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

[baltimores]

[ He yells as she kicks into his back, pain cutting in through his panic at the very real threat she poses him. He has new, unfamiliar instincts that have his brain lighting up in a way he doesn't like, meant to leave behind— has to remind himself that weakness in his body here does not mean the same thing as weakness in his body back then.

She still has him pinned, though, and it's enough to draw Amos' attention away from mindless thrashing. He angles his neck to look up at her,

sees the blade she's got in her hand, where her gaze is directed, her demand for him to give his shard to her,

and eyes widening, he freezes. He needs to get away from her; has half a mind to claw at the ground with his hands, drag himself away — as though his human half could drag his heavy equine frame along with it. Two chests rise and fall in heavy, desperate breaths. He shuts his eyes, lets go.

And opens them again as he feels a sensation that's both familiar and now terrifying: weightlessness. Amos had let go, surrendered himself to his instincts, and gravity magic kicks in on a reflex. It's a queasy, panicked feeling now, alarm shooting off in his brain as deceptively fragile legs leave contact with the ground — but as long as Hayame is up and similarly unmoored (forced away from him, or at least unable to reach his shard) then he can swallow it down. (Maybe.) ]

I don't, [ he gasps out, visibly paler. Oh. No, this is still bad, ] want to fight.

[ Because he'd lose. ]

Stop trying to make me.

[warmare]

[That godsdamned "gravity" again. But knowing it was a possibility didn't mean that Hayame knew how to combat it, or how to prepare for it. He didn't use a spoken spell, he didn't make a hand movement, it just happened, from one moment to the next, and so she is stabbing down at his shard-

And then they are floating, her cut slices through air, and Hayame...]

You don't get to say that!

[Snarls with rage as her hooves kick uselessly in the air, struggling to get back closer to him... until she realizes that will do nothing. She has to make sure she balances upright as best she can, be prepared that he might drop the weightlessness at any minute, keep the more delicate legs of a jinba from potential harm in a fall-

And there's foliage above them. There's trees all around them. If she just-

Her knife finds purchase in a branch, biting in deep. It isn't much, it would do little if she weren't weightless, but it's enough to propel her back towards Amos. The knife stays behind stuck in the tree, but it's fine, she knows how to fight a fellow jinba, she strikes out with forelegs at his equine chest, slams in ready to wrestle him in the godsdamned mid-air if she had to, the words spilling out in a burst of fury.]

You don't get to kill the only decent lord I have ever served and then act like some sort of fucking pacifist!

[The audacity of it is so strong that she doesn't notice what she's even said, that she has betrayed the personal pain of what Amos had done instead of just the mask of a loyal Meridian soldier. She had been bred to be a tool, raised to be a tool, and even though she had striven to try to be free in this place... her mind still half-longed to be that, because it was familiar. And finally, she could have at least taken comfort in being a tool in the hand of a man who genuinely wished the best for his people, who longed to send them home, who would not use her like the rest had, would have, if her sale had gone through-

But she also doesn't notice... that there is a rustling in the underbrush, and more pairs of small, frightened eyes that belonged to other jinba foals out foraging attracted to the sound of what they had thought might be their friend in trouble.]

[baltimores]

[ His breathing is still unsteady, Amos underestimating how bad defying gravity like this would make him feel. He tries to swallow it down but it isn't happening, too many unfamiliar variables at play here. They mean that he's inclined to maintain their weightlessness for as long as he can, and also that he's too busy focused on trying to feel normal again to really see Hayame coming.

Manoeuvring through the air like this and using the surrounding environment to his advantage is something he should be doing, not her. He has twenty years' worth of experience in that regard, and yet he's the one floating uselessly while she takes action.

The force of her exclamation and blow both take him by surprise, forcing him backwards as she slams into him. His ass ends up slamming into a tree as he reaches up with human arms to try to grapple with her, unaware in the middle of the disorientation and her subsequent attack that he's dropped his gun, leaving it somewhere on the ground behind her. He still has his dagger sheathed at his side, but immediate self-defence is the concern here, and he only has one set of limbs he can actually trust.

The obvious weak spot is the eyes, so that's what he tries to go for. ]

What the fuck are you talking about? [ If she's going to directly attack him, then he is going to fight back. If she is going to get angry, then so is he. ] It's my fault you never found anyone else good to follow? Even when there's been someone else right there the entire time?

[ Yima. Of course he means Yima. Because Amos understands that he is little more than a tool at the end of the day, but one that could pick who would wield him — and he's chosen wisely. He knows he has.

He is also too concerned with trying to fend off Hayame to take much notice of what's going on back on the ground, where they should be. Just knows that he cannot let her win, and so is fighting with all the desperation of an animal trying to survive — because even more than a tool, that's what he's always been. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame would not ever be able to explain how she did it, if asked later. Why she thought to use the knife, or leverage, or any of it. She has been the victim of his powers three times now, perhaps she's learned, but it's instinct and rage driving her now, not science. Experience put into place to accomplish the goal, because she has to kill him. Because he killed Cyrus, because he was a Zenite, because he was going to tell the Oracle her world should be pruned-

That's why she slams into him again, why she slams her hooves into his chest-

And why she doesn't pull back even though she knows he's going for her eyes. All she does... is turn her face so that its easier to go for her left one, so that fingers slip beneath the strings and panel of her eyepatch and displace the leather, revealing the sickly green eye that had been implanted in her head unwilling as she thrashed and screamed by the demon Sebastian Michaelis. A part of her almost hoped that he would find the leverage, that he would slide a thumb in and puncture it. Her lover may have begged her not to rip it out herself, clasping her hands and pleading with her not to hurt herself as she lay half broken on the floor after stumbling home from receiving the demon's "attention", but if someone else ruined it--]

The bitch who let you Zenites sic Kowloons monsters on Springstar's citizens so you could cut the Tribune down at his home? Who let Aetos terrorize Alenroux with monsters for centuries for his fucking experiments?!

[She'd laugh at the idea of Yima being good if she could laugh. If she weren't using all her strength to grapple with Amos, scrambling for purchase, forelegs lashing--

And if one of the young jinba foals below that had stumbled upon them, unable to comprehend the floating that was beyond their world but very capable of understanding the fighting, clawing violence, didn't begin to wail.]

[baltimores]

[ It feels like the air is knocked from one set of lungs as she slams into him, but seeing as how he needs two in this form it's still winding. And going to bruise something fierce until he's able to heal himself — something he is not concerned with at the moment, considering how he needs to make it out of this alive, first and foremost.

So he goes for the eyes. And of course she turns her head, of course she works to bare that eye towards him. But he's too winded, too inexperienced, too desperate to do any real damage. It's just struggling for purchase, maybe further dislodging that eyepatch, maybe getting a thumb close to the corner of her eye before it slides harmlessly away, grunting and snarling like a wild beast as she kicks into his equine chest, as she claws at him with human arms, as he does his best to fend off someone with the upper hand. His own forelegs flail out involuntarily, maybe uselessly; his hind legs kick against the tree—

It takes a few kicks before the sound of a crying child breaks through, and Amos is startled enough that his control on gravity slips, dropping them before he catches the two of them just before contact with the ground. It's disorienting, he might puke, but they aren't hurt from it.

What he is hurt from is being the obvious source of distress for a kid. Amos whips his head around to look at the group, chests heaving in exhilaration and terror. He has no response to Hayame's earlier accusations, only fight, but this— ]

What the fuck is wrong with you? [ He doesn't know what he's doing as he brings his own forelegs up, looking to slam into her the way she has into him with far more force than he's attempted before. If he doesn't connect, he's probably going to faceplant into the ground. ] I told you to look after the kid!

[ And now there are more, and now this is squarely Hayame's fault, he's decided. He just wanted to be left alone — and now this, more of a personal affront than her looking to take him into custody ever could be. ]