EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (GODSBLOOD)

[aionmods]

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?

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.

Comments

[dragonmount]

[ it's not like subtlety is his strong point, but after hours piling on hours of uncomfortable immobility, he can't help shaking out his arms as the spell recedes, balling his hands into fists and then opening them. there's a slash across his forearm from the now dead achamite guard, but even that bleeding pain feels better than the pins and needles of turning to stone.

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 — ]

[expiera]

[One attack finds its mark, the others does not. (They really should have done something about these flimsy bars, in hindsight.) The magical energies that swirl around the cell lock is repelled by a nail-like sword planted onto the ground right before the door, evidently magical in nature with how it's interfering with the destructive powers attempting to take shape and break through. The metallic bars seem to shimmer under the clashing pressures, but ultimately stay still.

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.]

[dragonmount]

[ he skids to a stop just shy of running headlong into his death.

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. ]

[expiera]

[What a rash and short-tempered youth.

The flow of blood slows. It is not instantaneous, the wound isn't changing in any obvious way, but there's something unnatural about how it stills, as if becoming self-contained. Her gaze remains steely, trailed on him with singular focus.]

Ciel.

[She corrects him, permitting the chill of numbing indifference and careless dissociation seep through the empathetic bond that connect them in response to his chaotic and fraying emotions. Whatever he may have experienced before, whoever he met in the past, those details no longer matter. Here and now, they are simply enemies clashing across their sect divide, nothing more and nothing less.

At his doubling down, her eyes narrow: it's the first hint of emotion she exhibits. He wishes to choose violence? Then violence he shall have. (There's something strange about how he harnesses mana. It's... mixed?) The Key barring the front of the cell door shakes at his renewed attempt to bruteforce through, eventually becoming dislodged from the ground where it was planted to clatter uselessly against the nearby wall. Whatever that was disrupting his power the force of his anger vanishes along with it, bars begin creaking and twisting under the pressure until they are sufficiently deformed to let a person pass through.

He doesn't get the chance to cross first. As a healthy and growing young man, his larger frame is a glaring disadvantage in this situation; shorter, thinner, and quicker, his jailor slips in first without hesitation. Unfettered by the magical blast, she closes the distance between them in a heartbeat, not giving him the time to register that the swords previously leveled against his neck are gone before her other fist darts out in a blur to an uppercut aimed at his jawline. It may not knock him out on the spot, but it's certainly enough to make anyone stagger and see stars. Her speed, strength, and movement are abnormal for a girl her size: too fast, too strong, too experienced. He already fought Amos, he should know what it's like. She didn't try to knock him out immediately, he may interpret that however he likes—provided he can even think straight, after an attack that aimed to disorient. Her goal is to incapacitate, she's personally not looking to render him unconscious even if that may objectively be the best move to make.

Besides, there's a lesson here, maybe. Acting impulsively will not improve his situation. There are fighters versed in melee and magic on the other side, people who may dwarf him in both ability and experience alike. How will he learn if he doesn't stay conscious and awake through it all? If he has too much pent-up energy, then she will gladly help him burn it all. Petrification isn't the only way to keep someone still, after all.]

[dragonmount]

[ the very first thing moiraine ever taught him in horos was that he could not under any circumstances let the enemy take him.

he'd learned that in his waking moments. he's since met people who had less violent awakenings on that same day he'd arrived, but it's always been firm in his mind. the kenoma serve the Dark. his power and destiny cannot be allowed to be theirs. if they have the upper hand they will not give him any choice in the matter. recent events haven't given him any reason to believe otherwise. nothing about meeting more of them (or the regent) has lessened his bone-deep horror at the idea of being taken to achamoth.

so it's as he promised amos, maybe a full day ago now: if he really is to be taken there, he'll fight every step of the way. he'll take every window of opportunity to get free or die trying. either is better than the alternative. he might not have canniness or experience (or sense), but he has stubbornness in spades.

there isn't much time to process the correction in name, or the way her bleeding slows, or the implications of that freezing detachment he can feel from her. how many times has he felt the connection of shared legacy? he's talked to dokja recently, been around abel enough times.

there isn't much time at all. he's taken maybe two steps by the time ciel is in front of him, much too fast, and by then his world has exploded into pain. he doesn't fall, but he does stumble until his back hits the wall, hands rising to his face. when he lashes out this time, it's blindly, a wave of fire cascading from his fingertips. ]

[expiera]

[He's right to be afraid. It's a shame he's all basic instinct and no organized thought, this young man is no better than a caged animal. His impulsivity is testament to his lack of experience, suppose he'll have to learn the hard way lest he continues facing defeat for so long as he persists in his foolhardy approach. A fellow Pleroma will need to teach him about patience and control; here with the Kenoma, he will only be paid in pain and blood for his troubles.

Rand's flailing retaliation does not find a mark this time. Grabbing onto both his wrists with both her hands, she forcibly pins his arms to his sides against the wall before more fire leaves his fingertips, then drives her knee hard into his stomach with enough strength to almost feel like both him and the wall have been caved through. She may not be tall enough to drag his arms above his head, but she can keep him still for the split second it takes to quite literally knock the air out of his lungs. He needs his arms mobile to use his magic, this was already evident knowing Misa's power and how he's already been held here for several hours. Petrification was a kindness, however.; now that he's forced her hand, she has no qualms engaging him in melee until his limbs can no longer answer him.]

[dragonmount]

[ it'll be easy for ciel to see the moment his hold on saidin slips.

because between the one-two punch (fairly literally) to his head and gut, he loses his ability to focus on, or control, the raging torrent of the Power. and that's more critical than the use of his hands, a crutch he may one day outgrow, and visible by the way all those threads of darkness and light abruptly vanish.

in the moment before she strikes, he struggles against her grip, wrists briefly pulling away from the wall before being slammed back. it makes no sense that she should be this strong; it makes no sense that she should be this anything. but that's mostly because a part of him is still reeling from the discovery that she's an aion, that skye the friendly local had never existed. what he gets for trusting strangers, he'll think later —

because then she does strike, and whatever small capacity he had for thought in the wake of her last attack leaves him as he doubles over wheezing. his physical endurance isn't any different from a normal human's — far below ciel's — and the large bursts of channeling he's done just now, and over the past day, are especially draining to the untutored and untrained. they've reached his limits, and he'll need to recover before there's any more fight left in him. ]

[expiera]

[...Unruly child.

Not that she can blame him. If anything, she briefly wonders what got him this way. Is it simply from being hotblooded? He didn't strike her as the sort when he met, laughed, and ate with a traveler who never existed a few weeks back, but she's also well aware that people can become completely different depending on the situation. It applies to herself, for starters. Or is he like this because of past experiences?

It doesn't matter, in the end. She overpowers him without mercy, leaving him doubling over and incapable of retaliating any further. That means her duty of subjugating their prisoner is complete, and after one last sweep over his beaten and bloodied figure, she summons a single sword like the ones before and stabs the Black Key into the ground a few steps away from him. It is done with purpose: there is discernible magic at the point where the blade connects to the ground darkened by Rand's shadow, which has become effectively pinned somehow. He'll be retaining his physical mobility (or what's left of it), but shall he try to move away, walk or crawl, he'll find that he cannot go any further than whatever distance he may cover while the shadow he casts is still overlapping with the point of that sword. A shadow can't be separated from the body that created it, after all, and it's his shadow that she's trapped with her sword.

That done, she takes a step back and surveys the area. The cell itself is intact, but the bars are ruined. They'll have to move him. Tch... She doesn't know why Amos is keeping this boy here. Were it up to her, he would already be brought back to Achamoth. But it seems like Rand has special significance to Amos, so she doesn't voice her opinion. In hindsight, she should have acted sooner and stepped in to restrain him better, but oh well. At least Misa is getting some much needed rest, and she has more than enough of what it takes to watch over him (and make sure he behaves) in her place.

She saunters "out" of the damaged bars to fetch something from the bowl she came in with. Is he still conscious enough to watch her or speak?]

[dragonmount]

[ if he ever stopped to think about it, if he were ever to delineate the differences in his own behavior then and now, it'd be something like this:

the friendly boy who was habitually gently bullied by his neighbor, who had reassurances and anecdotes for an anonymous visitor to his city, who struggled with lying so much that his cover story as a horosian had pretty obvious holes in it...that is rand al'thor. that is the person he's always known and understood himself to be.

the angry channeler who tried to kill the regent in front of everyone, who has the blood of an achamite guard on his hands, who's raised earthquakes and lightning and fire to escape the kenoma, who's responsible for amos's lost fingers and ciel's ruined face...he doesn't know who that is. he doesn't even like that person. if he had to put a name to it, then this is probably the dragon reborn. the person he has to be, because as channeler, ta'veren, aion — there's no pretending at a normal life anymore.

none of that is relevant right now.

when ciel lets him go, he falls, lands hard on his hands and knees, tastes bile. he doesn't notice her summoning of the new black key or its trapping effects. not yet, though he's sure to try testing it sooner or later. even her assessment of the cell, the bars, and her move to momentarily leave go unseen. he's too busy trying to catch his breath, remember how to see straight, in the wake of that onslaught. but the sound of returning footsteps is enough to have him looking up, bracing himself.

what does she have in store for him now? ]

[expiera]

[It did feel something like that, separate, and while she made no outward motion of acknowledging it, the irregularity of his power did catch her attention. That tendril of something out of place, dark and oily that was with the flow of otherwise bright magic he was commanding... What was it? It felt strangely familiar.

It's also none of her business. If she has to concern herself with his magical aptitude, it would only be in the capacity of disabling it. They're enemies, after all, that's just how the chips have fallen here on Horos.

She returns with something in her hand, then leans over to place it on the ground in front of him instead of simply dropping it: what appears to be... a wrung towel? It's white, clean, and recently rinsed, tightly wrapped onto itself like only a wet piece of cloth can. That deposited within his reach, she saunters back out of the twisted jail bars and resumes the exact same space on the wall she was previously leaning against. Her face, in the meanwhile, has already begun healing. It no longer looks like a severe burn wound with damaged flesh, even the previous trace of blood has somehow vanished despite her making no motion in wiping her own face. Which is something he can do for himself now, incidentally, with that wet and wrung towel placed in front of him.

Crossing her arms, she continues to merely watch him. Nothing more, and nothing less.]

[dragonmount]

[ that's. that's a towel.

he looks at it for a long uncomprehending second. and then he looks back up at her, already inexplicably healing and returning to her post. and then he looks back at the towel.

he might have accused gray of pity earlier, but he's under no misapprehensions of the sort about ciel. if she pitied him, she wouldn't have lied to him weeks ago, she wouldn't have fought him with the brutality she did just now.

(later he'll think about the strange avoidance in stabbing him. she'd threatened, but she hadn't done it, and surely that would've been easier. but that doesn't cross his mind now.)

when his fingers land on the fabric, a distant part of him notes that it feels clean and damp, fresh in a way he hasn't seen since waking up in this dark cell. his own clothes feel filthy by comparison. his hand clenches, some water slicking his palm,

and then he flings it away without looking to see where it lands. (though the wet thwack as the towel ends up in some distant cell is audible.) instead, painfully, he sits up to lean back against the wall without looking at ciel. ]

[expiera]

[The young man chooses to remain filthy. (It probably would have been violence, if he had the energy.)

It's in his rights, so his throw isn't remarked upon. She doesn't make any motion of going back for it either, merely giving the lump against the wall a passing glance before turning her gaze back to him again. She's here to watch him, so of course she'll keep doing just that.

The silence persists. Will he stay like that all night, if left to his own devices...?]

[dragonmount]

[ it definitely would have been violence, if he had the energy. even now, he's aware of the gleam of the Power as if it were a visible thing; but reaching for it gets him nowhere. he's too tired, in too much pain.

the towel is like previous offers of food, even tea, small conveniences. he doesn't fear poison or subterfuge, he doesn't see strings attached to them. what would be the point when he's already caged? it's closer to a certain degree of pride, though he wouldn't consider himself a proud person. he doesn't want to accept anything from the kenoma. he doesn't want to express even the vulnerability of normal human instincts like hunger or a desire for cleanliness. they might have him, but he doesn't have to give them more than that.

his breathing eases, as time passes and he's given some ability to settle, orient himself around new injuries. his eyes finally go to the black key, and he frowns, though after seeing the one by the door earlier it's not hard to at least make a guess at its purpose. but aside from that, he is prepared to sit in stony silence all night. ]

[expiera]

[Briefly, she considers speaking up. In the end, she decides against it. There's nothing of significance or worth she could give voice to, she is simply a guard fulfilling her duty, that's all.

More importantly, actions have consequences, and she can remind him of that without words. (As if him being here and what she had to do to keep him down isn't already enough.) Thus the silence persists, and it's a hour or two later that she's sauntering over again, this time to set the paper bag she brought with her in front of him before retreating back to the wall once more.

Will he open it to see what's inside, or will it join the discarded cloth by the corner of the wall as is? Suppose she may be a little curious too, and there's only one way to find out.

(It's food, but as for what kind specifically...)]

[dragonmount]

[ something he would rather die than admit to anyone later: when she first approaches him again, he flinches.

but, of course, it's just another item she's dropping off. why she brought multiple things like this is beyond him, when she's clearly content to just stand there in silence. and when he's content to sit here in silence; so much the better than pretend at friendship, or sympathy, (or whatever the hell it was that amos offered him).

there is a temptation to ignore the bag or swat it aside like the earlier towel. but it piques his attention. food, clearly, by the grease stains on the bag, and a smell that's...familiar? weirdly? they are still in godsblood, so maybe that isn't so strange, but it's enough curiosity for him to open the bag and look inside.

and look inside, at very familiar grilled seafood. slowly, aghast, he looks up at her. ]

[expiera]

[Their eyes meet. Flat steely blue that reflect no light are uncompromising in their... nothingness. There is no pity, no sympathy, no smugness, no gloating, no perceivable expression on her face, there's just nothing.

...]

[dragonmount]

[ what he feels is such a slow creep of dread, that it seems very much like feeling nothing. a hollow husk where all that defiant fire had been.

slowly, ]

What have you done?

[expiera]

[Curiosity kills the cat, and in the process, it recovers its tongue. Is that how that one went? A new twist on an old classic.

(Seems like the "deterrent" is effective. An honest and caring lad to his core, isn't he.)]

Nothing as irreversible as what you've done to that guard.

[She answers inflectionlessly, unmoving from her spot.]

[dragonmount]

That's not an answer.

[ he speaks so, so softly for the level of intensity in his voice. there is infinite room for what she could've done to eleanor or seraphina, short of death. ]

[expiera]

Are you looking for one?

[Her tone is also deceptively mild, despite the chilling look in her eyes and that she is not presenting herself to him as a threat in the slightest at the moment.]

Or rather, is there any way I can answer that you could possibly find satisfactory?

[There isn't. He should realize this if he thinks about it a little. Isn't that right, fellow Martyr? The only way he can rest is once he gets confirmation with his own eyes, or from a source he can truly trust.]

[dragonmount]

[ in other words, the only reassurance that he can trust is out of his reach. ciel has planted fear in him, under the most ideal circumstances for it to take root. he hasn't complained about his own treatment, has he? he hasn't pled for mercy. a fellow martyr would know so well what she's done, wouldn't she? this, more than anything, is the kind of pain that could break him.

which means that even if her physical mask was destroyed, the intangible one is working: he sees her not as a person, today, but as a monster. there's no asking why she's done this, because monsters hurt people. as well ask the sky why it's blue.

he notices, distantly, that he's started to shake, hands clenched in the newly crumpled paper bag. some distant window, too high up for much but midday light to filter through, has shattered. the Power leaves him almost as soon as he realizes he'd briefly held it.

he doesn't answer. they both know there'd be no point. ]

[expiera]

[Just like Dokja, just like Abel. They're willing to take anything upon themselves, any scorn, any curse, any accusation, any damnation, any abuse, any violence. Takes one to know one.

But what drives them forward is others. What makes them Pleroma is that they have people important to them they don't want to let down, cannot let down. Suppose that's why she stands in opposition to them. All 'Ciel' has left is the specters of her own sins. That's what gives them strength and makes them weak, laughably easy to manipulate when the right strings are pulled. Threaten to harm the people closest to them, and they fold instantly.

He understands the message. He understands his position. He understands he can't just charge in halfcocked, not for his own sake, but for the sake of those around him. He understands there's no reasoning with his enemies, not this monster who stands before him. And with that, this lesson is complete. She will not bring him anything else or attempt to start another conversation. He can go see for himself how Eleanor is faring once he finds a way out of this, but no sooner. This is simply something he is better off learning sooner rather than later, and it is now soundly imparted onto him.

Behave, save his strength. He already knows how things will go if he tries retaliating in front of her again. But her shift will not last forever, she wasn't watching him from the very start. Just like how she came, she will also eventually leave, he needs to learn patience and how to bide his time.

Let the rest of this night be spent learning about that, then. He's still got a long way to go, after all.]