aionlogs | EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (VENERA)

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EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (VENERA)

Sovereign Citizens

VENERA

In contrast the Aion's last visit, they now arrive in Venera on a completely average day... or so it seems. Unlike Godsblood, Venera has been given no warning as to what's about to befall it; the Kenoma are simply authorized to arrive and begin their bloody work without fanfare. Even their entourage of Achamite soldier don't stick out that much; in the time since the plague left, the city has refilled with occupying forces. Notably, the Hylician ones seem to be keeping out of the way, almost as if they've heard some things and would rather not be involved too closely in what's to come.

As opposed to the ghost town it was during the plague, Venera is now reasonably active, with most attending to their usual business. Shops are open, and its people are withdrawn but superficially friendly when meeting strangers. Initially, the targets of the Kenoma hit list will have no way of knowing what's coming for them, but after the first couple attacks word will begin to spread. Those that have recently been engaging in seditious behavior will become harder to find, leaving their usual homes and workplaces to stay elsewhere, and making other attempts to escape the Regent's attention.

Once those alerts have been raised, the Kenoma will have to engage in more detective work to find their targets, questioning other Venerans and seeking out fugitives in the homes of their family and friends. In the meantime, some of those who believe they are in danger may become desperately enough to seek out the Pleroma directly, imploring them for aid. Unfortunately, seeking out one sect may just as easily draw the attention of the other. Most uninvolved Venerans will be too terrified to intervene one way or another, reluctant to aid in the persecution of their neighbors but fearful of consequences. If your Aion travels openly, it will take some effort to pin them down long enough to hold a conversation.

SEEDS OF DESPAIR

Several days into the culling of Venera, the Aions will have witnessed the city gradually withdraw into itself. The streets become vacant as more and more people decide it isn't worth the risk to be seen outside, abandoning work and play alike to hide out in their homes, refusing to answer their doors to all except the most desperate pleading. Those that can't avoid their daily obligations are quiet and morose, trying their best to remain unseen and unremarked upon.

If your character has been observed as a Kenoma, either now or in their previous visits to the city, the citizens will look upon them as if they are the messengers of death. If you are seen as a Pleroma, they will resist your gaze, as if fearing your presence alone might leave them marked. In rarer cases, you will see those with stronger spirits, with glares of hatred or determination. They are powerless now, but seeds have been sewn, and whether they are the seeds of despair or of action are yet unclear.

By the time the Kenoma's hit list has been fully addressed, several have been killed and several more have been rushed from their homes to flee the city entirely. There have been holes left in the tapestry of the community they were once part of. One way or another, their absence will be felt keenly by those they left behind.

QUESTIONS

What is the best way for Aions to travel to Venera?
Estinien has plans to get an early start for the Pleroma by teleporting to the Lover's shrine and flying somewhere closer to set up a portal from the ocean caves near the Godsblood Lodestone to a spot of farmland closer to Venera. Paul will be setting up a portal directly from Achamoth to one of the Achamite outposts in Venera.

How much force can the Kenoma use while interrogating Venerans?
While they are generally not permitted to kill Venerans who haven't tried to physically fight them, they will be permitted to apply both physical and mental pressure upon those that refuse to provide them with information regarding the whereabouts of their targets. This duress should be proportional to the resistance the Veneran is offering. The Regent is not inviting them to terrorize Venera on a level to a level they cannot reasonably blaim themselves for.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Again Matt refers to the Innocence entity as she, and Liem wonders if that insight was born from the spell he’d done with Xishen. He doesn’t recall the creature being identified in such a specific way before. But the idea that Matt’s spell has at least enlightened him in some way does nothing to ease the frown from his face.]

I didn’t say she wasn’t, [he says quietly.

He remembers quite clearly just how impossible reversing the Innocence sickness had seemed, how after days of struggle, the entity had simply… receded, apparently of its own accord. How, ultimately, that had been what had released Liem from his dreams of home, more than any effort of his own.

He doesn’t even disagree that a sacrifice might be necessary to find the entity, to extinguish it for good. Liem has always considered himself acceptable collateral in his pursuit of his duties, whether that means enduring risk, self-denial, or even change to his very being. If the cause is great enough, there’s little he wouldn’t give up in order to achieve it.

What bothers him is the idea that Matt might feel the same way.]

Is that why you did it?

[ Matt nods softly, in acknowledgement of what Liem's said rather than strict agreement. And he considers. ]

It's a part of it, [ he allows, and then allows further, ] a big part. I can do some small things with magic here that I couldn't do back home--illusions, mainly, and some elemental magic is coming easier--but it doesn't feel the same to cast spells anymore as it felt back home. Like I was tapping into something limitless.

[ He speaks in a quiet, careful tone, but honestly Matt wouldn't be saying any of this if he hadn't spent so much of the day drinking. He takes another sip now. ]

Magic's the only thing I've ever been really good at. So I thought, if there was a chance I could gain some longer-term magical boost ...

Maybe it'd be worth it. I could make it worth it.

[Liem leans back, resting his weight on his palms as he frowns up at the greenery sheltering their conversation. The things that Matt is telling him sit uneasily in his gut, foreign and yet hauntingly familiar. He doesn't want Matt's reasons for what he's done to make sense. He doesn't want to understand them, to relate to them—not if doing so means condoning what he'd done it all for. And he's increasingly finding that he can't stare the reality of their stated cause in the face without flinching.]

To find your way back to your purpose?

[He wonders aloud, curling the fingers of his right hand against the rough stone beneath him. If Matt's connection to his magic was at the heart of what he was, then how far would he chase it—and where would he let it take him?]

Then… what now?

[He lowers his eyes to aim a quiet look back at Matt, where he sits nursing his flask.]

Do you believe that this [—he gestures toward the street below, toward the vendor who has unknowingly been slated for execution—] is what that connection is meant for?

[ Matt's gaze snaps to Liem. For a long moment, he's still as he watches him, cautiously poring over Liem's face for any hint of danger. Of course, Matt's not sure "danger" is the right word for what he might face if he says the wrong thing to the wrong Kenoma. Maybe he's overreacting. Still, he can't shake the worry that transparent disagreement with the Regent's methods could be more trouble than it's worth.

Liem, though, doesn't seem the type to tattle. And Matt remembers he's had trouble accepting all this--the death of his world, the necessity of the Kenomas' mission--from the beginning. ]

No, [ he says at last. ]

I mean ... I knew this was gonna be hard. I know these people will have to die eventually. [ He frowns, expression going distant. His hazel eyes, wide and troubled, seem fixed on a point a mile past Liem's head. ] But I don't understand doing it like this. It seems like we're wasting a lot of energy on politics.

[Although he himself is ostensibly here on the Regent’s business, the look that Liem aims Matt’s way along with his question is free from any trace of judgement or suspicion. He simply looks curious and, as has often been the case over the past few months, a little bit sad.]

Politics wins wars, [he points out.] And we are at war. I’ve seen similar done in my own country.

[He still says my own country as though he’s simply travelled far from home—as though it’s waiting there for him to come back. A frown flickers, unbidden, over his features as he does.

He can’t condone the Regent’s methods for inefficiency, but that doesn’t mean he supports them. Despite the reverence he holds for the dominion of order, methods such as these have always left a foul taste in his mouth.]

I wouldn’t call it wasteful. But it is… rather base.

But we're not at war against these people. [ Matt waves the flask to encompass the street below them, the merchant in their stall. ] We're at war against the universe. The way it is now, the way energy is flowing--or not flowing, in this case. The stuckness of it. So I don't understand why like, mortal-style, mundane, land war politics are part of our strategy here. Apart from helping in Venera with the Innocence thing, this is the most concrete thing the Regent's ever asked us to do, and I have no idea how executing a few people is supposed to move the needle on any of our longer-term goals.

[ Which is to say: Is it wrong to kill people? Of course it is. A certain amount of wrong is going to have to happen before they can hit reset, but to Matt's mind, it should all have a purpose. Otherwise, it's just sadism. Stress relief for the powerful. ]

Maybe "base" is right, [ he adds after a moment, softer. ] I was gonna say tawdry.

[Using “tawdry” to describe the methods of a despot whose reach extends across the very farthest reaches of reality seems almost laughable, but given the circumstances, Liem can’t bring himself to crack even a ghost of a smile. He just sighs, lacing his fingers together in his lap and turning his hands apart to look down at his open palms.]

I don’t understand it either.

[The quiet admission has the tone of a confession, like he’s divesting himself of a weight.]

Or anything that we’re doing here, really. There’s clearly some greater plan at work. The Regent doesn’t need the service of people like us simply to rule a continent. But is the real goal the same one that we’ve been promised?

I don’t know if I believe that.

[ Matt, meanwhile, feels somewhere between nauseated and strangely cleansed. Saying all that at once is like purging the uneasy thoughts he's kept to himself for days. But it also means being exposed. It's an uncomfortable, raw-nerved feeling.

And then there's what Liem has to say in turn. "To simply rule a continent." ]

What else could they want? [ Matt protests faintly. ] "Destroying what's left of the universe" isn't exactly a winning sales pitch. Why would they make that up?

[ Something in Liem's expression, in the set of his shoulders, tugs at Matt's heart. Tenderly, like a purpling bruise. He shifts closer to him, and holds out the flask. It's significantly lighter now, but hopefully there's enough left to warm him. ]

It’s not, [he agrees.] But we’ve all agreed to pursue it, haven’t we?

[Liem has spent long hours thinking about what else the Regent might want. His nights have been so often long and sleepless, his worries end up chasing themselves in circles until he’s too exhausted to put one thought in front of the other. Though the activity does little to bring him peace, he’s compelled to pursue it regardless. The question is too horrifyingly pertinent to set aside.

He folds his hands together again, glancing at Matt as he holds the flask out for him. After a moment’s stillness he takes it, and, leaning against the low wall behind them, drains the remainder of its contents in one long swallow.

And he thinks of Matt back in the Champion’s shrine, speaking with such brittle care as he called his own life pointless. He thinks of Amos saying most people are better than me, so easily and so simply. He thinks of Paul’s fervent desire to bring about the end of the world at his God’s behest. He thinks of the words he’d spoken the last time he was in Venera, two months ago:

I will end this sick world's suffering, and mine with it.

How many of them would really care if they didn’t live to see the world the Regent created? And why would a being who personified destruction and despair give a single thought to the birth of a new existence after this one was gone?]

That wasn’t the part I was doubting.

[ Matt can't tell what's running through Liem's head. But he can tell something is--a lot of somethings, most likely. He can relate. Though he hasn't spent much time questioning the Regent, per se; rather, he's been questioning himself. "Am I going to be able to do what I need to?" "What exactly is the process for starting the next world? How will I know when it's close?" And even, at the tail end of some nighttime spirals, "If we need to develop as Aions, and if the rest of the world needs to be culled in order for a new one to start, why are we only worried about rebellious locals? Why are we leaving anyone alive? Wouldn't it be kinder to let them rest?"

He watches Liem drain the flask. Watches his throat work as he swallows, unable to stop hoping that he'll see Liem's shoulders drape more gently, his posture ease.

Quietly: ] What are you doubting?

[Liem lets go of a long, slow breath as the last of the heat lingering in his throat takes up residence just below his ribs. The flask rests idly in his grasp, leaning against one knee, and when his face tips back towards Matt, his pale cheeks are kissed by the faintest suggestion of bruise-like grey-violet. But although the lines of his shoulders aren’t quite so tightly wound as when he first sat down, he doesn’t seem any more at ease. Instead, as the layers of cautious poise begin to loosen and slip askew, his bearing becomes increasingly forlorn.]

Haven’t you noticed that the Regent doesn’t seem to care for their people?

[Frustration has him toying restlessly with the flask in his hands. Sentiments like these are among the things that have drawn them here to enact their campaign of executions on Venera’s citizens, but how can he support such final judgements when the people who express those opinions are right?]

This world is the only one they have. The Regent might not yet be ready to cause its end, but… how can they show so little concern for the existences of those in their own domain?

I don’t know how I can believe any of their promises about a new Creation when they have so little regard for this one.

[ Matt frowns abruptly.

Liem's putting words to thoughts that, up until now, have only swirled messily in the basement of his brain. The question serves as a lightning rod, focusing disparate glimmers of discontent--the Regent's fixation on fealty, their jokes and snide remarks, the lack of a concrete plan--into a framework. ]

They've lived a long time, [ Matt murmurs, distant. ] I think they're frustrated that all this suffering ... persists, despite everything they've done. Maybe they kind of lean into some gallows humor to cope.

[ Which is fine in itself. But it still doesn't really address what Matt sees as a gap in the core of their recent rhetoric--a lack of concern for anything past political expediencies. A lack of vision, if you will.

Matt watches Liem's face, his eyes catching on the color in his cheeks. Is that a flush? He's never seen anything like it. Despite the dour conversation, his fingers half-flutter on the ground between them, as if thinking of brushing the twilight hue. ]

Does the Regent have to be perfect for the cause to be worth it, though? [ Matt asks gently, softly, turning at the waist to regard Liem more closely. ] Because I want to think that we can still make it work, even if we don't always get what we want from each other.

Perhaps they should be.

[Liem’s expression clouds with grief, anger flickering sullenly beneath the surface as he thinks of the world he left behind—the one the Regent destroyed in the process of bringing him here. It had possessed its own flaws, but parts of it had been perfect. His patron’s home in Utopia had been one of those places, and he had been forever robbed of the chance to go there, all for the sake of a cause the Regent didn’t even convincingly seem to believe in.]

They have seen fit to waste what perfection my home possessed, what perfection all of our homes possessed, for the sake of their cause. The Regent doesn’t hesitate to demand as if by right that which I promised to the god they killed.

[He all but spits the final word, and his eyes widen as if in shock at his own venom. Folding up one knee, he slumps forward to lean his forehead against it, dragging in a slow, rebellious breath. He mumbles,]

What if there is no better world at the end of the Regent’s plans? What if all they want is to extinguish everything that’s left of this one?

[ Oh, shit. Matt may have miscalculated on how much alcohol he encouraged Liem to drink. As Liem bends to press his forehead to his knee, Matt lurches forward--then hesitates, his hand floating ghostly just at the back of Liem's neck.

After a moment, he screws up his courage and touches him, fingers brushing the hair at Liem's nape. ]

No, hey, [ he says softly, ] they didn't make any of this happen. Who told you that? [ He starts to rub absent circles over the back of Liem's neck, over the triangle between spine and throat and shoulder blade. ] It's okay.

[ Of course, nothing is okay. But Liem's anger and sorrow breaks his heart--he can't just let him sit in it. After a long moment, Matt bends down, pitching his voice very soft as he speaks by Liem's ear. ]

If that's really what they want, [ he says, with a space between the words that gives a sense he's measuring out each one, ] then we'll stop them. Okay? Or at least die trying.

[Despite his outburst, Liem isn’t nearly drunk enough to not feel embarrassed about breaking down right here on the rooftop, with Matt regarding his every move. He pulls in another slow, measured breath, summoning the fortitude to lift his head and go back to pretending that he’s fine, just like he’s been doing since he was first allowed out of the lodestone cavern beneath the Citadel. Just like he’s been doing since long before then. Since he first started working in Abadar’s service. Since his uncle told him he didn’t intend to look at him ever again, regardless of whether or not the Church agreed to take him in.

But the touch soothing his neck is so warm, and the presence at his side so gentle. He can’t make himself turn away from it again.

Liem tips his head just enough to lean it tentatively against Matt’s, and the rest of him seems unconsciously to follow, seeking the shelter of his arm.]

The plan was always to die trying.

[Trying to do something, at least. Something meaningful—whether for the birth of a new existence, or justice for the old one. Even if he’s lost any hope of a final reward awaiting him, the peace of oblivion seems increasingly attractive as his time here stretches on.]

Whether they truly want that or not—I don’t know how we’re meant to know the difference. Not until it’s too late.

[ Matt sighs, a soft, pleased breath, as Liem leans his head on him.

He's not happy, of course, but feeling Liem's touch brings a sense of comfort. It makes him feel like he's actually doing something good for him. His arm slips down around Liem's waist, following his shift closer, and his palm rubs gently at Liem's side: up to his ribs, down to his hip. It strikes Matt as strange how easy this feels--his missing hand isn't really a hindrance at all, not with Liem drawn up against his right side. He guesses you always end up with awkwardly placed arms in bed. ]

We can find out more than what they tell us. [ Matt's been frustrated by this very thing himself, but saying it to Liem, he finds he believes it. ] I did that--when I saw the Innocence. There are things out there that are bigger than them. Bigger than all of us. [ He turns his head, his nose nearly brushing Liem's temple. ] I know it's hard. These times are always hard. The scriptures I know talk about it as a moral decay ... they say it like, thinking of duty and social order like a bull that starts off with four legs, then loses one, then finally only has one left. It's hard to stand like that.

But I'm still going to try.

[When Matt’s arm slides around him, nothing outside of their little rooftop sanctuary changes. The city remains unknowingly balanced on the edge of a war for the lives of more than a dozen of its citizens. Horos still squirms under the Regent's thumb, and existence continues to rot at the seams. Everything that had been threatening to crash down around Liem a second before still hangs poised and ready to fall apart.

But although none of that stops being true, the contract is still sanctuary. Liem’s worries seem more willing to wait while he nestles against Matt’s side. His breathing eases.]

It sounds impossibly difficult, [he murmurs.] But I suppose our task bordered on impossible right from the beginning.

[Carefully, he lifts his head to look over at Matt, very conscious of his nearness. The arm wrapped around his bent leg fidgets, considering abandoning its perch.]

And… we still have at least two legs left between the both of us.

[ Matt meets Liem's gaze with curious hazel eyes. The alcohol has kicked in sufficiently that it takes him a moment to focus, but he can't think of anything right now that's more important than comforting Liem. Listening to what he has to say. The change in Liem's breathing, though slight, confirms for Matt that this is the right thing to do.

--Then Liem says the thing about legs, and he laughs in surprise. No louder than a gust, his breath warm and scented with liquor. ]

Yeah. That's true. [ Though I'm losing limbs at an alarming rate, he manages not to say. ] So between the two of us, we're like, what, one whole moral degenerate? That's not so bad. I like our odds, actually.

[ He doesn't like their odds. But there's something oddly liberating in foregoing hope, per se, and leaning instead on determination. It leaves one not so attached to the outcome. ]

[Liem’s expression brightens a little when he manages to surprise that ghost of a laugh from Matt. The small sound makes him want to coax out something warmer and more genuine, just to see what it would sound like—what it would look like. The only time he can remember seeing Matt look actually happy was months ago, in sickness-fuelled daydreams.

He finds himself glancing down at his mouth, and meets his gaze again almost guiltily.]

I would have said… like two moral degenerates who might prop each other up.

[Despite the tenor of Matt’s response, the quiet words seem earnest. He smiles faintly.]

Although… I wouldn’t have used that word to describe you.

Hmph, [ Matt says, amused, ] well. Correction accepted. I wouldn't want to imply that amputees aren't whole.

[ That still might be too black a joke for the moment, so Matt tries to glide past it. His hand drifts up and down Liem's side once more, thumb stroking over the arch of his hipbone through his clothes. ]

What word would you have used to describe me?

[ The question practically asks itself, baited on the hook of Liem's words. Of his soft expression--soft, but not so sad anymore. Matt says it quietly, like he's approaching a wary forest creature and trying to coax it into eating from his hand; he doesn't stop touching him. ]

[Liem's expression turns a hair more uncertain at the black colour of Matt's joke, given how close it brushes to reality. The almost ever-present furrow between his brows deepens.]

I would have said… something kinder.

[Maybe degenerate isn't entirely wrong; this world hasn't been kind to any of them, and Matt doesn't seem immune to Achamoth's penchant for encouraging its citizens to lean on vice. And ultimately, all of them in the Kenoma's service are sullied by what they seek to achieve. But it would be a disservice to let that single word define him.

Liem turns toward him, his bent leg sliding back to the stone. His nose brushes Matt's cheek. His breath kisses his lips.]

Colleague, perhaps.

[Colleague is such a good, safe word; it could mean anything.]

My compassionate, stubborn colleague.

Oh.

[ Matt's breath catches, softly, at the brush of Liem's nose. He hasn't felt a touch like this in--

Well. Achamoth has no shortage of sex workers. And Matt values their labor, he really does. He's not sure he could have survived this long without them. But hiring someone for sex, no matter how pleasant their conversation or how skilled their foreplay, just isn't the same as something like this. The fluttering in the belly when you're not sure your interest will be reciprocated, the feeling of teetering on a precipice. Fly or fall.

Matt hums, very faint. His head tilts ever so slightly. ]

Then maybe I'd call you ...

[ All it takes is the tiniest of movements. The barest shift forward. And Matt's lips meet Liem's in a gentle kiss. ]

[In the moment following the catch in Matt’s breath, when his head tilts just so toward him, relief unravels Liem in one simple, easy motion. He feels it tug something free when Matt moves forward instead of back, and warm lips find his for the first time since before his world crumbled into rot. It stuns him almost breathless.

He melts into the kiss by careful degrees. The hand that had been hovering about his leg now alights on Matt’s chest, skating slowly up to his collar, his neck, wending its way to the line of his jaw. Gently. And he pauses for the space of a breath, hovering just beyond the reach of Matt’s lips, but he doesn’t pull away.

He hasn’t forgotten about his teeth, or the chill clinging to his breath. He hasn’t forgotten what he is—but in light of everything else ruling their lives, after the loss of every part of their worlds and the condemnation of whatever’s left, he hopes feverishly that it won’t matter. He hopes he’ll be allowed to lean on Matt despite everything, because Matt needs someone to lean on too and he’s the one who’s here. Selfishly, he hopes.

And he kisses him again.]

[ When their lips meet this time, the contact draws a soft noise from low in Matt's throat. It's a lorn, falling sound, as if some bone-deep want in him is being shaken loose. Matt would be embarrassed at how needy he sounds, but he needs this too badly to care.

Matt's head tilts to let the kiss deepen. His arm tightens around Liem's waist. Liem's mouth is cool against his, and when Matt's tongue nudges at the seam of Liem's lips, he notes sharp teeth. None of these things bother him; they're simply information, part of the textures and particulars that make up each irreplaceable person. Each one more than the sum of their parts, a jewel in the eye of the universe.

... Except, of course, that so many of those irreplaceable people have been lost. Ripped from the rotting brocade of existence. As Matt kisses Liem, stars collapse behind his eyes; algae blooms scum the surface of nearby nebulae, choking off what little persists. He clings to Liem harder, hoping that enough touch and enough closeness will anchor him to the here and now--will ground him here in his body, which is, at least, warm. At least alive. ]

[When Matt joked about not wanting to imply that amputees aren't whole, Liem had thought that it seemed to cut too close to reality for there to be any humour in it—and as he kisses him again, the noise he makes doesn't sound like it comes from someone whole. He's far too familiar with small, starved noises like that one to hear it as anything but desperate, anything but the sound of someone who has survived for far too long without something they need. He feels guilty as a throb of relieved recognition flares behind his ribs.

He feels Matt sink deeper into their kiss, feels the arm around his waist tighten, and he fits himself closer against him, abandoning the empty flask to loop his other arm around his neck. His lips part to admit Matt's tongue; his thumb strokes softly over his cheek. And he murmurs against his lips.]

Matt.

[There's a hint of heat in the word now, to match the warmth that has burned its way down his throat. He tips his head by the barest degree, grazing Matt's lower lip with his teeth.]

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cw: suicidal ideation

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