⏳ THE SCORCHING ISLE: Oracle Event One ⏳

[beleos]

ARRIVAL

All Bearers have heard whispers of them - the Oracles. Mysterious and unknown entities of an abstract nature, they serve as the heart of each faction’s cause - both as a means to an end and a very real stepping stone in achieving their objectives. To claim an Oracle means growing ever closer to victory: to see your homes restored as they were, or to herald in a new one of your making.

So you go.

A Cornerstone has been set up for each faction; one for the Zenith and one for the Meridian in Yima’s manor and Heliopolis, respectively. They warn you that upon transportation, your safety cannot be guaranteed and there is no telling what waits for you beyond - to be prepared. To make sure you have whatever you deem necessary with you before you go, as there is no telling when - or how - you will be coming back. CONTINUED HERE...

NOTES

Upon your arrival, you woke up with an HOURGLASS NECKLACE. Please refer to the Time Mechanics on the OOC Summary and bottom of this post for details on its usage.

The COURTYARD is frozen in time. Player Characters and the Great Tree are the only signs of moving, free life in the courtyard. During the intro, time magic does not work.

Characters are free to investigate but cannot move beyond the courtyard if you choose a prompt during the intro. You may mingle among your fellow Bearers or speak with [MR. TIBBS] if you so choose. (Also? LOOK AT HIM HELP)

Iconoclasts and Stargazers will notice Aspect benefits/detriments now.

All characters will be weak for the 24 hours - think like mild flu - and unable to leave until Mr. Tibbs has dispersed them. This is the time in which any threads with the NPC will be carried out.

The INTRO concludes with said dispersal of PC’s once interactions concluded. They will be sent to a location around the castle of your choosing; they are free to move about freely from here. Your prompts can start with you waking alone or in the presence of others - whatever you’d like!

Your character will innately understand how to use time magic from this point forward. It will come naturally to them, like a skill they were born with.

CASTLE: OVERVIEW (p a s t)

The Scorching Isles is home to the Atirat, a people of sea-dwellers who have the ability to walk on land. (Think mermaids with the ability to shift back and forth between human and mermaid forms.) As such, much of the Scorching Isles is covered in large bodies of blue water and glistening pieces of ice to accommodate their lifestyle.

THE CASTLE, however, is what dominates the landscape and it's where the Shard-Bearers will be spending their time. The white castle with colorful glass windows is obscured by a thick layer of clouds and fog. Nearly every location on the island has a thin layer of fog that rolls through it, which gives the entire Island an inescapable chill. The castle has artfully built rooms with a CAVALCADE OF DECORATIVE ICE, lavish mirrors, and white plants accented with blue decorations. Several portions of the castle are submerged due to the aquatic nature of the native residents.

And everywhere you go, you find them - STATUESQUE BODIES FROZEN mid-movement. They are haunting reminders of the power in your Hourglass - the very real power to decide their fates.

The castle has many winding paths to explore, as castles often do. There are sleeping quarters, HALLWAYS, a wine cellar, and a few large rooms presumably for diplomatic affairs. Players can use these rooms at their own leisure for whatever purposes they see fit. (Exploration, combat, or supply gathering.)

However, many of these rooms will require some strategy to access their full potential! Atirat were much more comfortable being underwater than many Kenosians may be. Therefore, rooms of higher importance may be COMPLETELY SUBMERGED or require swimming through an underwater pathway to reach them. Very minimal supplies will be kept out in the open for all to reach. More desirable supplies - such as warm clothing, small weapons, treasure, and the like - will be located past or within one of these flooded areas.

Players may gather supplies within and preserve their Sand or use their Sand to make other rooms accessible and gather whatever lies within! The larger the asset you attempt to unfreeze, the more Sand it costs - and the more drained/vulnerable you will be as a consequence, so choose your path ahead wisely.

Currently, a pervasive fog is preventing you from wandering beyond the Castle's limits. Should you try to venture past it, your Sand will rapidly be stolen and you will find yourself suffering the same fate as the islanders if you don't move back to safety quickly... However, if you ask Mr. Tibbs what lays beyond the mist - he will tell you about the thriving farmland, the once-bustling village surrounding the castle, and the beautiful coral reefs beneath it. Sadly, they're beyond your reach - but maybe if the Bearers decide to unfreeze them when the week is up...

LIBRARY (s a f e z o n e)

The ROYAL LIBRARY - A treasure trove of knowledge, history, and glimpses of a fractured past scattered throughout. The lower floor of the Library is void of much reading material and contains several intricate-looking art pieces on decorative pedestals.

A spiral staircase dominates the center of the room, with its once delicate structure overtaken by sheets of formidable ice; it leads you toward the upper levels where a sea of books awaits. There are isles and isles of books, most perched on intricately carved shelves. Many books lay in piles or are discarded onto the floor, and scattered papers are common throughout.

Curious Kenosians may pick out books from the shelves and read on various topics, but players may also pass through this room on their way elsewhere. This area will function as a safe haven where violence and the taking of others' Sand is not allowed; do not disturb the books or Mr. Tibbs won’t be happy!

NOTES

Characters who wish to receive a book with lore specific to the island may comment [HERE]. You will be RNGed a book from a pre-written list of topics. The books may give you a deeper look into the island, its inhabitants, and its history! (Only 1 book per player! Please assume all other books they read are about commonly-available topics.)

THE EATING PARLOR (p a s t)

There are no basic amenities on the island. No hot water, no warm beds, and no salacious magazines (that you know of. heh heh). That would make the Eating Parlour a wise stop for anyone. After all, this could be the perfect chance to procure some provisions!

The EATING PARLOUR has all the equipment one would need for meal preparation. Dried plants hang from the ceiling, and the walls are lined with mason jars filled with every strange manner of presumably edible thing (Is that a head over there? Hmm… maybe you should check).

The parlour also comes with a garden under a massive windowed dome so that the inhabitants could have fresh produce at hand. Many plants have withered, but there are some salvageable plants if you know how to look for them. But beware… Some of the plants have a strange blue glow. These plants can spell potential disaster.

If someone should make contact with these glowing plants, they will crumble into glass shards - glass that will quickly burrow its way under the skin and curse that person with Blight. Blight will make all resources within that person's vicinity slowly age and eventually crumble to dust. (Which I relate to on a personal level tbh.) Iconoclasts will be immune to its effects.

NOTES

Please see the "Blight" section below for more information on its effects.

TREASURE ROOM (f u t u r e)

Faint singing can be heard coming from this room. Once you hear the song, it dulls your senses and leaves you in a haze. There is no stopping your feet from guiding you to it through the doors and into the Treasure room. The door slams shut at your back, sealed with a wall of ice and magic.

Players will find themselves lured to an icy chamber bordered by a ring of cold blue fire. There is a deep pond that surrounds the platform you’ve found yourself standing on. Beyond its glassy surface and crystal clear water, one can glimpse all manner of treasures - from crowns, jewels, ornate statues in various statues of repair, scepters, spears, and books that seem impervious to the water's cold chill.

As you come to your senses, you will find yourself frozen in place and at the mercy of a large statuesque being before you. This beautiful and horrifying figure in a perpetual song is the SIREN, the only Atirat you’ve seen in person. She measures nearly 20 feet (6 meters) from her head to the tip of her long-finned tail. She cradles an icy shard in her arms, singing to it as if it were a child.

She sits serenely in front of a large hourglass filled with white sand, which is bordered by a spear and a lance. Emblazoned in faint text at the base of where she sits reads: “The future lies in our hands.”

NOTES

Welcome to the Siren’s Chamber! Players must use their wit, charisma, or some good ol' fashioned elbow grease to escape the room or break the Siren’s magic. The Shard that the Siren holds contains dormant time magic that players may activate by using the Sand within their necklace. Players can access the future in 5-second intervals and use whatever they find in that time period to escape their predicament.

For example, if they activate the shard by using their time magic, that shard will begin to glow blue. The room around them will shift, and it could change to a point in the future where there is a sword nearby. If you can grab it, now you have a weapon! When the 5 seconds are up and time returns to the present, you will still have that weapon on your person. You may also try verbal communication if you’d like. If your character is someone who would try and talk their way out of a situation diplomatically, they may give it a try!

It is up to player discretion/creativity to think of a scenario you’d like. Each “future" does not have to be the same across player encounters! What one group experiences may be tailored to the player wants (because branching timelines exist). Let your imagination run free!

HALL OF MIRRORS (p r e s e n t)

Should you reach the rightmost wing of the massive castle Library, you will find a door hidden in the very back of one aisle against a wall; it looks as though the door used to be concealed by magicks that have since dissolved.

The stairwell leads down and into darkness. Once you reach the bottom, shimmering light cast from an unknown source beneath sheets of glistening ice will illuminate your new surroundings; you are in a maze of mirror-like ice. This labyrinth is silent save for the quiet creaking of shifting ice that may disquiet you and leave you uneasy regarding the stability of this area… but it holds beneath your feet.

Mr. Tibbs had told you that the “Kaleidoscope” - where your Sand is counted - rests through here, so eventually, you must brave the journey. Is it a trick of the light? Maybe the product of an especially active imagination…?

Did you just see one of your reflections move without you?

NOTES

Please refer to the OOC Summary for details on the Hall of Mirrors!

THE BLIGHT and TIME MECHANICS

BLIGHT

Blight is an infliction that will age supplies and infect people with a creeping disease that steals their Sand. For objects, this includes weapons, food, and items like cloth. It will take a few days to deteriorate things beyond use - so watching your supplies and acting accordingly is in your best interest. Generally, it will make it more difficult for PC's to get by given that their already scarce resources will dwindle and deteriorate - especially since it's 'contagious' through touch.

The Blight will not act quickly enough to severely hamper infected persons, but repeated exposure will cause effects to a person's body - notedly protruding VEINS in the face and extremities, a lower body temperature, and increased agitation. These effects start out mild and grow more severe with each 'dose.'

Characters must touch an object/person that is Blighted to become inflicted with Blight themselves. When that happens, it will become easily identifiable as Blighted from the faint blue, shimmering outline around the infected subject, as well as the WITHERED, FROSTBITTEN or ashy appearance it takes as it progresses.

However, there is one single perk with Blight. (Or is it a perk?) Players will feel reduced impact by the cold surroundings, making the climate around them somewhat more hospitable. Beware of falling victim to a chill you can't feel...

TIME

To use your Sand, each character is granted access to and innate knowledge of a spell they channel from their Shard that automatically manipulates their Hourglass. This allows the remote control of Sand (aka gathering and dispersing), as well as the ability to pull Fragments of time from Shards.

Fragments are literal pieces of you taken from your Shard. They manifest as memories or images displayed on little shards of broken glass (think of the memory being played out in real-time on the mirror's surface), and can be crushed to convert into Sand automatically, either voluntarily or by force. The only stipulation is that the parties must be close to one another, and the Fragment must be exchanged while both Bearers are still. This means someone has to give it to you, or you need to immobilize them before you take it - one way or another.

Once the Fragment is crushed, the memory and associated time of that person's life is lost and your character will suffer amnesia until the Oracle is claimed. How deep this goes is up to you; they could lose a large chunk of time - even all their memories surrounding a person or place for a big payload of Sand, or they could lose very little for a meager net gain.

Sand is automatically gathered or distributed by your Hourglass and added/subtracted to your running total. No need to micromanage. Convenient!

Please note that using Sand to unfreeze anything (resources, a door which can be then opened, etc) is an unpleasant experience. Each time you use Sand in this way, your character will be left feeling weakened and flu-like for an hour or two, which will leave them vulnerable. This effect stacks and scales up to outright KO-ing them for a few hours if they go crazy, so unfreezing too large of an area is off the table!

NOTES

• An OOC POST will be coming shortly explaining how Sand is going to be tallied and the Oracle claimed.
• Should your character attempt to unfreeze any NPC's, please respond [HERE]. NOTE: unfreezing NPC's may result in physical violence with CW's for severe mental instability/illness and a potential reference to self-harm.
• HAVE FUN!!!

CODING

Comments

[zauneyete]

↠ LIKE A TICKING TIME B--
⇲intro.

[ It is a constant state of illness that took him. Arriving from the cornerstone with a small pack to his side -- no matter what others did, Silco refused to turn himself into a pack-mule, but instead packed efficiently, and left the rest to his demon -- but arriving through the cornerstone, off to this new world and land where there was no true word on what they would encounter...

They were met with chill, and dead still land. Silco was glad for his usual attire, head to toe in layers up to the oversized coat, gloves over his hands -- a surprise we'll use for later -- but instead of his usual steel-toed boots, he's replaced them with softer, leather shoes, with soft soles, for walking silently. Almost like there was a particular reason for it. A tree swayed in an imaginary breeze, and there was -- well, Silco almost thought he was a Yordle, with less fur, but he got a distinct impression that the silly little creature was to be their guide(?).

Not that he was going to spend much time talking to the thing. Small, furry creatures, in his experience, were somewhat an annoyance. Heimerdinger. So he did not bother with the creature, and instead inspected the grounds as far as they could go. Looked up at the tree, smoking those foul-smelling cigars, made sure that those from Meridian were downwind from the scent of the cigars, just to be particularly obnoxious. Or maybe you're an ally, and you want to talk strategy? Perhaps you really hate Mr. Tibbs, and want one of the local psychopaths to know? You do you. ]

↠ MY GREATEST WEAPON: POCKET SAND!
⇲PVP.

[ He wasted no time, whether it's the sand in the hourglass he has to now wear or actual time and effort, Silco refused to let this opportunity slide. He had spent too long thinking about all of the ways he wanted -- desperately craved -- to put an end to all of this, that it was now time to move forward. He could only stay static, brooding and caustic in his anger to a point before he would go mad. He wanted revenge. On who? Did it matter? Of course, there was the obvious, but more than that, he wanted revenge on an existence that dared to continue, inexorable, as if there was nothing wrong, as if it wasn't quieter and less whole. No, he had wound his brain around his anger too much, and the impotence would just continue to lead him down mental corridors that would do them no good now.

He stashed his bag someplace hidden -- like only someone who had survived with nothing could do, tucked away to look like little more than the scenery in a place only he'd snuck into, after slipping there invisibly. His soft-soled shoes took him through the passageways, toward the areas where people could be found alone, and without a guard, or a friend. Particularly, he looks for the unharmonized, or the Meridians that he knows will lie in waiting. One in particular of course, because like the seething anger that was just under the surface, there was another itch that could not be scratched, that persistent need for revenge and destruction. He watched carefully, invisibly how memories could be used, and how they could be utilized in some of the general ground areas. He stalked those that looked weak, or unable to fend for themselves. He knows better than to just assume weakness, but Silco also knew that there was only one way to find power. He had to take it. That would be the way to victory, to achieving the goal, to destroying it all, and wrenching victory from the Meridian, so he could watch them flounder as they watched hope for their worlds -- and every other world -- slip through their fingers, just like the sand they so carefully kept close.

When he struck, it's barely the scuff of soft leather on tile or ice, before there was the flash of a knife, bared like a surgeon's blade, surgical in its attempts to lash out. He knows it won't take out most shard bearers in the first hit, but an injury at the start would weaken them, especially the unharmonized or weaker of them.

It's the only way that he's going to win. He doesn't have power like Sebastian does. He doesn't have obscene amounts of magic. No, he was a scrawny, dirty little thing from the Underciy, wasn't he? He was from nothing, he had lived with nothing, and though he had gained some power -- shimmer, invisibility, and one... other -- it wasn't enough. Not in the face of great beings or Things that could smash him without a second thought. But the only way to get more -- have more power -- was to pursue it relentlessly. So he would, and if that meant preying on those without defined powers, or who didn't have any yet? Then so be it. ]

↠ A MINKEL IN TIME
⇲support.

[ Power thrums beneath his fingertips. Like the electric zing of touching the third rail, combined with the sickening, lurching feeling of nausea, like pollution that sank into your bones, like a jolt of too precious, too necessary power. He wore gloves these days, not just as a sign that the shimmer would need to be asked -- for some were somewhat touchy about it -- but also to prevent the tattoo on the back of his hand from being seen. They are simple, fine gloves, fine leather or velvet, but in the chill of this place, it's a welcome addition. He felt rather pleased with his planning, even though Silco had only just stumbled into being prepared for this land.

On the hunt for sand from others, is the high possibility of encountering allies, after all. Those in Zenith who were in trouble, either weakened from some force that he couldn't quite describe -- was it their aspects, perhaps? -- or was it something else? It was difficult to determine, but he had promised help, hadn't he? Well, he would assist if necessary, if just to give them a taste of the power. One didn't find people who sought you out without giving out a few freebies along the way. It's one of many ways Shimmer had become part of the river that flowed through Zaun's heart, was finding a steady stream of new and powerful addicts to do his bidding.

He can modulate it, of course, change the course of the shimmer touch just so, just to give a small piece of power, a small temptation, toward one who needed it.

He would step up, seemingly out of nowhere, if an... "ally" (or perhaps a particularly vulnerable, meridian, if he thought they could be... nudged) looked to be ready to fall, and the fingers of his bare, right hand would already be free of a glove, before he would say: ]

You look like you need a little something to keep you going.

↠ SPECTER OF THE PAST
⇲hall of mirrors. near the end.

[ Eventually, that silly, ridiculous otter had said, they would have to traverse the hall of mirrors. That there was a Kalidescope to pass the sand they collected. He had carefully collected what he could, relentless in pursuit, and Silco knew that the hall -- which he had kept his ear low to the ground, and that he waited until others had passed, and figured out what lay there, invisibly listening -- thought that of all people, this would truly be the easiest path for him. After all, what reflection could be found, when one was invisible? It was a guarantee, but he still put off his approach, understanding that there would never be a guarantee.

When he slid in, it was as a ghost, invisible and quiet, with soft-soled leather shoes against the ground, and his array of knives he'd started keeping carefully tucked and hidden on his person. His feet silent, his movements careful, he strode along, into the belly of this place, into the deepest parts. Nothing thus far, and he kept his ears pricked, movements careful. There was the soft scuff of a foot on the ground, and the man's head whirled, his own silent footsteps stopped, and he listened, coiled, ready --

-- The slam against his head was unexpected, as was the punch to his gut, before he had a knife out, and into soft flesh on instinct more than planning, and he took a few steps back, his own invisibility started to melt away, revealing himself to the kaleidoscope (hah) of mirrors that he was in the center of, with Silco face to face with someone else, whose invisibility seemed to melt as well -- after all, the power didn't work in combat, did it. There was only one of them reflected in the mirrors, as they passed down into the winding hallways of the mirrors.

Silco's lips twitched -- younger, more hawkish and lean lips twitched in response --

Great. Well, good thing he didn't have powers as a boy, right? He lunged for it -- determined to take it out before it was a problem, but... It already was a problem. Clearly. ]

↠ WILDCARD!

[ Let me know if we planned something, and none of these work for you! I can write personalized starters, or hit yours, or whatever! Or you can just write into wildcard, I'm down for anything! You can also hit me up on my plotting post, the discord, or find me on plurk at hundreds! ]

POCKET SAND!

[halsband]

[When not in the library safezone, Heine keeps to himself if he can, choosing empty corridors and passageways to idly explore. He doesn't care about the objective here, nor about any warnings or explanations from that fucking otter creature. He just can't leave, so he's mainly waiting things out, the outcome sure to have no effect on him. And with that attitude to it all, he's not on guard as a default; partially also due to so many years of not having to pay attention, easily able to retaliate should something happen, and never giving thought to potentially otherwise grievous injuries he could simply write off as he'd be fine in less than five minutes. The knife he'd eventually gotten at a blacksmith's in Springstar is the only thing Heine had brought with him in preparation, and it's tucked away in his belt as he wanders a particularly ice-ridden hallway. It's fucking cold, and he hadn't bothered with especially well-suited clothing, just typical leather and some fur bits, clearly going for the aesthetic over practicality. Armour of any sort completely skipped his mind too, having never needed it.

He doesn't hear the soft slide of Silco's shoes on the ice, but does catch the sudden glint off a small knife. Like Silco, Heine's a scrawny man from the undercity, but definitely less dirty and sneaky and less prone to fighting like someone of that station should be, like a normal human who knows the extent of his vulnerability. As such, he doesn't move right away on instinct of self-preservation, even after registering the blade. It cuts through the thin leather of his jacket and into his upper abdomen without much fanfare. Fuck. Heine doesn't flinch from the sharp hot spike of pain, used to it, but he knows it's not going to heal this time, and this is bad. His response still comes fast, a heavy kick in the direction the knife came from, intending to land against something solid, that is definitely there despite his inability to see it, with the thick sole of his boots or the clunky spike at the tip of the toe.]

Shit. That hurt.

[It sounds like dismissive commentary even as he draws his own knife, a bit annoyed in the way of simply not wanting to bother with this. But shit happens, and now this is a fight.]

[zauneyete]

Sure does.

[ He says, even as the sole of Heine's boot caught him in his middle mass, but he shrugged it off. He may be older, but he was still a kid from the undercity, where back-alley brawls had been commonplace, and the man took it like a champ. His body materialized out of nowhere, coming into view. Silco looked... really much the same as he had that day in the Below. The white streak in his hair, makeup that covered the worse of his scars, a long trenchcoat and fine clothing, gloves to cover both his contract mark and to keep from getting too close -- the only difference was the soft pair of leather boots, in contrast to the finger ones he'd worn before.

His lips curled in a tight smile. ]

No offense, but I'm going to need your sand. [ A beat, he took several steps back to get out of the way of that boot. ] Oh, I'll leave you enough to function, don't fret too much.

[ He started to move in a circle, waiting, more a coiled viper than someone trying to make a deal. ]

[halsband]

The fuck?

[He liked you, man... or well, didn't not like. Heine doesn't join in on the more typical knife fight stance and circling, just kind of standing there casually holding his weapon. He tucks the hourglass necklace down the front of his jacket; less because he cares to protect it so much, and just to demonstrate that Silco isn't getting it that easily.]

You're really creeping around stealing fucking sand because some bitch told you to?

[His assessment of 'weaselly' was right.]

[zauneyete]

[ His lips flashed into a smile. ]

Do you think this has to do with Yima?

[ He asked, with a derisive snort. No, no this had very little to do with her, beyond the direction in how to achieve Zenith's goals, but ... her personally?

Well, Silco had his own reasons, of course. They had everything to do with a shard that he normally kept close but hadn't dared to bring along with him this time, that sat in a pile of half-formed scrap. ]

I'm taking sand because it's the way to finish off this entire... existence. Better burn it all down than listen to some fool's promise.

[ He flipped the knife in his hands to a reverse guard, something a touch more suited for someone like him. ]

I can assure you, it's not personal.

minkel in time

[epiprocta]

[ Fuck, he's sick and tired of always being hungry.

And this time, it's not like he can just take a few more jobs with that courier company to bulk up his paycheck in hopes of earning enough to scrounge up a good meal.

Gen resentfully mulls over that thought as he stares across a flooded passageway from where he's crouched at its edge, brow furrowed as he stares sullenly into the tranquil surface. And while there's certainly a lot on his mind -- this time, he isn't easily caught off-guard. As Silco approaches Gen where he's contemplating the water's surface, he might notice a tiny flicker of movement. The flick of a pointed canine ear, twitching in time with each quiet footstep that approaches, and Gen looks back in his direction before before those words are spoken out loud. ]

... yeah, no shit. [ The tail peeking out from the hem of his jacket gives an agitated little jerk, the tip whapping against the ground just once. ] There's enough shit going on around here as is. Pain in the ass that we couldn't at least have an easy time just staying fed and well-rested at the same time.

[ He turns to look back into the water, though Gen knows better than to completely let his guard down around Silco; one pointed ear remains angled in Silco's direction, listening carefully for any movement from him. Still, after a quiet moment, he deadpans: ]

What, is it another hit of that same shit you're offering? The same thing from before?

[ He's obviously considering it. ]

Re: minkel in time

[zauneyete]

[ Silco noted the twitch of an oddly shaped ear -- was that truly Gen with those ears? -- but he didn't comment on it. That the boy was going through his own shifts wasn't really Silco's concern, after all. Unless the boy wanted him to comment on it, but knowing what he did about Gen? He probably didn't.

With his hands in his pockets, he slowed near him, to look at the water he was paying attention to as if he could see into the depths, and find out what he was paying attention to. Supplies, perhaps? Something to eat? Silco, thankfully, had his demon to worry about the whole food thing, which left him to relentlessly pursue sand and slash at the Meridian types as he wished.

That Gen didn't seem to be of one side or another yet meant, that he should have lashed out to take his sand, but... well. He had a deeper interest in Gen, in pushing him in the right direction eventually. ]

Mm, yes. I was lucky enough to come with it. [ Or rather, Yima had infused him with it. His lip curled into a small smile. ] I suppose it makes sense, given how much I used it before, hm? It is available, to be used. Makes a lot of... [ He gestured at the water. ] That sort of thing easier, wouldn't it?

[epiprocta]

[ He adjusts his posture the moment Silco draws closer, shifting his body so the side where he's missing his arm is angled away from Silco. Since it's not like he's forgotten they aren't allies here; even if they were allies, he wouldn't trust Silco not to pull some shit, if given the right excuse. Though -- that doesn't necessarily rule him out as someone who might be worth cooperating with, either.

Case in point: Gen scowls in response to what Silco says, but maintains his flat stare on the water's surface, lips pursed in thought. And then he speaks up abruptly: ]

What d'you want in return.

[ He knows (thinks he knows) men like Silco. Everything is about give and take. The thought of Silco offering him help out of goodwill feels laughable, but when it comes to bargaining, that feels more plausible.

His bootsoles scuff against the dirt as he shifts once more to properly face Silco and rise to his feet. Standing at his full height, he looms easily over Silco. It's deliberate, of course. He knows better than to let himself be seen in any weak state when trying to bargain. ]

How long would one hit of that stuff last, and what's your price.

[zauneyete]

[ Gen had known what it was like to deal with Silco, and it certainly hasn't changed in the time since Horos. Even though Gen wasn't... one of them. A Zenite, he wondered if it was his lack of loyalty to the cause, or something else? What kept him from signing on, when he'd been perfectly happy to work for the Regent before? Was there something different about Yima? Or was it simple stubbornness that kept him from joining? Silco, of course, knew what motivated him, but others were more...difficult.

At least at first. He stared for a moment, considering. Like gears in motion behind an unblinking stare, as he considered. Well, there was something he would take for the "gift", but more importantly than that... ]

It lasts around ten minutes.

[ He answered, first. ]

Before I decide what I would ask in return, tell me this. What will you do with your sand, in the end? When we have to turn this all in?

[ Would he want to save your average... dweller? With their blighted bodies and minds? Would he bother with resources? What was his goal? Or was it simply to survive? Which while admirable most of the time, would be in Silco's way. What he wanted right now were those oracles -- to take them. Use them to rip and tear it apart. Single-minded though he was, it wasn't without purpose, although it's not apparent from the calm, nearly disinterested look on his face. If only it weren't for that unblinking, burning eye. ]

wildcard.

[subsist]

[ A piece of him is missing, he knows.

Kaeya has spent a considerable amount of time wondering what it could be. He's searched every corner of his mind, looking through all the fragments of the past, but both the precious things and the worst things seem intact. Nothing appears to be out of place. Despite confirming this, he knows that something is wrong. Gone. Out of his reach and unable to be returned.

(What is it about this place? It reminds him so much of Mondstadt's shores, but thinking so makes his heart ache in ways he can't understand—)

To distract himself from this, he peruses the library's impressive collection of books. There's something wrong on this island, a secret unlocked somewhere that is waiting to be discovered, and he wants to know what it is. If it would help them with the Oracle's retrieval, then he'll do whatever it takes to get it.

Of course, thinking so is quite different from acting upon it. It will surprise him more if he doesn't hesitate when the time comes to finally draw the line in the sand. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Had he even spoken to Kaeya, since... that afternoon in the Below? No, and other than the gift of liquor that had found its way by Kaeya's door, there'd been barely a sight of hide or hair of Silco as well. It had been an... awkward thing. Troublesome and chaotic in only the way the Jinx could be, and he was not ashamed of his choice, only in that he'd been forced to voice it. Then again, she'd always had a way of pulling the truth out of him, it just happened to have... fallout damage this time.

That was all.

Being here, in this new land, though, there was a need to find the few allies he had available. Or semi-allies. Sure, he had the demon, but... Sebastian was only one like-minded creature, and he needed more. Kaeya, despite what Silco had said, was... important enough that eventually they would have to talk. That eventually they would need to share words, and of all the people here, Kaeya would understand what it was, that Silco was... experiencing these days. He was one of the few who knew... precisely how deep, how personal it was now.

Fingers behind his back, he tipped his head, still with those too-silent boots he was wearing, he finally broached, before he said: ]

Have you found anything of interest yet?

[ Unrelated conversation. Truly the tool de jour for awkward moments. ]

[subsist]

[ It has been a decent amount of time since Kaeya and Silco last spoke with each other. He wouldn't say that he was deliberately avoiding the other man. After all, it wasn't like he wanted to be held hostage by a parasitic entity for who knows how long that went on, but after that — well, he's had other things to do. Leads to follow up.

And it wasn't like they were particularly close, so once Silco drew that line in the sand, he hadn't bothered reaching out.

(He did, at the very least, keep the present Silco gave him for his birthday. That has to count for something.) ]

Nothing that would bring us any closer to acquiring the Oracle.

[ His answer comes so easily to him, as if there isn't a burning bridge between the two of them. He looks over at the other man. ]

How about you?

[zauneyete]

Nothing.

[ He admitted, and there's a note of that frustration in there. If anything would feel reassuring to the man right now, it would be if he could wring the life from the oracle itself, but that wasn't to be. Not without the proper steps, and the Oracle remained a mystery. Instead, they just had this... otter, and the sand. The sand that they had to invest at the end of it, but nnone of this was important.

Even across the burning bridge, Kaeya could see it. The twitch of his lips. ]

I hadn't anticipated it being easy, but I also hadn't thought this... mission [ Said with no lack of annoyance at the thought of being led around by Yima ] would leave us with more questions about our goals than answers.

[ There were several oracles, weren't there? Silco clearly wanted to speed-run the entirety of it. ]

CLOSED TO: Ocelot, Sebastian, and Homura

[zauneyete]

[ There were supposedly places where there were other hourglasses. Silco intended to take one, for Zenith, yes, but beyond that, the agency of making the world bend to his will felt right after such a long time of being at the whims of great and terrible things, both on Horos, and here in Kenos. He had first started by searching for places where time felt... off. It stood to reason, that if things were frozen in time, and if their memories were laid so bare, was it perhaps not the case that time would be concentrated differently around these hourglasses?

He had no clue as to the accuracy, but it was a theory. Things were wonky in this space, and he looked at the others, who were also searching the hallways with a mismatched gaze, as he peered deeper down a corridor, as if perhaps it may bear fruit. ]

We may be getting close. [ He said, based on gut instinct alone, perhaps, but even the dust in the air seemed to hover as if stuck in place, frozen in time. The motes hung in place, illuminated by the light through the window, which also seemed to be still, once it came -- the window itself almost light, as if the experience of passing through it was impossible -- and further down, there was a display case against a wall. He hadn't approached yet. He would let another brave soul take steps further. ]

[cutlery]

[ Sebastian had been keeping his distance from Silco, at least in a sense. He was never far since if his master called, he wanted to be able to respond both quickly and using the least amount of his now limited energy. But as Silco had briefly mentioned wanting to pursue one of the secondary hourglasses, well. He thought it wiser to accompany him on that sort of venture.

Not that it was anything strange, he thought. Sebastian had made his helpfulness and dedication clear, so he didn’t imagine there would be any question raised for this alliance. As he strove to project, Mr. Michaelis was simply helpful to all. Of course.

As they approach, Sebastian’s rather neutral smile turns into a little frown as he nods in agreement. It’s not all that different from anywhere else, but to his sensitive nose, the air smells just a bit more stale. ]

I believe you are correct. If not it, then certainly something else.

[ He casts a glance to the sunbeam frozen in place and cants his head at the oddity, but it’s just a passing curiosity. The display case down the hallway is much more notable, and without hesitation, he walks closer. Inside the cabinet is… a block of wood. It’s finely hewn (at least, in Sebastian’s opinion), but otherwise seemingly unremarkable to be in the case. Yet when closer, there’s a detail that provides a good indication that this might be what they’re looking for.

Along the glass are hairline cracks that seem to be in the process of moving, but stopped along the way. One piece is impacted and shattered inward by… a small ball, from the looks of it. He looks down the hallway where it curves out of Silco’s view, and indeed there’s an Atirat child frozen mid-realization of their mischief. It prompts nothing more than a thoughtful “huh” from Sebastian. ]

I suppose we may as well continue breaking in rather than pick the lock at this point. I assume that is it?

[ It... sure doesn't look like an hourglass, but maybe it's behind it? ]

[sharaska]

[ Ocelot's never felt physically better.

The iconoclast tattoo hidden appropriately beneath a curtain of silvery hair is the source of that newfound vim and vigor, adding a layer of confidence to a cautious man who hasn't felt it so strongly since he was a headstrong twenty-year-old. Older, wiser, he's patrolling the halls with a sharp eye out for materials, resources, or anything likewise useful, when he hears a familiar pair of voices.

Ah. He flattens himself to the wall instinctively to listen for a moment or two, only pushing himself out of cover and appearing in the mouth of that hallway once he's keened onto the general subject of conversation and that there are no participants beyond the two of them. ]

Gentlemen. [ Gloved hands are lifted in mock surrender to showcase his non-violent intentions as he walks closer, one even raising higher in a two-fingered salute to Sebastian. ] Guten tag.

On the hunt for something more compelling than sprinkles of sand from the opposing faction? Looks like you've found it.

[zauneyete]

[ Silco had just been about to pull something out from within the depths of his coat -- being raised a street kid from a place like Zaun, and going into the unknown had necessitated some supplies, and although Silco would project that he was bringing his staples -- knives and cigars -- he had prepped a good deal better than that. There's a small notebook tucked into his coat, along with pencils and wrapped charcoal, in case he needs an impression, a lockpicking kit, matches -- even though his fingers have been able to light the ends of his cigars regardless -- some wire in there, needle, some other bits and bobs in a small packet tucked into the pouch at the back of his belt.

He wasn't wolly useless, although he suspected Sebastian wouldn't have considered him quite that.

Instead, though, as his fingers were inching toward his pack, he whirled to the newcomer, and a sneer lit across his lips.

Ah. Fo figure, he would meet one of the people he'd had such a pleasant introduction to. ]

Hm. [ Eyes back to Sebastian. ] Let's break the lock.

[ Then back to Ocelot. ] I do hope you're not thinking of stealing our find from us.

dad fight

[exhound]

[Vander has been in Go Mode from the moment the horde of Shard-bearers had been released into the castle itself to begin their mission in earnest. The castle is vast, and with the cold and the underwater passages making things difficult at a baseline, the work ahead of them had been slow and tedious. Needless to say, he’s spent nearly all of his time in this place amongst other people—mingling with the crowd in the library when he needs a breather, pairing up with others for deeper searches into the enormous building, putting his brawn to use in making sure others didn’t run into trouble.

This feels like the first time all week where he’s really allowed himself to take a moment to be alone, where he could take in the calm and quiet and put the mission and all the pressure it comes with out of his mind. It doesn’t really hit him until now just how truly exhausting this all was.

So he sits on the edge of a sturdy, frozen table in a room that looks to have been some kind of office in the days that this castle once thrived, idly examining a bookshelf settled against the back wall. The room is off in a side passage not terribly far from the library they’ve kept as a tenuous safe space; just a short stroll to allow himself a little breather before he ventured farther out into the hallways once more. He takes in the stillness of the space, long neglected during the lonely years this spell—curse?—has held this castle, one hand idly drumming against the battered pair of old gauntlets sitting on the table alongside him.

He’s not convinced that all the running around they’re doing at the behest of the furry little Mr. Tibbs is going to prove all that fruitful in the end. There’s still a lot of unanswered questions lingering over this entire venture, and he contemplates just how all this time-aspected Sand is supposed to bring them any closer to their ultimate goal.

He sighs and rubs at his face with a hand, grateful for the solitude to hide his frustrations.]

[zauneyete]

[ In (heh) polar opposition to Vander, there was Silco, who didn't "team up" with the rest in a traditional way. Although he'd offered his touch here and there to those who needed the extra go when the oppressive chill of the castle settled in, but that was because there was a goal here, and while it was frustrating -- infuriating -- that there was no "oracle" to be found, and that it hadn't surfaced meant this was ending up a wild chase for mere kernels of sand.

Creeping silently, his shroud of invisibility kept Silco from mostly getting jumped by the Meridian-aligned bearers, which left him to sneak silently through corridors and explore the different rooms here and there, looking for more sand, to take things, because at least that he could do for the moment until the oracle revealed itself. He had, of course, known Vander was about -- had kept his eyes peeled as he made his silent, invisible paths through the massive castle. If they had crossed paths prior, there would have been no indication, with his invisibility carefully kept up, but he hadn't needed to see his old, once-friend present in the castle to know he was still there.

Sebastian, after all, hadn't come calling for his price to be paid, and of all the people left... Of all of them, it was infuriating that it was a man he once called brother. Of everyone that had been here when they started, either here or in Horos, why couldn't it have been... His thoughts, predictably always turn to Jinx's shard that remained hidden in his quarters in Highstorm -- but the phantom knowledge that it was resting somewhere, and Silco didn't have her here...

There was a reason why he was pursuing sand so aggressively, looking for the oracle so single-mindedly. He had to. It was the only way to bring about an end to all of... this. An end to an existence that dared to be without his daughter, and an end to a collection of worlds that dared to not be Zaun. He'd thought to return to the library, while he had a touch of time, perhaps seek out his demon to see if there was any word on the hourglass, before --

His steps are silent on the fine floors, and he skidded to a halt and took two steps back. He's under his usual cloak of invisibility -- he barely let himself wander the hallways without it -- and that same violent need to destroy resurfaced. With the soft leather shoes he'd taken to wearing, it means his steps are silent, and he's already pulled a knife free from his coat as he made his way in. This time he had more tools, didn't he? This time he wouldn't be asphyxiated on the grounds of the market, and instead --

-- One moment. He looked down at those very old and very familiar fists. He hadn't seen those in ages, had he? Not since the night Vi had stormed the Cannery, and -- ]

Are you still lugging those old things around?

[ He said -- his voice eerily calm, almost casual -- in the same moment that he struck with a knife aimed for his back. ]

[exhound]

[Vander was a damn fool for thinking he could snatch a moment for himself and it would be as simple as that. The tone of this trip had already begun on the wrong foot after that large-scale Communion event. There were bloodthirsty fools on both sides of the divide, he’d come to learn, and that could only spell trouble on the first real moment that put the two factions in true opposition.

And he knew Silco had to be around here somewhere. The man was too opportunistic to let the first chance at nabbing the oracle for Zenith slip through his fingers. Yet there had been no sight of him lingering in the castle halls or conversing with anyone even within the library’s safe haven. (That right there wasn’t too surprising itself; showing up in a hub like that wasn’t his style, not unless he was making it into a statement.) But it all meant that he was keeping out of sight intentionally, and there would be no good at all to come from that.

So he sits up in surprise at the sudden sound of his voice—the motion jerking suddenly with the abrupt blossom of pain in his back—and internally he’s already cursing himself for letting his guard down in this moment, though all he can really do is heave a grunt of pain in reaction.

This is bad, because he’s already at a disadvantage and Silco wouldn’t initiate a strike like this without a plan lending him confidence. Not after the results of their first unexpected clash.

But there was no time to formulate a plan of his own, only the urgent and pressing need to retaliate. So he extends one arm out and swings his whole body around, hoping to catch his assailant with the back of his hand—even as the motion causes the wound in his back to scream anew.]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco had gone for the backstab for a reason. Without the crowds of Highstorm to serve as a witness to the fact that he hadn't struck first, and the advantage of being in this already fraught situation, with tensions heightening... Well, if anyone saw him, there was no problem for a Zenith and a Meridian to be fighting over sand, was there? If it was personal, well. Nobody needed to know that, beyond his Demon.

And he actually did hope that Vander wouldn't get to know that particular secret yet. No need to let the cat out of the bag too soon, but Vander was still stronger than him, and by these days... probably faster too. He'd been out of the game for a lot longer, stuck behind a desk and delegating, and though his time in Horos had honed and sharpened old survival instincts... Silco so often returned to what he was good at. Logistics, numbers, and running an operation, not the...violent side of things.

He needed more stooges, given that most of his power wasn't one for unleashing on just anyone --

A thought that fluttered to life, before it died in the sudden shock of a hit to his side, and he slammed against the table with a grunt. No, he wasn't going to let him get that upper hand -- He pulled the knife out with a twist of his wrist and used the momentum to take a step or two back, just enough to get out of punching range.

He couldn't go invisible again -- this power seemed to work the same as Horos, but that didn't matter. He lashed out, instead, that knife still in his gloved grip -- odd, as Silco had never really worn gloves, even last they fought -- and he aimed it down, at that hand, to try and stab. Perhaps ineffective, but he wasn't about to give him a moment's chance to put those fists on. ]

wildcard!!!!

[investing]

[ David should know better. In some sad way, he thinks he does.

But he doesn't care, can't find it in himself to wonder about the repercussions of how stupidly he's spending his sand —or even fret about how sick he's been feeling from the after effects of summoning a memory into existence. He simply doesn't want to, not when the cool, amazing, feel of a pistol is in his hands again. Exactly like his old one. Rebecca oohs and aahs at the weapon, brandishes her own modded shotguns in a mock play to compare. Says that hers are bigger with a stupid amount of confidence that makes him laugh, the smile that lingers on his lips after bittersweet.

They wander through the icy halls of the castle, looking like an odd pair: brandishing a bag full of guns, wearing the clothing that so readily represents Night City in all its neon splendor. Their eyes flash a pretty red hue every so often, only one of them choosing to vocalize their responses real time. David is silent in the mean time, making sure to take steps in front of her, effectively leading the way, much to her chagrin.

And eventually, after a corner or two, they stop. 'This the one?' Comes her raspy voice, only after she kicks a nearby door open with just her feet. The doors swing open violently, having already been beaten down by the other members of David's crew: Maine, Dorio, and Lucy. They saunter out into the open and are loud and rowdy, completely unapologetic about their presence.

In a way, this is rejuvenating for a David fresh on his grief, all that trauma seeing nearly everyone around him die. And in another way, he is a walking target, a stupid spectacle just screaming for attention, with all kinds of bagged goodies that Maine and Dorio are carrying, all kinds of weapons. And important of all: sand. So openly brandished on David's neck that it might be easy to grab it. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco had been following the two of them. He'd not seen the man since that first day at the party for Zenith's new potential recruits, and so he'd made the assumption -- perhaps accurately -- that he'd gone elsewhere. No matter for Silco, not everyone is perfect, and not everyone has the mettle to destroy and rend the world around them. Silco, for all of his flaws, knew what cost that had. Knew it better than most, to give it up, even if he thought that it was for the best -- after all, letting Zaun float to the bottom of the river that was oblivion was far better than bringing Piltover back with it -- and tucked away in his rooms in Highstorm was...

The only thing that actually mattered, regardless.

He crept closer, invisible, silent, his feet padded on the ground with his soft leather boots as he came close, ignoring the pack of people close by, all of them machined, electric, and neon. It's almost like Zaun, if perhaps it were in a book of futuristic technology and excess. One of them, he eyed with a quirk of his lips, before he reached up, that prize so obvious on David's neck.

Silco is careful though, he isn't a fool. Down the hallway, there's a soft thp thp of steps, before a howling cacophony highlighted the frame of three of these guys, big-daddy looking motherfuckers lit in neon green and a sickening, ill looking purple smoke in their helmets, obscuring their faces, and they surrounded a woman, big, but not that big, a cape covered one of her arms. I'm sure it's nothing. She had a cigar in her mouth, as she took a final drag, before she tossed it aside, and tipped her head silently toward the group.

The sand was worth it, he suspected. He'd collect it at the end, but more importantly, as they were turning toward them, Silco reached out, to try and snap a piece off of David's mirror-shard.

But how fast does David turn toward the commotion? ]

[investing]

[ There's a palpable shift in the air, something thick and heady, when those footfalls echo through the corridor. When that cigar smoke wafts through the air, lingers long enough in their brief exchange to reach his nostrils. And even on first glance it's easy to see: whatever, whoever, is flanking this woman isn't in their right mind. They gurgle and twitch, eyes an unotherwordly neon, different from the kind they're used to seeing in Night City. Mods are common, but this isn't quite that.

David turns to look as Maine is already smacking his arm, because typical David is typically distracted, something he's already slipped back into with him here. After all, it's easy to let someone else take the reins and pretend he's a fresh new runner starting out.

(And in those precious seconds he unwittingly saved his own ass from Silco robbing him blind.)

There's a drag of Lucy's own cigarette when the largest of them steps forward, David flanking his side and Dorio the other. She exhales, the smoke billowing out in an anxious cloud that lingers in front of her (an obstacle that could get in Silco's way if he isn't careful). There's something scary in seeing something he can't understand, and it grips him when he stares hard at the glowing green emanating from their blades. He thinks there's something wrong with these people. And what's worse is he genuinely can't tell if this is someone's doing (their memory?) or if they're real. His eyes flare red at the same time Lucy's does, a silent communication transpiring, their eyes all eventually flickering in different intervals.

He surmises it isn't quite cyberpsychosis, either, that much they all agree on. Cyberpsychos would've already started shooting, stabbing. Yet Sevika cants her head and they wait at attention, linger by her side with a type of attentive unease that makes David's eyes harden. The two eldest, on the other hand, accept the unspoken challenge, this invitation, and they don't quite grin, but they do change stance, one of them brandishing a gun (a gaudy futuristic type of shotgun, held proud in only one mechanical hand — Maine's).

He thinks of Pilar before he thinks of himself, in this moment. Apparently, so does Rebecca, because without any preamble or thought behind it, she raises her shotgun to aim it square at the helmet of one of the creatures and fires — ]

Becca!

[zauneyete]

[ Silco is so careful, and it's the only thing that kept his hand from running right into this person standing next to David, with her elegant white and multicolored hair, the cigarette pursed between her lips. He took a silent step back, when she neared, to keep from getting too close. He could try again in a moment, once they spread out.

He had to rely on Sevika to lead, but she knew what he wanted, didn't she? And she'd always did just the job he asked of her. Without question, without bother. Unless Jinx was involved, but Silco's memories of her were too precious, and too carefully guarded to ever be put into danger like this.

Something that Silco was both grateful for and wished he had, the moment the shortest of David's illusions opened fire. If anyone could have dealt with her, Jinx would have delighted in blowing all of them up.

In contrast, Sevika grunted, and the Shimmered goons howled, the one who the girl shot at bent backwards -- and let it fly past him -- his body contorted in a way that was entirely inhuman before he flung himself back to rightness, and started moving, his shifts erratic and quick. The others followed and they spread out, their bodies moving too fast, trails of electric green and neon violet followed their wake as they closed in -- knives shuddering with that sickly green light as they pushed inward.

Sevika, from behind, cracked her knuckles, and pulled the cloak back, pulling two vials of shimmer out of her bandolier, and her arm hissed as she popped them in, the joints loosening, and then working back to socket back in, the exhale of neon violet powering it matched the scars on her face, and she smirked, and spit her cigar out.

If she eyed Dorio, how could she not? That was a match made in hell. ]