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Entry tags:
- !event,
- #npc,
- abel nightroad: martyr,
- akua sahelian: sovereign,
- amos burton: lover,
- caitlyn kiramman: champion,
- ciel: martyr,
- emet-selch: champion,
- himeka sui: wanderer,
- howl: celebrant,
- jayce talis: visionary,
- johnny joestar: firebrand,
- koriel xii (dextera): lover,
- misa amane: lover,
- rand al'thor: martyr,
- syrlya: champion,
- tartaglia (childe): firebrand,
- yuuta okkotsu: lover
EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (GODSBLOOD)
Sovereign Citizens
GODSBLOOD
At the height of the Sovereign's moon, Vaeka Lovenskol's execution is announced. Outside of the City Hall, a dignitary of Achamoth is flanked by an entourage of Kenoma, reading the words of Regent from an unfurled letter: Vaeka stands accused to conspiring against the Regent and abetting the fugitive menace known as the Pleroma. Though the details are not made public, rumors spread quickly, some far more wild than the actual truth. The full truth, after all, is something only the Regent's agents and the Pleroma themselves know, and even to them the manner of her exposure is unclear.
Though losing a proud daughter of an influential family, there seems to be little that the people of Godsblood can do besides accept it. After all, they are still a city of the Regent's empire, and for all the freedom they've enjoyed, there are limits. If she was truly aiding the Pleroma, the sworn enemies of the Regent - and in an organized manner, if the rumors are to be believed - can they truly object? Or would challenging the Regent's claim simply invite more death?
As with many things, the families of Godsblood are torn. Tensions are thick for the five days leading up to Vaeka's appointed execution by hanging, with everyone having an opinion and few wanting to go on record talking about it too loudly. As such, the people's frustrations come out in other ways. Bloodites are uncharacteristically unfriendly to strangers in this time, keeping to their own and treating everyone else with overt skepticism.
Those that have arrived as part of the Regent's official envoy, or seen guarding Vaeka, will receive a particularly icy reception. No longer are the Kenoma curious wanderers on personal business. Now, they are here as the hands of the Regent; few of the Godsblood citizens are foolish enough to challenge them outright, but they are ever an honest people.
Early on, the Kenoma and the rest of the Achamite contingent sent with them will be able to take over a jail in downtown Godsblood to hold Vaeka until her execution, clearing out all other Bloodite prisoners and employees in the meantime. This means they have a relatively secure position to guard their prisoner from, which is a good thing; after all, the Regent did outright invite the Pleroma to stop them, and Pleroma are nothing if not stubborn.
EXECUTION DAY
After five agonizing days of waiting and several high visible conflicts between the Pleroma and Kenoma, finally the hour of Vaeka's execution arrives. A gallows is set outside of City Hall, ready to welcome its newest victim, and a massive crowd has gathered in an spirit of anxious anticipation. Some worry that violence may break out in the streets, even without the Pleroma's agitation, but gradually the minutes tick by and the gallows remain empty.
First one minutes passes. Then five. Then fifteen. Slowly, it becomes clear to the people of Godsblood that Vaeka will not be arriving. Are the rumors true? Has she been saved? Have the Pleroma been successful, despite all odds?
As the hours pass and the crowds disperse, Vaeka Lovenskol is not officially reported as either living or dead. Fortunately, Godsblood is a place where information has a way of getting around, whether those in charge like it or not. Some are saying that she was seen being whisked away as if by powerful magic, following a bloody fight at the jail in which she was being held. Where did she go? Maybe her supposed connections to the forest people did her good, some surmise.
The days following Vaeka's failed execution carry a strange and uncertain energy. Where before there was tension and distrust, Godsblood now finds itself in a surreal reality where the Regent's word is apparently not absolute. Then again, do they really want a repeat performance?
First one minutes passes. Then five. Then fifteen. Slowly, it becomes clear to the people of Godsblood that Vaeka will not be arriving. Are the rumors true? Has she been saved? Have the Pleroma been successful, despite all odds?
As the hours pass and the crowds disperse, Vaeka Lovenskol is not officially reported as either living or dead. Fortunately, Godsblood is a place where information has a way of getting around, whether those in charge like it or not. Some are saying that she was seen being whisked away as if by powerful magic, following a bloody fight at the jail in which she was being held. Where did she go? Maybe her supposed connections to the forest people did her good, some surmise.
The days following Vaeka's failed execution carry a strange and uncertain energy. Where before there was tension and distrust, Godsblood now finds itself in a surreal reality where the Regent's word is apparently not absolute. Then again, do they really want a repeat performance?
QUESTIONS
What is the best way for Aions to travel to Godsblood?
For Pleroma, this is very easy, as they are likely to either already live there or be able to easy take Greentruth's portal. For Kenoma, they may come directly from Achamoth by boat as part of the Regent's envoy or arrive via Eustace's portal which is set up in a shed a fairly long jaunt outside of town. Once there has been some time to get established, Misa will be setting up another portal leading straight to the prison where Vaeka is being stored.
Are the Kenoma permitted by the Regent to kill other Godsblood citizens?
Though the Kenoma are authorized to kill any Bloodites that try to physically fight them, they are expected to keep things clean. The Regent prefers to only punish the guilty, and having the lines be clear will create less of a hassle in the future. Generally, Godsblood is not in a state where physical resistance is likely to happen unprovoked.
For Pleroma, this is very easy, as they are likely to either already live there or be able to easy take Greentruth's portal. For Kenoma, they may come directly from Achamoth by boat as part of the Regent's envoy or arrive via Eustace's portal which is set up in a shed a fairly long jaunt outside of town. Once there has been some time to get established, Misa will be setting up another portal leading straight to the prison where Vaeka is being stored.
Are the Kenoma permitted by the Regent to kill other Godsblood citizens?
Though the Kenoma are authorized to kill any Bloodites that try to physically fight them, they are expected to keep things clean. The Regent prefers to only punish the guilty, and having the lines be clear will create less of a hassle in the future. Generally, Godsblood is not in a state where physical resistance is likely to happen unprovoked.
got those folsom prison blues | closed, see ooc note.
see, he keeps reminding himself: he's still in godsblood. not a dungeon in achamoth (not yet) (is a thought he refuses to give life) (no matter how many times it comes to the surface of his mind). the reminder isn't for any expectation of rescue. why would it be? saving this woman, this vaeka lovenskol, comes at such high stakes. it is so much more important. nothing can be allowed to jeopardize that more than he already has. it's just good strategy; it's just sensible.
(and she doesn't deserve this. he...does.)
there'd be enough space to take a couple of steps to and fro in the cell, if moving came easier. but working around the stone that misa (he at some point discovers) turned his arms, his chest to, makes that more difficult. in a way, that might be good: he'll never be caught nervously pacing. in every other way, of course, it's awful. the last time someone had tried trapping him, he'd made short work of the locked door, and that was before he even knew he could channel. but channelers use their hands, and he's seen moiraine do it enough times to know the truth of that. that doesn't stop him from trying, of course. but it's not like the headaches from how hard amos hit him help, or that he manages to get anywhere with it.
(there's blood on his clothes, cracked dry on his face, in his hair. he doesn't know which is his. he doesn't know which is amos's. he doesn't know which belongs to the man he killed. he doesn't know how he could've been so stupid. he doesn't know what happens next.)
visitors are likely to find him taciturn, jaw clenched tight, looking at them as they approach and then away. he isn't interested in talking. he refuses anything to eat. he doesn't want anything to do with any of the people he's now surrounded with.
but, of course, he doesn't get a say in that matter. ]
[ ooc | from night of day 2 until early day 4, rand will be held by the kenoma who are also here to execute vaeka. he'll be interacting with amos, ciel, gray, and misa. ]
evening on day 3-ish
After all, she saw a glimpse of how he'd acted when the Regent had announced their plan. Impulsively, violently. She thinks back to Venera, too, his deep stubbornness and rejection of the Kenoma's ideals— and yet, she remembers too those few beats of hesitation she'd witnessed in him, when she'd brought up the idea that there are those in their worlds who are capable of being saved. What a serious, sensitive guy!, she'd thought then, and still thinks now. Obviously, he feels strongly in opposition to what the Kenoma are doing. And perhaps more obviously, it's predictable that he'd get caught, acting out as he had. Misa overall has little sympathy for him, which is why it came so easily for her to suggest the idea of restraining him with her power. A pity - she might have felt more badly for him, had the Regent not instructed them to do just this. Now, to her, he's just another obstacle to clear out of the Regent's path.
When she comes into the cell to give him his typical dose of petrification, kept on a surprisingly strict timer that's ticking away in her own mind, her mood is rather neutral, and she may seem several degrees less tense than her comrades. There's not a mite of conflict to be had in her expression, to say the least, so she's clearly not bothered over having to do things like this. The only thing, the only thing she makes a bit of a face over is the still very sorry state of his face, caked in blood that's flaking and chipping away as the hours go by. When she closes the door leading into the cell behind her, she regards him with a sigh, adjusting a canvas bag that's slung over her shoulder— the contents of which would be unclear to Rand himself.
The petrification may have receded in her absence to the tops of his biceps, allowing him some semblance of movement, despite the majority of his arms still being statuesque. Though Misa begins making quick work of that as soon as she steps in the room, the numbing, inflexible stiffness crawling steadily up and over his shoulders, frankly ignoring any sharp stare he gives her. Before it can move to completely immobilize his arms from the shoulders down, she chimes in with some helpful(?) advice. ]
I'm giving you a fair warning this time, [ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, delicately. Her words are casual— there's no malice there, no smugness or intention to point and laugh. Just plain (if a bit insensitive) matter of factness, delivered with her typical flighty way of speaking. ] Don't move around so much, or it'll get stuck in a weird position.
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he hadn't trusted her back in venera, of course. he'd known her for kenoma. she'd admitted it so easily, in fact. but she'd seemed so normal. they'd been able to have a civil discussion, even if they were at odds the entire time, and they'd parted on decent terms. he hadn't even really disliked her. he had no reason to. sure, she was a member of the opposite sect, but she hadn't done anything to anyone.
but now, she's part and complicit to the impending execution of an ally. but now, her regular visits always mean the cold creep of his muscles turning to stone, limbs going numb and useless, chest tight and uncomfortable. he doesn't flinch away from her — though maybe he just can't — but he does look upwards at the ceiling as he tries to swallow down his discomfort at the process. it'd be nice if he could manage to seem unaffected as she does this, but it'll apparently take more doses than he's had so far to get there.
in contrast to her calm tone, his words are sharp. ]
We both know you don't care.
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Hey, that's not fair. I could've made things a lot more awkward for you the first night, you know.
[ To her, this is proof enough that she's not doing this torment him or purposefully make him be physically in pain - she could have preserved his arms in a strange, bent position, or above his head, if she really felt like being mean. But she didn't. A sign of her mercy, and her "care," as far as she's concerned.
That said, she continues her work, watching her enchantment encase the planes of his chest, and even travel a bit further down than it has previously - to the top of his waist. Coming back here is a chore, after all. And she has better things to be doing. When she's decided that she's done with that, she drops herself to the ground up against one of the walls rather heavily (mostly due to her exhaustion), giving another dramatic sigh. ]
I mean, what, do you think this is fun for me?
[ While she rambles, she rustles around in her bag, picking out a few food items— an apple, a hunk of bread wrapped in a fine cloth. Really, she still has no real animosity towards Rand. She doesn't particularly want to see him suffer, she just wants the threat of his presence to be neutralized, as efficiently and as with little drama as possible. At times like these, she really misses her Death Note. That would've taken care of things so neatly, and they wouldn't have to expend so much effort watching him and keeping him contained. Though her inner thoughts regarding how easy things would be if he were just dead instead go unspoken, as she maintains an innocent look of offense, as if she just got accused of stealing out of the cookie jar.
All in all, she's sure that if given the opportunity, he'd cut her down without hesitation, so she feels little guilt for immobilizing him the way she is. It's for her own safety as much as everyone else on her side - perhaps that's why she's able to regard him so casually. ]
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there's not much else for him to do, as a captive audience. he doesn't exactly shudder as the immobilizing magic spreads, renders him even more useless than times before, but he does swallow, a twitch to his feet. he does not, however, look at her. it's a very small defiance, but it's what he has in this moment.
that and a question, posed dryly with raised eyebrows, ]
Am I inconveniencing you?
[ her list of complaints makes it sure sound that way, doesn't it? as if he isn't the one languishing in a cell with no use of his arms, counting the minutes until she returns, or another kenoma decides to talk to (at) him.
the food she pulls out of her bag don't go unnoticed, the motion visible out of the corner of his eye, but they go unmentioned. all well and good to refuse looking at her only to ask what under the light she's doing. like, did she bring a snack to munch on while effectively cutting him off from channeling? ]
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[ Sweet, short, and to the point - his dryness either goes over her head, or she chooses not to rise to it. Turns out she absolutely did bring a snack to munch on while bullying him, as will become obvious as she continues to eat shamelessly. She pulls her knees up to get a little more comfortable, rubbing at her eye with a knuckle subconsciously from the combined exhaustion and dryness. She'll still need to stay up for several hours past this, before she can get Ciel to come watch him, after all, so a break is in order before she goes back to her duties on the roof. And, there's probably nowhere safer in the jail for her to rest than in this very room, where she can detain him further if he tries anything funny. ]
You killed somebody, right? So that's kind of an inconvenience to all of us. Even to your side.
[ Her words are brazen, with little heartfelt emotion behind them— it's not like she knew the guard personally. She doesn't show particular disgust towards him, either. It's an inconvenience in the fact that tensions are now higher than ever, and the Kenoma would just look plain dumb if they let him walk, so they have no choice but to imprison him here. In turn, that raises the possibility that others will come in here to retrieve him. It's just a big mess, all stemming from his actions, the way Misa sees it. ]
cw for some suicide ideation
not peace. but some measure of solitude. or quiet. not that the quiet's much better, left to his own thoughts. misa doesn't say a damn thing he hasn't thought already, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still sting to hear. killing someone doesn't fit into his image of himself. but the problem is, he doesn't really know who himself is, and he hasn't for months. rand al'thor, shepherd from a minuscule town in the mountains, doesn't exist. in some ways, he never did. oh, tam and kari al'thor were and always will be his parents — who else raised him? who else showered him in love? but,
as he so recently told akua, he had been born in the snows of a distant mountain. to a woman he never met, of a strange and warlike people he's never known outside of stories. he had been born with this ability to channel, life foretold by prophecies spoken millennia ago. he'd very possibly been meant to die at the eye of the world. maybe if he had, the regent wouldn't have been able to destroy his world. and maybe if he had,
he wouldn't be in, wouldn't have dragged so many people into, this mess right now. ]
You're going to kill someone, [ he points out, toneless. it won't be misa's hand that does it, but neither will misa's hands be clean of vaeka's execution either. ] Is that so different?
[ he wouldn't have been here, trying to gather information, if not for the regent's order. the slain achamite guard wouldn't have even been in godsblood. fault is fault, and this murder is his, there's no denying. but he can't stop himself from pointing out misa's lack of high ground here, even as engaging in conversation is a mistake. ]
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cw reference to amputation
The gloves he'd been wearing at the time had taken the brunt of the damage, thick and reinforced and now useless. That doesn't stop the stinging pain radiating from his palms, though — bandaged, but underneath recovering from deep, clean cuts right across them; the right one worse than the left. And that doesn't stop the burning sensation radiating from where two of his fingers used to be, the phantom pain that comes with them, the bandage across where they should be doing nothing to stop it. Not like he's bleeding anymore, either. They're clean, white, and unable to cover up what's no longer there.
He has no fucking clue how he did that. He has no fucking clue how he was able to grab a sword by the blade, let it dig so deep into through his skin that it severed everything underneath coming out the other side, and continue like nothing happened, only aware of it while hauling the deadweight that Rand had become back with him, leaving a trail of blood in his wake and with no idea as to where his fingers ever actually ended up.
But all of that seems secondary now.
It's late. Or it's early. Hard to tell. Either way, he's got nowhere else to be, and the pain is keeping him up, so he might as well go to Rand's cell. Sit on the ground across from it, back leaning against the bars of the cell behind him. Sure, it's uncomfortable, but comfort probably isn't going to be happening any time soon, so fuck it. Why not.
He sits there, knees up, injured hand resting in his lap, waiting for any sign of life. And when there finally is — when Amos himself is exhausted, had probably been in the midst of nodding off himself but he's awake now — his eyes flick up. His voice is dry, tired, strained through the pain he can no longer easily suppress. ]
Hey there, princess.
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throbbing against the inside of his skull, mostly, which is why he makes a low moan even as he just starts to stir. something, he's faintly aware, is wrong. he shouldn't hurt this much. the surface beneath his cheek is cold, and that feels good, even if he doesn't have a ready explanation for what or why that is. but that's wrong too, he thinks. maybe. or, it's strange. if he's waking, then he must've been asleep — so says bleary reasoning, and the bleariness seems to point to sleep too — and if he'd been asleep, he might've been in bed.
or, no. that's wrong. he must've been home (why wouldn't he be home?) and fallen asleep on cold earth in the woods, or an abandoned barn along the road. (why would he call that home, when neither place is two rivers?) that makes as much sense as anything. which means mat is probably sleeping nearby, or perrin, or egwene, or nynaeve, or,
the voice is unfamiliar.
at least, the voice doesn't belong to any of them. not lan either, or moiraine, or loial. and that's strange, isn't it. so he opens his eyes slowly, recognizing nothing around him. gray, and gray, and gray — metal bars rising up further than he can see, which,
something is wrong.
his eyes land on, focus on, amos. and then it starts to come back to him: a harsh voice, an unexpected battle, and his father's blade slicked with blood. and then it starts to come back to him: amos, and desperately channeling a bolt of lightning, and,
his eyes land on those white, clean bandages. he breathes in sharply, slams his eyes shut for a brief moment, and opens them again as he reflexively tries to push himself upright and scramble backwards. but his arms don't work, do absolutely nothing as his legs spasm and scrabble uselessly against the stone floor. ]
What is this?
[ where is this, he means. but also what happened to me, and why are you here? ]
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Amos takes Rand in, the prone helplessness desperately trying to be anything but, and he inhales deep, nostrils flaring. Exhales loud enough that Rand can probably hear it, in the otherwise still silence that fills the air between the two of them. That fills the air throughout the cellblock, really.
He still doesn't move himself, too exhausted for it, sharp pain attacking his hands from multiple angles still too much of a distraction. When he answers, he doesn't bother to cover up the anger in his voice. Let it be on as much of a display as it wants. Let Rand know he really did fuck up here, and there are consequences for that. ]
You killed one of ours. [ Not an Aion. That, they could fix. But for as easy as it is for Amos to dismiss the life of anyone he doesn't know personally — and even then, sometimes — the Achamites are still his people, and now they're down one, and for no reason. ] What were you expecting would happen?
[ The general, blank amiability is gone. The patience to wait for Rand to come around one day, playing a long game is over. This is the man Moiraine had introduced to him; potentially worse, because he's made it personal now. Amos may not give him all the answers he wants — asked directly, abstractly, without asking at all, whatever — but he will be completely honest with him.
This is who I actually am. Strip away everything civilization expects from me, the love I hold for few people, and all you're left with is a rage-fuelled killer.
Hi. ]
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you killed one of ours. the thought seems too big, too slippery, to grasp. it feels impossible. rand al'thor, a killer. no, no. he's never been violent. he's never done more than ordinary roughhousing with other boys, when he was a little younger. fighting, even killing, a trolloc is one thing — they're mindless, man-eating monsters, they'd attacked his town and his home and his friends, when he'd stabbed one it had been to save his father's life. even attacking the likes of the dark one, the regent, is different. they aren't human; and if the regent is, they certainly aren't a normal human.
but this had just been an ordinary man. a man with a sword, yes, one who'd come at him violently and intended to see a woman publicly executed. but: just a person.
of course he hears amos's anger. in a way, the man in front of him is more familiar than ever. this is the person rand had met in the martyr shrine, the truth of him, without the confusing almost-kindnesses. this is the man moiraine would've killed, if she had to, so that rand could get to the pleroma safely. an enemy. his enemy.
moiraine. she'd be so disappointed in him, not for the guard, but for this. and his father would,
no. if the thought of being a murderer is too big, then this one is like trying to touch a hot iron with his bare hands. bad enough to try through the heat haze of pain, through the horror and fear that feel stuck in his throat. he could choke, and he might deserve that, but not here and now.
he looks back to amos. ]
What are you going to do to me?
[ is asked dully, almost inflectionless. there are a lot of possibilities, of course. more pain, for one, being dragged up to the gallows with vaeka lovenskol, for another. but he thinks he knows the answer. and amos, of all people, won't lie. ]
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Where Rand is dulled, though, Amos is sharp edges, belied by the way he doesn't get up, makes no actual move on him. His body can't afford it right now, or at least he thinks it can't, so it's all in the voice. ]
If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. [ His eyes click over to the aura he can see coming from Rand's shard. Dead-dead, not temporarily. Give him a day or two, and he's pretty sure he could rip it out and crush it in his bare hand right in front of him.
He meets Rand's gaze again. ] Regent's gonna want you, though. Don't think you had to kill anyone to get their attention. Or even pull that little stunt you did a couple of days ago. But, [ a slight shrug of his shoulders, a shooting pain in his palms, where his fingers were, at the motion, and he takes a second to hiss through his teeth at the pain, ] maybe that just made you more interesting to them. Or not. Fuck if I know.
[ Fuck if he cares, really. But Rand's been a massive inconvenience to him from day one, and now he's finally — finally — getting a chance to rectify that.
Amos regards him coolly. ]
You're coming back to Achamoth when all this is over with. From there, it's out of my hands.
[ What an irritating phrase right now, actually. ]
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he only blinks at the first threat. (not a threat: fact.) the only reason to keep him alive, if they wanted him dead, was to make a spectacle of it. and that doesn't seem to him amos's style, but amos isn't the only person making that decision. there are clearly other aions here, even if rand didn't know that before, even if it isn't the rational assumption — the cold numbness where he should be able to feel his arms is proof enough of that.
but the cold numbness he feels seems to slide away at the mention of the regent. it's no surprise. he knew that exact answer was coming; all he did was make amos say it. but there's still a shiver of terror, and anger, that seems to go down his spine, grow in his chest until it pushes against his ribs. and the Power responds, if in a diffuse, unfocused way: the ground beneath them starts to tremble, first faintly, and then starts to grow... ]
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day 3... sometime
When she sees that he's partially petrified, she hesitates, suddenly unsure of what she should do — because the things she's brought along on a tray (a rudimentary sandwich and a cup of tea) have suddenly been rendered problematic. Never mind if he can use his hands; can his body even process food like this?
... Well, in the end it's all magic, so it's probably not worth puzzling over.
More importantly, it seems like Rand is currently in a state of extreme discontent, which she thinks is fair. He would be justified in wanting to kill her. Even so, he needs to eat at some point, and so she sets her tray down and speaks up, her soft voice making its way politely through the room like a cotton ball on a shallow slope. ]
I brought you some food... and tea. It isn't poisoned.
[ Which is just what a liar would say, she supposes, but he'll just have to trust her on this. ]
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the footfalls of the people who come this way — to guard him, mostly — usually are louder, heavier. even misa, fairly petite, with her regular visits to keep him helpless...she approaches with more confidence than this. the sense that she has every right to be here. and in some ways, she does, doesn't she. by order of the regent, and that's the only thing that seems to matter to everyone he's seen here.
but gray's approach is different, so he does watch until she comes closer into view, until he recognizes her. the memory of his capture is a little hazy, and is disjointed and frenetic, but he does remember her. sweeping in to fight abel, to give amos the clear chance to knock rand out and bring him here. she's so small, and so diffident, and the tray is so incongruous with every other way he's been treated in here. he can smell the tea, even before she mentions it.
is he worried about poison? not really. there probably isn't much point to poisoning him if they haven't killed him already, if they intend to take him back with them. and he's aware on some level that he hasn't eaten since — he doesn't remember, sometime before the scouting mission gone wrong. but all it takes is a flash through his head of his sword biting into flesh, of amos snapping the blade to pieces in his bare hands, of where he is and where he's going, to rob him of any appetite. and he doesn't want to accept anything from his captors, no matter how politely it's offered.
so, he returns to looking away. just off to the side, to the row of empty cells and the wall where they eventually end; but it is a dismissal of gray. ]
I don't want it.
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Rand doesn't want food now, but there's a chance he'll change his mind... so she sets the food down for now, hovering a little awkwardly in place before speaking up. ]
My name is Gray... Could I have yours?
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in fact, rand doesn't immediately make any show of having heard it at all. why should he? nothing good's come of talking to any of them. there is nothing good coming for him, at all. hadn't amos made that clear? he'll be in this cell until he isn't, and when he isn't, that'll be worse. achamoth doesn't sound to him like a city, hasn't since his arrival and moiraine spelled out the kenoma for darkness and torture; achamoth sounds like worse than death.
and for him, it would be.
still, he does stir sooner or later. it's not as if amos and misa don't already know his name; there's no purpose to keeping it from this girl. ]
Rand.
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But instead, he actually does give her his name. She perks up, but makes no move to get closer or pretend that this means they're friendly. Though... now what? She didn't really plan that far ahead, other than hoping that he would open up a little. ]
Then... Mr. Rand. Is there anything you need?
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Are you really asking me that?
[ disbelievingly. he is, after all, sitting in a prison cell...while partially petrified...awaiting being dragged back to the regent...after being violently taken by amos...which gray helped with! there are a lot of things he needs right now. ]
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late day 3 after misa dips out for her beauty nap
She does not come empty handed. She arrives with a wooden bowl, and in it, there's a paper bag and a wrung towel. She does not speak after entering the room, opting to set the bowl down on the table before sauntering over to face him through the bars with her back against the wall. After crossing her arms, she goes still.
...]
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so as far as he's concerned, this is simply yet another jailer, if a surprisingly anonymous one, for yet another hour to drag by in this cell. he notes the bowl, and the bag, and the towel — mostly because it's a strange assortment of items — but soon returns to leaning his head back against the wall and contemplating the ceiling.
minutes tick by, and by, and by. he sighs, shifts his shoulders a little — and then stills, realizing what happened. ]
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I would advise against acting rashly. It's what put you in this situation.
[The tone is flat and inflectionless. If he's good at recognizing voices he's heard of before, this one sounds starkly different even if there's something familiar about it.
...]
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of course his attention turns to the bars of his cell. why wouldn't it? if the kenoma are really going to underestimate him so far as to actually let him loose (as good as), then even a warning from
a barely familiar voice actually,
isn't enough to stop him from taking the chance as he sees it. what, is he supposed to just sit in this cell like a good boy until misa returns? just let these people cart him off to achamoth to be killed or tortured or used by their regent?
of course not.
so she suggests he not act rashly, and he doesn't answer. or, rather, his answer is this: the wisps of burning light and reeking darkness that swirl around him as he opens himself to the Power, visible to those who'd been able to use magic even before becoming aions. the Power swells around him before he throws out his arms, going to stand (going to run), and splits into three weaves: the ball of fire that appears between his palms and shoots out directly at his jailer, the one that gathers around the cell's lock to wrench it apart, and the battering force at the door to throw it open. if he can get her to dodge, be distracted; if he can get out of the cell and escape — ]
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The fireball aimed at his new jailor is a direct hit. There is no attempt to dodge or repel. On the contrary, the figure is now facing him from the other side with her right arm raised, wielding three more of the same blades as the one by the door clenched between her finger joints like a claw. Her fist remains still on the other side of the bars, but the thin blades can easily slip through, and the tip of them are now aimed squarely at his throat.
What would Rand like to focus on? That his attack on the door has been intercepted? That his neck is a breath away from being pierced by three blades? Or the sight of bloody and charred flesh directly in front of him, as the flames he managed to channel have successfully burned through half of the woman's mask? Yet despite the injury to the left side of her face, severe enough to have blood trail down her jawline, the woman does not flinch or make any sound of discomfort. Burnt and broken, the right half of the mask is also knocked askew to briefly block her vision. With one small shake of her head, it clatters onto the floor, revealing unmarred and cold blue eyes staring right back at him. Her sight has avoided damage somehow, and while the unflattering and painful wound has certainly disfigured her, it may nevertheless be enough to render her recognizable to someone who has spoken to her before.
May want to think through his options a little more carefully this time, as what he may want to try next. He's facing an opponent who is capable of magic and indifferent to facial maiming through fire, for starters.]
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for a second, that's the biggest shock: three blades appearing out of nowhere, nearly cutting his own throat. he forgets about the door altogether, so it doesn't occur to him now to wonder about the fourth sword or how it countered saidin. but when he looks up from those weapons to his jailor, he forgets all about swords of magic.
that's what makes him recoil — not the implicit threat on his life, but the devastation he wreaked on her face, all that bloody, burnt, exposed flesh. he'd known what he was doing, throwing fire at her, but she was supposed to dodge. she wasn't supposed to — he hadn't meant to —
(he's doing a lot of thinking that, lately, he hadn't meant to)
— but the stern blue gaze, the indifference with the way she carries her wound, seems monstrous. like the dark one in that dream he'd had that wasn't a dream, but at least there was a way to wake up from that. he swallows down bile, and then he realizes he does know her face. or at least, he recognizes what's left of it. ]
Skye.
[ can't she feel it? the earlier horror and disgust bleeding through their legacy connection. the brief lapse into blank shock, and then the pulse of anger. another one who'd tricked him into thinking them an innocent native to horos. they'd talked, and laughed, and he'd admitted some fear of the ocean, and they'd even eaten together, and
he hasn't let go of the Power.
it just happened, he told akua just a couple of days ago about his attack on the regent. and she'd corrected: you mean you lost your temper. she'd been right; he had. he should consider his options more carefully now. what he does is throw another battering blast at the bars of his cell and, by extension, "skye," stronger than the last. ]
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