he was after; he hasn't thought that far ahead).

The horns really have her in a fiery mood though, don't they. He feels frustratingly impotent at her mockery — at the fact that he doesn't know what to do if he can't grab her, punch her, throw her into the ground. Make her shut up, the way she seems to be so effectively doing to him—

The ground rumbles beneath him, his boots become at danger of melting into it, and instinctively he turns himself weightless. Weightless and vulnerable as he hovers only a foot or so above the ground, stable now, but he also can't go anywhere but up or down, which is potentially a massive problem.

He glares down at her. ]

So — what. You're fighting to go back to a world where you can do that again? Build another weapon to take out, what, a city? A population? That's what gets your fucking rocks off?

[ The disdain, the scorn, the anger in his voice is centre stage. Set. Set he can maybe understand, but Akua—

Is it smart of him to reach down, try to grab a fistful of her shirt (or horns), haul her up into the air with him? Probably not, but there isn't reason in his mind so much as the knowledge that she needs to go, and right now he's close enough to try to make that a reality. ]

[wolof]

My world is gone, Amos Burton.

[ She says it as he starts to lift into the air, his hands grab into her horns, and her fingers start to direct a spell, close range in her attempt. She does not let it go yet, because her words continue. ]

It will not come back. Meridian cannot save it from the Ealamal's gaze. They are gone, all of them.

[ She does not dare hope. It is gone, and the only thing left is Calamity. How long would it be, until she became like the Wandering Bard? Immortal, lonely, and willing to do anything to stop the cycle for good? ]

I already committed my crimes. This, I do because it is war, and because when we look at it — the sacrifice is too great on your side.

[ She'd done the math, or as best she could with so many unknowns. How many remaining worlds were there? How many would be ripped into the tide to make a new world from nothing? Ressurection was an easier magic than creation. ]

You dislike war? Then perhaps you should stop fighting one.

[ her fingers reached out, looking for purchase on his arm, ice so cold it burned ready to flood into a limb, determined to get him to let go of her. ]

[baltimores]

[ What the fuck.

She says her world is gone, yet she's Meridian. She possesses the realism of a Zenite, and yet she still adheres to a fairy tale. Maybe not the one as told by a more strict Meri, that everyone's worlds can be brought back, but Akua spouts nonsense about sacrifice anyway, and in it continues to reveal herself a fool.

A resourceful one, as Amos hisses as his arm begins to freeze. Instinctively he lets go of her horns, inadvertently trying to throw her back a little. Get her away from him.

(If the ground beneath him stays dangerous and she isn't within his range he won't be able to reach her. He could draw his gun and start shooting, but somewhere with still too many potential on-lookers, who might then target him... The risk would only be worth it if she meaningfully attacks him, and he can recognize all she's actually done is counter.) ]

I'd love to not fight in a war! [ He can't help but raise his voice, still angry. At war, at Meridian for resisting the inevitable, at Akua for making no sense; all of it. ] I'd love for your side to figure it out so we can move ahead to the only solution.

[ Frustration takes over, voice lowering into an affronted growl. Girl, make it make sense. ]

The fuck are you talking about, sacrifice? We aren't sacrificing anything. We're keeping what we have. You're the one trying to go back to something that's gone — you said it yourself, you can't go back. So you just want everything to die instead? How is that not too great a sacrifice?

[wolof]

[ She starts to move toward the ground, being tossed by Amos's blatantly stronger strength. A quick calculation, and the earth does not so much rush to meet her as it does reach out and give her a place to land. She stands, and the ground slowly starts to recede back to level. She looks just as unbothered as before, or at least in posture. Her lips curl, and her eyes narrowed. Love to not fight in a war? Please, war is practically all that she was good at.

Then again, Amos always seemed to take it personally that she wasn't with them. That they were all wrong for having this perspective.

Oh, mind, if Zenith won, she would concede, and find a way to the new world. She wasn't a sore loser. However... ]

Do you think the power of the oracles would be able to make a world wholecloth? In its entirety?

[ Her lips twitched. ]

Their power is not sufficient. These worlds — Kenos, Alenroux, the Burning Isles, and the rest of them? They would have to go too. If any worlds have escaped Oblivion's grasp thus far? They would would be sacrificed as well, I think. In the creation of your world, they would have to be drawn in.

[ It was simple, in her mind. Hells, she had a theory about Oblivion too, but she doesn't voice it. It's the sort of thing she would have shared with Masego, not with a layman like Amos. ] Ressurection is frankly an easier magic than creation, it requires less. Generally, it is holy magic, but even we Sorcerers can make it happen with less power.

[ Her lips twitched. ]

I can only control my own path, and this was what I found before me. I do not expect you to believe me, but I have never sought to convert others to choose my way.

[ No, she just sought to destroy them instead. ]

[baltimores]

[ He'd throw out his arm in bafflement, in objection if it wouldn't throw his weight off and potentially send him floating elsewhere. As it stands Amos is stuck hovering in place, watching through narrowed eyes as Akua gives herself a gentle landing. Whatever. At least she isn't countering anymore, he's just... dealing with whatever it is she's talking about. ]

Resurrecting an infinite amount of worlds is easier than creating one? You sure about that? [ His voice is part mocking, more seriously asking her. Like, is she listening to herself? Is she following the actual numbers here? ] Oblivion's more likely than not to come for every world anyway, including Kenos. That's why we get the Oracles. Pull everyone together. Bring them to the new one, and live our lives there. You get that that's our only actual option, right?

[ Just like how talking appears to be their only option now, too. Which... there's still a frustration in him that he kind of wants to punch something to dispel, but that isn't happening right now. At least he made his point already. Can continue making it, just with words only now — not that he knows how well that's going to go, especially when she spouts nonsense about Meridian's impossible wish being more realistic than Zenith's pragmatic one. ]

You control your own path, but. [ A snort as he shifts his gaze past her, in the direction of where the hapless man she'd been in the midst of assaulting had fled. ] Guess we already knew you didn't care about others, huh.

[wolof]

[ She tipped her head. ] No, I do not think it is infinite. I think it is ours only, specifically. Places to go, like refugees.

[ Because constructing a world was of the gods. A great game that should be played, and the power to create it was so vast and wide, her mind had worked it over and over again, particularly after she had felt the bite of Zenith's cold acceptance in her heart, when she'd felt that doubt creep back in over the time that she spent with them.

The doubt that had made her think that this would be something that she could justify. She could do it easily, just like Amos had.

The worst part was, there was still a part of her that held fast to that. There was a reason she had not ascended higher. There was a reason why.

Because it was so easy. Because at the end of the day, there were no right or wrong answers, but she had to hold fast. ]

I think you are putting words in my mouth Amos Burton. I do not care for worms who seek to degrade me for no reason.

[ Her eyes snapped to where he was gone from. Lucky, because she would have crumpled him into dust if he was not present. ]

I care a great deal. I care about how much others want to fight for their homes. With the knowledge to circumvent Oblivion. With us scattered out across the vast endless reaches of this world.

You wish to pull your devils through one gate. I wish to sweep them across the stars. If you have your way, we will be the sole, tempting target.

[ She looked up at him, hovering. ]

Have you thought about that? Really thought about it?

[baltimores]

[ He breathes forcefully, nostrils flaring, because what she says rings too familiar. He has lived a life of sweeping across the stars. And years ago — universes ago — he had been on that sole, tempting target. There is a logic to her that he has not been forced to consider until now, and so for too long of a moment, he is silent. An acquiescence, except, ]

So we pool our resources together. Being in one place means we can cooperate. Shore our defences. Guard them.

[ He hovers in place, crossing his arms. He's still pissed at her, but this is a much more practical area of conversation. It's easier to be able to use his expertise for once to shoot down her ideas. ]

Have you ever been swept across the stars before? You're making yourself an easy target. I've lived on a gunship, both operational and not. When it didn't work, we were at everybody's mercy. It's dumb fucking luck I'm here at all. When it worked, we could be the killers. It's incredibly easy to pick the weak off one by one. You think we make a couple of sacrifices here and there and the herd's gonna survive? It's not. You're making the entire herd weak.

[ He raises his gaze, looking skyward. The technology on this world is a lot closer to what he's used to, but he doesn't know if they've made it off the planet yet. More important than that, though, since it's on his mind again — where he came from. What he'd been doing before the entire place had been consumed. Whom he'd been with; what she'd said.

And looks back down at Akua. ]

We pull everyone through one gate, we grow the tribe, we increase everyone's chances of survival. Because there's no going back — [ spoken through gritted teeth, because even if Akua could have any point to begin with, it begins and ends with the very premise of her faction being fatally flawed — ] so we give them a place they can actually live, and we defend it.

[ A jutted chin, a challenge. ]

Have you thought about it?