EVENT #6: BY HEAVEN OR HELL

[aionmods]

By Heaven or Hell

THE BURNING

Achamoth, as it turns out, is no stranger to public killings... the burning of two Pleroma, however? That's special. Abel and Himeka's upcoming execution date seems to be regarded by the city's populace as something akin to a holiday, with the upper crust of the social stratum fighting for positions of prominence in the festivities, including the best possible seats. It's been decades since any Pleroma have been brought to heel in Achamoth, and it would only be prudent to place yourself at the forefront of this exciting new trend. There's a sense of pageantry to it: ritualized ceremonies, public sermons, and strange religious 'décor' are all part of the process.

The city is in the throes of these preparations when the two Pleroma captives are finally brought to a central square not far from the Citadel's front gates. Two burning pyres have been set up for them, about ten feet apart. While Abel and Himeka's bodies are chained to their stakes, their shards will be handed off to Silco, Ciel, and Makoto to be brought along separately. The set up of the execution is thus: while their bodies are ravaged by flames, their shards will be bound to an altar in advance of the pyre. Via a kind of alchemical 'fuse', the pyre being lit will trigger a reaction that will gradually result in a explosion on the altar just large enough to destroy the shard in turn. The shards will be bound in position with a series of jewelry-like metal prongs that could be pried away, but would take some time to do carefully.

As the Pleroma make it to the city, the sun will be setting on the 17th of Firaseri, with the execution about to be underway. The pyres will not yet have been lit, but are fully prepared. All Kenoma will be called upon to guard the city, with the warning that the Pleroma are mounting a raid to rescue their imprisoned comrades. For Kenoma both new and old, it's a time to test your mettle. Those that defend Achamoth valiantly can expect to be rewarded.

INNOCENCE ON FIRE

The city of Achamoth looms ahead, a seat of power in Horos in every fashion. It sprawls outwards, claiming the lands around it in a lazy confidence. The spires of the city grow up and up like a mountain, dragging the eye towards the Citadel. The walls that surround it are modest in height as if offering a challenge to any foolish enough to attempt to climb them. Who would? The Regent's eye is ever-present and the guard towers that line it like beaded pearls on a string are reminders that nothing goes in or out of the city without notice. Openings in the towers and the walls threaten the use of projectiles while dark, shimmering crystals float above with the quiet hum of protective magics. Only a fool would breach these borders.

Initially, getting into the city unmolested will be a considerable struggle for the Pleroma. It's military is robust, its fortifications solid, and even without the Kenoma's added resistance, the sheer numbers could be considered insurmountable. Stealth could get them some of the way, but its sentries are watchful, and immigration is strictly controlled. With faith alone driving the Pleroma towards their goal it's fortunate, then, that something is there to answer their call.

Estinien will feel the presence of the Innocence Entity rise up in him again, and this time it is offering him a choice. He may utilize its power to save the ones he loves, while risking both the brutality of the Regent's defenses and the threat to his own soul by channeling such power. It will stand with him against the darkness, it says, if it is truly his will. Emboldened by the power of the Firebrand and his love for his comrades, it is no surprise that he accepts.

Light will flood the sky above Achamoth, an ethereal aura combatting the encroach of the night. From a great miasma of wings and flame, a colossal dragon emerges, coiling above the city skyline. Its luminescence rains down upon the city, and all Achamites exposed to it will be enchanted into finding the idea of committing acts of violence unthinkable, at least so long as no violence is brought against them in turn. With much of Achamoth's defenses having lost the will to fight, only the Kenoma will stand in the Pleroma's way as they penetrate the city, making their way to Abel and Himeka's pyres.

As the Pleroma forge ahead, this draconic being that was once Estinien Wyrmblood will guard from the skies, drawing the attention of the Kenoma towards it and it threatens to bear its might against the Citadel itself. Fortunately for the Kenoma guarding the city, they will know that the Regent has a plan. All they must do is hold off the beast long enough for the Regent to wield their own strength in turn. The battle against this creature will take place here, with combat rules being explain in this OOC post.

As the power of the Innocent washes over Achamoth, those of its Legacy, or those marked by its Promise or Touch, will hear it speak on the winds in a chorus of voices:

Aions of this new dawn... I have honored your choice... fight... if you will... and I will follow...

FIREBRAND RISING

Beneath the moon of Firaseri, however, the Innocent isn't the only force at play. Firebrands of both sects will find themselves spurred on by a rush of Legacy-based power, as if inspired by the tumultuous environment of an anti-authoritarian raid. How precisely this manifests will depend on which side they are fighting for.

❖ PLEROMA
The Firebrands among the Pleroma raiders will feel a sense of vindication and rightness come over them, set as they are to challenge the Regent's rule. Their powers will be amplified during the battle, and those that witness them and are inspired may find their performance boosted. The nature of these enhancements is fairly flexible. For the Firebrands, the use of their regular skills and abilities may be amplified beyond normal boundaries, whereas those following in their wake may find themselves with usual endurance that allows them to push their their usual limits.

❖ KENOMA
The Firebrands of the Kenoma's inspiration is more complicated in nature, given their roll in defending Achamoth's status quo. However, they will find themselves bolstered while facing the pacifying might of the Innocence Entity. Firebrands will experience a natural resistance against any Innocence based attacks that would stop them from fighting, and will be able to use this blessing to rally NPCs that would otherwise be rendered useless to their cause, in defiance of the entity's command for peace. In general, they will see a boost in strength while fighting the raid boss in particular, unable to be deterred from their goals.

In general, all Firebrands will feel untethered by their regular inhibitions, fighting for their desires at all costs. Abilities intended to bind them or control their will, will be largely ineffective, and they will find shields both physical and magical particularly easy to break through.

QUESTIONS

Q: What is the best way for Pleroma to travel to Achamoth?
A: Akua and Estinien are both setting up portals from Godsblood to the outskirts of Achamoth from which to begin mounting the assault. Caitlyn will be providing a back-up in the case either of those portals go down.

Q: Can my character make use of the chaos and try to raid the Citadel?
A: They can try but there will be mod rolls involved for any attempts. NPCs inside the Citadel will not be affected the same way the NPCs outside in main area will be. We do not want it to seem like the Citadel is defenseless otherwise.

Q: If Kenoma cause damage to the city during the raid, how will the Regent feel? Will there be consequences?
A: It should try to be avoided, but the Regent will understand if there is collateral damage in battle as long as they aren't being careless about it.

Q: Is the "no-combat aura" completely incapacitating NPCs?
A: No, it is only stopping them from aggressing the Pleroma. If they or their property are attacked they will defend themselves, and are otherwise operating with a normal level of cognizance. Kenoma Aions can order them out of the area to avoid being hurt if necessary.

BOSS BATTLE:
Q: I would like my character to take part in the battle but want to limit the outcomes in a way that isn't too devastating. Is that possible?
A: We think in that case we would basically only be acknowledging the possibilities between the "The attack either misses, is ineffective, or it triggers a counter attack from the boss." and "The attack hits with moderate effectiveness, as determined by the nature of their action." range. So, you can't get taken out, but you also can only deal moderate hits at best. You could still trigger a counter attack from the boss, but the damage taken from that is more flexible and free form than the 1-5% zone. If you make an attack with this restriction just add a little OOC note to your initial attack tag.

Q: How can a support character engage in the combat?
A: If your character is providing support, you may team up with an attacker to submit a "group attack". This means that your character is putting their effort towards supporting that attacker character that round, and will not be able to submit their own separate action. In exchange, that attack will receive two mod rolls instead of one, and the attack itself will be based on the more favorable of the two rolls. (Sort of like rolling with an advantage in modern D&D.) We will make as many rolls as there there are character combining their effort and select the best of them.

If any character rolls in the 1-5% zone they will still be taken out, however. Click the link above for more information.

Q: Can my character take a hit for another character after a mod roll?
A: We would be willing to accept this in the case of the defender taking the hit for the attacker, which would mean that if it's a 1-5%, they would be taken out in the attacker's stead.

Comments

[rosethorns]

[With years of experience witnessing one battlefield after another, Dorothea has become adept at knowing what to look out for. Certain types of troop movements and the way armies clashed against one another in a macabre dance. When to retreat and when to press the advantage over a distracted or weakened opponent. And most importantly—spotting over-eager warriors getting in over their heads.

This battle is familiar in its chaos. Small pockets of fighting, scattered but unavoidable, cries of anger and pain and clashing weapons an unending chorus in the air around them. Even the sight of a white dragon dominating the sky isn’t a foreign one—she shudders to think of the appearance of the Immaculate One at the battle of Garreg Mach so many years ago. But this dragon is seemingly on their side, and so she can afford keep her focus to what’s in front of her.

Hayame’s ferocity hasn’t escaped her notice in the midst of all this fighting. Admirably strong and incredibly blood-thirsty, she is a sight to behold on this battlefield. Dorothea has been more than glad to give her a wide berth until now, not at all eager to get between her and whatever poor foes she set her sights on. But she’s seen such behavior many times before, knows exactly the kind of foolhardy actions it can lead to.

Dorothea is already making her way toward her when she catches sight of her limping along, cursing lightly under her breath and redoubling her pace when she finally goes down. She makes it to Hayame’s side just as she tries to stubbornly rise, frowning at the sight of that defiant fire still in her eyes.]

Hold on, hold on. Take it easy for a moment. [She reaches out a hand, but hesitates as she takes a brief assessment of her wounds. When she speaks again her words are firm, however.] Let me help you.

cw: suicidial ideation

[warmare]

[There is a part of Hayame that has been trying to die since she woke up in Horos. This wasn't where she belonged... She had never been able to deceive herself otherwise, like so many others who lost themselves in the local communities, making lives for themselves. She was the only jinba, perhaps the last jinba in the entire universe, if her world had truly been destroyed... and of all the members of her race, she was the one who should not have been saved. Her hearts ached to cleanse a dishonor committed far from this place, for absolution that could only be granted by those she seemed fated never to meet again--

But she has failed at that, too. Failed to crush her shard or slit open her own belly even though she had tried, trekking through the wilderness from Venera back to Lohkimareen. And in the midst of that despair... one person had been brave enough (perhaps foolish enough) to reach out to her shard via communion.

And now, that person was some twisted, draconic thing in the sky that cried out with more than one voice, whose blood glowed, who was under attack from all sides, and though she'd tried, she'd tried to pull as many Kenoma as she could from those efforts...

Hayame doesn't have the wherewithal to even notice that someone is approaching her. She's lost too much blood, and then suddenly... someone is there, some woman who wants to- to what? To help her?]

Go-

[Her instinct is to reject it. She can't die here like this, it won't... She was to die in battle, like she'd always imagined she would as a war horse, or she would die at her own hand, but this-]

Just go-

[Go where? If she was a healer, surely others needed it more, if she was a fighter then the prisoners or Estinien needed her efforts more... Hayame thinks that she waves the woman off, but her hand barely moves, both of them needed to brace her upper half and keep herself from a full sprawl into the rubble.]

[rosethorns]

[This is one of the many things Dorothea despises about battle. The violence of it—the bloodshed—is bad enough on its own, but what is perhaps worse is the effect it has on people. One goes to war and comes out irrevocably marked, and there is no conceivable way to avoid it.

She isn’t familiar enough with Hayame to begin to guess the way this lifestyle may have sunk its talons into her, but she can at the very least begin to guess. It’s there in her anger, in the way she stubbornly refuses to go down while at the same time denying offered aid. Dorothea has witnessed it before and she hates the sight of it just as much as it breaks her heart. It is cruel, for people to be pushed to such limits.]

I’m not going anywhere. [Stern words brokering no room for argument. She would not give in to ill-thought out and battle-weary demands, not allow Hayame to let such thoughts overwhelm her here.

Back home, she’d been a far cry from the Imperial force’s best healer, but she could still hold her own when it came to the delicate magic of Faith. She has saved a fair share of lives and Goddess above, if she is going to be pulled into more fighting, she is determined to save as many as she can.

Dorothea crouches at her side, seeks out what might be the most obvious of her external wounds. She settles on the bleeding at her hip, one hand bracing beside it—her earlier hesitation gone—and the other drawing up the large light sigil of healing magic.

And, prompted by experience, words firm—] We still need you.

cw: eye gore

[warmare]

[The woman who has come is stubborn enough for one rebuff... but Hayame has more. Luckily enough for the new member of the Pleroma ranks... what Hayame doesn't have is much strength left to fight. If she did, there is no doubt she wouldn't have let herself be touched, judging by how much she manages to flinch away and snarl even half-collapsed as she is.

Something flares up bright beside her, she can somewhat see it, and though her lip curls back in a self-destructive sneer, ready to warn the woman what will happen to her hand if she keeps it on her and tries to force her foreign, invasive magics into her body...

She says she needs her. That they need her, the Pleroma, and-]

Then all the better to leave me be, I am no use to anyone anymore-

[Something that feels like despair has found its way into her hearts second she looked up to the Innocent beast in the sky and then felt the pain of fingers slipping past her eyelid. What little of the pleroma spirit that her body possessed... has begun to shrivel and darken, slowly dying in the face of helplessness, further failures, and loss.]

If you think to rely on me-

[Hayame has kept her left side guarded as best she can, her face partly turned away... but now she turns it sharply in a whip of long, ebon mane, revealing that her face is covered in half-smeared blood... and only a bleeding socket remains where an eye once had been.]

You are only set to fail as I have!

[What use was there for a broken mare with only one eye? For an archer who could not hit a target? Even knowing that practice would return her skills, that it was more than possible to overcome that sort of handicap... the weeks it would require are an eternity.

The hour since they've begun this raid, doomed to fail from the beginning, have been an eternity. So why, why can she still not die-]

[rosethorns]

[Goddess above. After years at war, Dorothea has, by necessity, grown accustomed to seeing first-hand the results of violence. Seen what happens when the basest of instincts steers one’s hand to strike at another in desperation, even been the one to deal such a blow herself more times than she can count at this point. It is gruesome and ugly and horrifying to come face to face with. And it may be something she is used to, but it never gets any easier.

As Hayame turns to face her fully, Dorothea is struck by profound heartache. She can only imagine the pain she must be contenting with—both physically and emotionally if her angry pleas are any indication. She can’t help but flinch herself, closing her eyes and turning slightly away from the sight of it.

Against her better judgment, Dorothea lets her magic fade temporarily. Sometimes, a warrior’s pride is the most delicate thing about them. And yet despite that, it is often the best foundation to build from.

She steels herself, turns once more to face Hayame fully, expression hard. She will not allow herself to flinch away from this anymore.]

Are you truly choosing to just give up now, after all this? [The words are spoken as a soft plea, though more of that earlier firmness returns to her voice as she continues.] That you yet live—that is no failure. And your enemies will learn what a grave mistake they have made.

[It feels so much like she is grasping at straws here, delivering these words with all the emphasis she might lend to an impassioned speech on stage. But she gets the impression that Hayame will not welcome a softer approach, and Dorothea will likewise not let her give in to her despair without a fight.]

The hardest fought battle is one of survival, and if you can confront our foes here, then so too are you worthy enough to face this one.

[Her hands alight once more with the glow of faith magic, and this time Dorothea does not let the spell fizzle out, directing its energies to that same wound she had earlier singled out on her stubborn and unwilling patient.]

[warmare]

[How was it, that she could be so strong and yet so weak? She was over seven feet tall, towering over every human she'd ever met, she was over a half ton in weight, all pure muscle honed by training since she was large enough to curl her fingers around a bow, and yet... To someone who knew just which buttons to press, who understood just how to worm their way in to the cracks in her hearts...

It was so painfully easy to shatter her. In this case... painfully physically, as well.

Enough so that the woman who has come to her side actually manages to get several words in edgewise. The entire left side of her face feels like it's on fire, and she can't tell if it's just her imagination or an actual concern that the deepest part of her socket, where a demon had smeared the blood of the man she'd been trying to protect, burned the hottest.

Normally, Hayame rejected anything that reeked of platitudes. She resented talk of hope, as if it were something attainable for her, she felt only bitterness to have concepts like friendship or trust lauded as if they had ever done a thing in her life, and yet... The healer woman says something that does resonate with her. Something that does appeal to what makes sense to her.

Your enemies will learn what a grave mistake they have made.

As she was... What could she do? How could she fight? But if she swallowed her pride and let this woman work her magic...

Hayame's blood-covered hands fist impotently in the rubble. Both sets of lungs heavy out of sync, her hearts both pound. And even though she knows better, even though she knows what hope does... If this place were truly magic, if magic made the unnatural possible...]

You--

[She almost chokes on it, but she gets it out, a well of burning tears turned crimson as they leak from the ruined remnants of her left eye.]

With your magics, you- You can heal it... ?

[Surely that must be what the other woman means. Because survival in this violence without it, revenge without it... Now that would be a greater miracle than hands beginning to glow and soothing the wounds along her side.]

[rosethorns]

[Every battlefield could use its share of miracles. An arrow or bolt of magic guided to strike true from great range, a blade brought up to parry mere inches from a fatal blow, a far-fetched strategy turning the tides in an uneven battle… There were no end of possibilities and no end of combatants and non-combatants alike fervently wishing for one of their own.

Healing magics certainly felt like it most days. A swift reversal of fortune, wounds sealing, tides of bloodloss stemmed before they can become fatal. It’s no wonder those of Fódlan referred to light magics as “Faith.” But even these minor miracles had to have their limits. Walk upon enough battlefields with healing magic in your arsenal and you’ll soon learn where those lines lie—limbs lost, wounds so severe that the gentle swath of light cannot possibly knit the ruined flesh back together.

It’s not a surprise that Hayame should ask of this, a desperate question clawing its way from her throat. A question that Dorothea dreads to hear, because she knows she does not have the one answer being sought.]

I can stay the bleeding, help mend flesh and bone, but— [She hesitates, knowing already that the words would be a devastating blow to the delicate seed of hope within her grasp—] I… cannot return what is lost.

[Such things belong only to the Goddess, the priests would say. What good does that do for the poor soul whose pleas go ignored by the divine? An old, familiar bitterness rises up within Dorothea’s chest.

She grits her teeth, keeps her focus glued to the glow of her hands pressed to Hayame’s side. Moving further along as she works, from one wound to the next, Dorothea hopes that the relief and the bit of strength it would provide to her might be balm enough to mitigate some of her disappointment.]

[warmare]

[... Of course.

Hayame had known it to be a mistake the moment that pure, precious feeling called "hope" had accidentally sprung up in her hearts. As miraculous as magical healing seemed to her, a woman from an entirely mundane world despite the inhuman shape that seemed to inspire other aions to think her supernatural... There were limits. Of course. They were not gods, these sorcerers and witches, they just-

Of course.]

... Then do not touch it.

[Her voice is dark as she turns her head back away, not wanting to see any hint of the glow that mocked her with its warmth, with how it did seem to be easing her pain as the woman's hands pressed against blade wounds along her flanks, cracked ribs, pierces from arrowheads. All things the Firebrand legacy had allowed her to push past until... Limits. Everything had a limit.

Something sharp digs into her palm where she fists her hands in the rubble. Lifting it, she finds... a pale, bloodied scale, one of many shed from the Sanctifier above along with the strangely glowing blood that also splattered along her armor where it had fallen on her as she fought the Kenoma who sought to injure the beast while beneath it.

Ah. ... Ah.]

The rest are yours.

[She curls her fingers tighter, focusing on the pain of the scale biting into her there in order to dull the throbbing, stinging mess that had once been an eye.]

[rosethorns]

[She wants to argue, fight back against that stubbornness Hayame displays by denying herself some small reprieve from that traumatic wound. It’s foolhardy to let an injury like that go untended. Dorothea knows that full well, yet she also knows how hard it can be to accept such a maiming. As much as she dislikes it, she leaves her protests unvoiced for the moment. Pressing the issue can come later, if necessary.

But Hayame does allow her to continue the rest of her work, and that itself is a small victory. She’ll take whatever scrap of it she can get here.]

I’ll do what I can, then.

[So she continues her healing, slow and methodical. The gentle glow of magic trails her hands as she moves from injury to injury, providing what relief she can until Hayame would be just fit enough to face the battlefield again.

That’s just what her life has become, even before her arrival in this strange new world. If she wasn’t fighting herself, then she was stitching soldiers back together so they could go out and do this bloody song and dance all over again.]

[warmare]

[A kinder, gentler woman would say "thank you". But Hayame is not either of those things, and she had never been taught how to express gratitude sincerely. All she knows is the formalized ritual of her world performed for human masters, and here... Supposedly she had no master. No lord to guide her actions like she always imagined she might have, and though she was surely meant to rejoice in her freedom...

At least in those days... She had known what to do.

Now, she lets out a grunt of noise that must be agreement to the healer woman's words.

Let her do what she can. As she does... Hayame remains as still as she can, beyond the trembling of weakness that does ease slightly as Dorothea works, the tight tremble in her arm and fingers where she clutches so tight at the scale that it threatens to dig in and break skin on her palm.

If she closes her eyes... It is meant to be dark, then. She almost does not notice that half of her vision is gone.]