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

[zauneyete]

[ Silco bent over slightly at the weight of Tezca's arm, and his eyes followed the weapon rather than the words. Okay, actually, it was a little bit like being around Jinx, who didn't know the First thing about firearm safety, but maybe he was touch unused to it at this point.

Though, he did slide his eyes toward Tezca, as if to ask: is there such a thing as an evil god? (Silco, you're like besties with set) ]

Hm. Well, why don't you pick a few who would be prime candidates?

[ His hands clasped before them, he says: ]

They are your people, after all. I think the honor should be yours to choose.

[ Or really, Silco doesn't know the first thing about what their strengths and weaknesses are like, and thus, he leaves it up to Tezca to choose. ]

[fursuit]

[ Tezcatlipoca ignores how Silco’s gaze follows his gun. However, he doesn’t ignore the question that goes along with it. There’s a sharper little gleam in Tezcatlipoca’s eyes in return, and Silco might be getting a sense at this point of what that little nuance of the god means. He’s noticed something, and usually, it means he doesn’t speak to it directly. In this case, it seems like he does, eventually, but in truth… Who knows what he’s really thinking? ]

Hmm, good point. Not sure how much it matters, but ain’t bad to select ‘em.

[ He releases Silco from his grip so that he can walk up to the waiting Ocelomeh, who stand at attention how that Tezcatlipoca’s fully focused on them. He walks alongside the line and peers at them like he’s trying to discern some unseen quality, but he speaks to Silco as he goes. ]

You looked confused, though. Good and evil gods not a thing where you’re from either?

[ It’s a rhetorical question, since he knows the answer. He selects one Ocelomeh from the line, and he looks like he could already be on Shimmer with just how large he is. It’s why he’s one of the few to carry the much larger, more powerful guns. The other Ocelomeh cheer for him being chosen, naturally. ]

Pretty big deal for my place. You’ve got good and evil, order and chaos, and that’s the kinda edict that rules over gods. [ He gives a brief glance to Silco with a grin ] And lucky you! You already know one for each. Set’s evil, I’m good.

[zauneyete]

We don't even have gods where I'm from.

[ There is a pause, though, as he stared at Tezca for perhaps a half-second too long, trying to make sense of it. A conversation he had recently had flickers through his mind, and an understanding. To Silco there's not really "good and evil", and perhaps after seeing the undercity, Tezca can understand that for someone like him, there is only the oppressed and the oppressors, survival at its fittest. To be fair there are good and evil gods on Runeterra, but Zaun is so minuscule and small by comparison to everything going on elsewhere, that it isn't really something he knows of. ]

If there were, I would likely hate them a lot more than I already dislike most of them.

[ Set and Tezca were notable outliers, but to be fair, they both were of things that Silco prized. Conflict, war, and an upturning of complacency were all things he believed in. Was it so unusual that he would find the two gods in all of the cosmos to look to for power and guidance? Truly?

He watched the Ocelomeh step forward and he nodded with approval. Big already, that Always did the trick. ]

I suggest you stay nearby, or return when you feel strength flagging.

[ He said to him, though he doubts that the creature can understand him. He pulled a glove off his hand, the left, gray and sickly looking, like it was of dead flesh of a creature that wasn't human, though it looked human enough. Violet veins glimmered under the grayish skin of the grafted hand. He flexed it, before he reached out to touch his shoulder.

He started to change before their eyes, and Silcod didn't bother to hold back any of the side effects. No reason to, when they would all be gone in a few hours anyway. ]

[fursuit]

[ Tezcatlipoca doesn’t quite believe Silco that there aren’t gods in his (former) world, but it’s not like Silco would necessarily know if there were or weren’t. So, his atheism isn’t a bother. Tezcatlipoca might have been more annoyed by it back at the height of his power, but nowadays? Yeah, the kind of people that needed proof for their belief were shit out of luck. ]

Yeah, fair enough. Gods are assholes. Includin’ myself, of course.

[ He grins at the self-deprecation (though it’s more of a brag in this case), but then it turns into a much wider one once the Shimmer courses through his chosen Ocelomeh. He’d seen this work on Set, but it’s much more thrilling to watch it this way. He gives the message to the Ocelomeh, but he’s not sure that it’s completely heard… But, who cares? With his eyes still wild and vicious, he turns to the Ocelomeh as a whole and barks out a single command and gestures in a direction, and with exultant shouts, the Ocelomeh pour fourth in the direction Tezcatlipoca had indicated. The Shimmer-touched one leads the charge.

Tezcatlipoca links his arm into Silco’s again, then starts to drag him along with them at a healthy sprint. ]

Let’s go, bossman! You want the AK, or you wanna borrow my pistol?

[zauneyete]

[ They all tear off a lot faster than he'd anticipated, and he wondered for a half-second if it would not be better if they kept some of the deinos around as pack creatures, or riding, but maybe that's because Silco doesn't like being drug along at such a speed. His feet are uncoordinated and clumsy at first, before he finally finds his footing, and starts following along with Tezca's trot as they start booking it to follow the rest of them. ]

Pistol.

[ He say, and holds out a hand. He is no crack shot, but... well. Silco's better with it than one would expect. Though the AK looks like it would propel him backwards by using it. The pistol doesn't even look half as destructive as one of Jinx's, and so it's probably fine.

He thinks, but his experience is more akin to listening to his daughter go on and on about weapons, only picking up the stray bit of information here and there, but not enough to actually know anything more than a few random facts. ]

Will they be expecting us?

[ His eyes tracked the shimmered one, and there's the occasional look to him, as if his concentration is laser-focused. Tezca can probably guess, he's nudging them to not lose their concentration on going forward. ]

[fursuit]

Had a feeling that would be your answer. Then, consider yourself blessed.

[ He reaches into his holster to grab the odd pistol, which he practically shoves into Silco’s hands. And immediately, Silco will understand that it’s odd. Just holding it tickles against his skin lightly, and he might recognize the sensation, though it’s much more muted than the first time he’d felt it. It’s the same sort of magical energy that he’d felt from Tezcatlipoca when he’d donned his regalia and taken a heart as sacrifice. The gun isn’t strictly “real”, after all—it’s constructed purely of magical energy. ]

Won’t run out of bullets, so have fun. And if somethin’ gets too close, you just do— [ He makes a motion with his hand ] —That, and bam, you got an axe now. I like bein’ versatile.

[ …Because his aim is terrible. No need to know that, though. He adjusts the AK in his hands now that he’d demonstrated it to Silco. They’re the slowest of the group, so they’re bringing up the rear with a handful of Ocelomeh that are staying to fight alongside their god, but it doesn’t take long before chaos starts to ring out further ahead. Gunfire, apelike screams, and roars of dinosaurs all scream out. ]

That give you your answer?

[ Tezcatlipoca laughs with delight that’s bloodthirsty, and as soon as one of the Deino starts to flee towards them, he raises his gun and shoots. His posture is perfect and practiced, and at least because this is one of the larger Spinosaurus-types, the bullets all hit its flank. It’s not quite what he’d been aiming for, but luckily with big targets he has less of a problem. ]

They’re peaceful! So I can’t stand ‘em! Let’s rip ‘em apart!

[zauneyete]

[ The weight is odd in his hands. It feels... Wrong isn't the right word, but it doesn't feel like a gun, and Silco has felt plenty of those in his life, given that he's been provided many proudly brandished as if they were an increasing sequence of greater and greater inventions. (Generally, there were, but there were always the occasional dud.) Silco's finger curls around the trigger instinctively, familiar with the weapon.

He wondered what it would be like to hold a bigger weapon. Sure, he'd held the occasional pipe, or bat, or any number of things in his youth, but he'd never been one for the larger weapons. Axes had been hard to come by in Zaun, considering they didn't really have anything that resembled wood, but he was sure the heft would be fine if he needed it.

If not, well. He's got a knife in his boot, doesn't he? ]

As if they have a chance, I suppose.

[ It's softer, and with less hunger or exuberance than Tezca, more serious. (Silco took everything seriously.) He lifted the gun, and tried to shoot for its head, but —

It glanced off the crest of one of them. He wasn't a good shot either, but he tipped his head toward the one he was fighting and the shimmered Ocelomeh dashed out from the crowd of them claws brandished, to sink into the throat of it. ]

If they were worthy of living, they would know how to fight, hm?

it makes sense that it would be silco to see him as a maniac first

[fursuit]

[ Tezcatlipoca strafes to the side with agile steps to keep that big side as his main target. He’s not surprised that Silco’s shot doesn’t quite work, but when the shimmered Ocelomeh comes in to make the kind of blow Silco had missed, Tezcatlipoca is pleased to see it. That’s good back-up for Silco’s skillset, he sees. ]

Exactly! In this world—

[ Tezcatlipoca rushes forward to slip into the space near the Ocelomeh. It has the Deino by the throat, but Tezcatlipoca jams his gun roughly up under its chest. He pulls the trigger, and point-blank, his aim doesn’t matter. The bullets tear and burn through the Deino’s flesh so roughly that it destroys everything. It’s bloody and gory, and both Tezcatlipoca and his Ocelomeh get absolutely covered by it.

However, in their Communion, the feeling is one of primal joy. Silco has likely never felt anything like it, or at least not nearly as intense. It’s purpose and fulfillment, because this is the god of conflict doing exactly what he was supposed to do. It’s not just killing he’s after—it was massacre and the emotion it inspires. How many Deino would it take before they finally, finally valued their own lives enough to fight back seriously? He’s disgusted that they would waste such a precious, singular gift as life on foolish, stagnant ideas.

So, it’s his role to upend it. It’s his role to upend the entire world, if that’s what’s necessary.

The Deino falls with a mighty shake of the ground, and immediately the Ocelomeh that surrounded Silco and Tezcatlipoca descend with knives to start carving at the body with impressive efficiency. And bloodied, Tezcatlipoca turns back to Silco with his arms held wide like he’s introducing Silco to a party. ]

—Only the strong have the right to live! If they're not willin' to fight back in a real way, it'll be the Ocelomeh's world tomorrow.

[zauneyete]

[ The scent of burned gunpowder, blood, and gore fills the air, and Silco watches with a half-unblinking gaze, not even a flinch. He takes in the entire tableau before him, the destruction, the knives stabbing, ripping, tearing into the fallen Deino, the way its face was contorted in pain and fear, the hole in its chest. It's violent and messy, and Silco understands this perspective in a way that perhaps he shouldn't.

If Quetzalcoatl had to die again and again to keep a god like this in the world, he would kill her again, and again, and as many other times as he needed to make sure there was someone like this in this world. He had little respect for gods, or higher powers, but those he did were those of violence and power. That exemplified something that Silco so thoroughly believed in because it was everything he was. Everything he had always strove to be. He could only hope...

Well, no matter.

His lips peeled back into something that could almost be called a grin — albeit ugly, and a touch uncomfortable to behold — as he looked on the entire scene. ]

Good.

[ It is firm, and perhaps fervent. Tezca has seen where Silco harks from, that fighting was everything to them. It was survival. He looks on this, and even with his usually dour expressions, Tezca can tell: He approves. ]

Survival should not be a given. It cannot be handed to them. They should earn it, and if they don't, they deserve what comes to them.

[ He tipped his head, and the shimmered one tears off, charging for another, moving with fervent speed, a terrifying grin in its fanged expression, before it starts tearing into another. ]