EVENT #6: BY HEAVEN OR HELL (WRAP-UP)

[aionmods]

By Heaven or Hell

THE SNARE (cw: gore)

Above Achamoth, blow after brutal blow is rained down upon the Sanctifier. It's fiery wings have been drowned by the abyssal waters of Childe's corrupted voyager, and its chest torn open by the Regent's power. Though it tries to flee, it is assailed from all sides, tearing away scales and burning flesh, its eyes blinded with blood and infection. Even its roar has been torn, the damage to its throat leaving its thundering voice strangled and broken. As Childe's lance drives through the top of its skull and out the bottom of its jaw, it seems that its demise must be imminent.

Yet, this is a creature of the Pleroma. Fueled by a force that fights for life at all costs, the Sanctifier is denied an easy rest. Fitting, perhaps, that its host refuse just as vehemently. Within this ravaged body, Estinien Wyrmblood still struggles, even as each breath is choked by blood and blinding pain. He refuses. He's not ready to be mourned. He's not ready for the fight to end. Himeka, Abel, Hayame... he'd told them... he'd told them he would stay by their side...

On faltering wings, the Sanctifier makes a final effort. The Pleroma responds to Estinien's resolve, and the fire within it ignites in a desperate burst, driving it to escape this city and defend its comrades. Estinien will feel his soul seared with the intensity of his wish, burning him up in the overwhelming light of this undying sun. All the while, the power of the Innocence holds his spirit close, as if hoping to shield him from what is to come. It pleads with him to relent, as it knows this course, and he will not return the same.

With that surge of light, it seem for a moment that the Sanctifier may actually accomplish it, that its wings might ferry it away from the shadows that bite at its heels. However, it's not to be. Not with the trap that's been set, but he Kenoma and their master.

Darkness swells at six points around the city. Six void-dark spears, deposited by the Regent's most trusted followers, activate as the Regent aims their final shot. Six rays of the abyss pierce Achamoth's sky, each one piercing through the Sanctifier's core, stopping its desperate effort before it can truly begin. Though the bolts of darkness seem to stretch for for miles at first, gradually the blur of shadow fades, resolving in the great dragon's body run through by spikes of purest Kenoma. The Sanctifier crumbles, the light of its form dissolving, one last broken cry of agony escaping.

The arrangement of spears holds true with the shift of its form, and as the light of the Pleroma leaves him, instead there is only Estinien. Instead of a colossal dragon, one man bears the wounds of the Sanctifier, his torso ravaged by the spears piercing it and the Regent's power, held in place despite the futile twitches of his battered wings. Just as the Sanctifier was missing a claw, he is missing a finger, and blood pours from his forehead where a lance just was, down through the bottom of his mouth. Ichor drains from one brutalized eye, the other opened wide with shock despite its visible pains.

Estinien tries to speak, but cannot. His hands struggle to pry a spear free from his chest, but he finds no purchase. His broken body hangs above the city for several seconds, as if on display, before an orb of void envelopes him and he disappears.

A FINAL BENISON

After the agonizing end of the Sanctifier, the presence of the Innocence will linger around the spirits of the Pleroma for a short time, as if allowed to disperse in the absence of the creature it was sustaining. There is a mournful weight to its essence, and softly, the Pleroma will hear it speak:

I failed... I have failed you... Again...

The presence is already beginning to fade, but those already touched by the Innocence will feel its power flare up within them, like a new candle lit from one almost burned to its end.

Please... do not despair... continue on... and find the peace I could not give you...

With that it goes silent, disappearing along with its host.

[OOC: Several characters will be receiving PMs regarding this.]

REGENT'S REPRISAL

The protective light of the Sanctifier fades, and the Pleroma will find themselves prematurely awash in a furious Achamoth, their enemies having multiplied from from a mere two dozen Aions to hundreds, if not thousands of Horosians. The military, having been rendered helpless for most of this struggle, are eager to pick up the slack, firing with what offensive magic they hold and alchemy enhanced weaponry. Even civilians, furious and humiliated by what they perceive as Pleroma tricks, will begin to lash out, throwing what improvised weapons they might have and shouting abuse; anything to help destroy these invaders.

The shadows of the city, having been swelling since the beginning of the Sanctifier's fall, will seem to chase the Pleroma through the streets. Like violent ghosts, specters of darkness pursue them, lashing out with intangible claws that feel like shocks of cold torment. Sometime, they may even land small physical blows, like claw marks and bruises left by unseen spirits. These malformed spirits shriek with suffering and discontent, but only Aions seem to perceive them. Those with Tier 2 attunements will have the clearest gaze of ethereal forms, like the wretched, half remembered remains of people and creatures long past.

FROM THE SKIES

As the void swallows Estinien, Seekers & Visionaries of both sects are hit with a series of images flashing through their mind; thick green forests, a tall mountain sitting apart, a golden eye barely concealed by smoke. Red scaled lids close once only to sharply pull back as the eye widens swallows all around it. The vision fades in an instant.

A chorus of unfamiliar roars and screeches echo across the Citadel. Where one dragon once stood, dozens now swarm the air above the gathered Aions. These dragons appear in all sizes and patterns, some with scales hardened like wood or stone while others appear feathered and nearly birdlike. Any Pleroma who have spent time in Greentruth may recognize the shapes as shadows that have passed in the canopy overhead even if they have not crossed the paths of these dragons before. Reinforcements.

A little too late.

The dragons descend upon the Citadel led by a familiar figure; Tehri of the Deep Mists rides atop one of the largest of the dragons as they all come to land on the stony ground at the Pleroma front. They will provide cover for those looking to leave the battlefield and a flight back to Greentruth. If there are Pleroma who are staying to fight longer, a few dragons will wait around the edges until all battles have ceased. They are only dragons, so they could come under fire by the Kenoma should attacks be made.

Tehri stays on the largest dragon as it rears its head above the siege of the ire of the dead. She stands tall atop it, extending her arms as a cool blow envelopes her hands. A rush of cold air pushes forth as a thick mist forms in the courtyard, obscuring vision for all but a few feet in front any person. The Regent's malformed spirits are left confused and without direction, but will attack any Pleroma they do manage to find. The mists linger for several hours after the last Pleroma has fled Achamoth.

WRAP-UP

Returned to their homes of choice, each Aion will be free to recover and carry on with their daily affairs. Word of the assault on Achamoth gradually spreads across Horos, prompting startled reactions its populace. Has the Pleroma truly been so brazen? Had the dragon in the sky truly been as grand as they say? Had the dragon of the wood truly answered in turn? The raid will eventually be a hot topic of discussion in every corner of the continent, though there were few non-Achamite eye witnesses. It can be expected that the details will be exaggerated, understated, and misunderstood wildly.

❖ IMPORTANT NOTES

◆ REGENT'S RESPONSE: After the Pleroma have left the city, the Kenoma will receive a communion from the Regent whether or not their shards are exposed. Their multi-toned voice will express contentment with the outcome of the struggle, explaining that they have successfully captured the Innocence and its host. With this link to its power claimed, they have what they need to end its threat. Kenoma will be welcomed to join them in their throne room to see this done a few days after the battle, but attendance is not mandatory. There will be a short NPC log posted to cover this, though we will warn that the Innocence's 'execution' will be fairly gruesome, so if you have a more uncertain Kenoma whom you don't want to scare off the path, it may be best to not have them attend.

◆ DRAGONS ENGAGED: As the majority of the PVP and PVE finishes up, there are dragon NPCs available to battle against at your discretion. We will not thread these battles, but if any Kenoma would like to try to take out one of the dragons, they can reply below and we will do a mod roll for their success. Any killed dragons may be dealt with as desired in Achamoth. There won't be a Kenoma knock out mechanic for this, unless players specifically want to be mangled by a dragon.

◆ STATE OF ACHAMOTH: Achamoth managed to avoid any irreparable mass destruction as a result of the raid, though there were some 'presumably Pleroma' assaults on civilian infrastructure that will be highly talked about in coming weeks, including the looting of a few houses, attempted arson of a church, and the attempted destruction of a factory. While the Sanctifier was not purposely attacking Achamite civilians, its battle with the Kenoma did result in some casualties among both the military and civilian population, while other soldiers were slain by the Pleroma on the ground. (Or, in one case, one of the Kenoma?) Multiple watchtowers were destroyed by the dragon's throes. In general, Achamoth is furious about this, and more hateful towards the Pleroma than ever.

◆ RECONVENING IN GREENTRUTH: Once back in Greentruth, Tehri will send a communion to all the Pleroma and ask them to attend, if they can, the first Aion Council meeting in early Sekiseri. She encourages all to take the time to heal both physically and mentally in the days to come. The council meeting Tehri is requesting will take place in September. This will be offered as part of a mini-event log where characters will be able to discuss with one another and speak with Tehri directly.

◆ VALLEY OF THE INNOCENT: Any Aions passing through the Innocent's Shrine will notice that, following the Innocence's 'execution', the once lush valley's plant-life is starting to die off in what is clearly a non-seasonal manner. Locals will say that the valley is generally in a state of eternal spring, and this is the first time they've seen it suffer like this. The death of the flora here is not complete or immediate, but it is devastating considering the valley's former state of perfection.

◆ SEKISERI: There will be no game-wide event in September, but there will be some NPC activity of various flavors. Players will be free to plot their own activities as they will.

Comments

MOD CONTACT

[aionmods]

This is where you can ask the mods questions about the event scenario or pursue IC investigations about your character's surroundings. Attempts to engage with NPCs that don't have their own top level will default to summary interactions unless the thread moves towards needing dialogue. Please remember that responses will be limited by demand and mod availability.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: When investigating, please be specific about the approach your character is taking. Instead of asking "is there any information about X?", instead try something like "my character is speaking to these NPCs, what information can be obtained about X by chatting with them in a friendly manner?" What information you get back will depend both on where and how they are looking for something.

[passio]

hello mods!

following the news of the valley, dextera will want to inquire about the unicorn from the villagers since he gets the feeling it’s pretty strongly tied to the innocent/the valley in general. he’ll start off with some pretty basic questions about general unicorn lore, are there any stories of sightings, even if they’re only “my great great great grandfather knew someone who saw the unicorn’s tail one time”?

he’s pretty distraught about the state of the valley since he’s a frequent visitor; he’s probably brushed through this village a few times, too.

[leicesters]

Thank you for the event, mods!

How intelligent are these particular dragons/are they capable of speech? Would Claude be able to persuade one to let him ride it so he can provide some covering fire from above for the Pleroma as they retreat to the other dragons? He's an experienced wyvern rider in canon, so he'd know what he was doing, and would generally avoid anything risky that would put the dragon in too much danger.

cw: beheading

[warmare]

Hey, mods! Thanks for all the info!

Hayame will be stumbling out of Achamoth in a daze with the severed head of a certain demon named Makoto... But it won't be for a bit that she realizes the head isn't dissipating... and then realizes he's actually still alive thanks to his self being concentrated in the head.

Thinking that she doesn't want to risk exposing Greentruth and not ICly knowing if the Regent has Kenoma GPS installed in the shards or something, Hayame will probably ask someone to ask Tehri (in a game of communion telephone) if the older aion knows of a safe place where Makoto('s head) could be kept without jeopardizing any secret strongholds.

Could I ask what her response to such a question might be?

[sterngaze]

Liem would absolutely try to kill one of the dragons supporting the Pleroma. He's still got his dragonbane arrows and a will to use them!

[affal]

Regarding the Communion that the Regent is sending out after the Pleroma retreat: if one is unable to remove their shard, is there any chance for a reply, or is this a sort of "Read Only" message from the Regent? Edit: (because I remembered more of what we had planned previously) What happens if one receives the message when they are presently unconscious, and does that change anything? Thank you!

[tohell]

Hello Mods! Thank you for this incredible event.

1) Would it be possible to capture one of the dragons in the attack and work towards making it a companion animal NPC? I'm thinking maybe a smaller breed with a lower intellect like a Kislepke or a very young, inexperienced dragon with a moderate companionability level.

2) No rush if the information isn't finalized yet, but I am hankering for some facts on the feathered and stone dragons! Mostly their companionability level, intelligence, and size.

[coerthantorment]

So, people have been discussing the "Grace" traits that the Innocence blessed people with and want to know: do the affected characters always appear as that new Legacy now, like how Estinien appeared as the Sanctifier? Would that connection be perceivable through True Sight?

[baltimores]

Hi mods — and thank you for all of this!

Approximately how many days after the raid is the Innocence being executed? Asking primarily regarding dissipated Kenoma and whether or not they'll still be out of commission when it happens.

Re: MOD CONTACT

[galdorleod]

Hello! I am asking this here instead of the execution log, but - while Howl is not there since he's still regenerating, would the impact & the sense of non-existence/darkness would reach Howl's Shard still down in the dirt room, where he is regrowing? Or is that something that will be felt only by the Kenoma in attendance/Kenoma who are close enough physically?

[hippocarnival]

Similar question as Howl above: is the Innocence getting deleted something that will ripple through any of the now Inno-touched folks in any way?

ESTINIEN'S FINAL MOMENTS (REACTIONS)

[coerthantorment]

It's finished.

Whatever hope he might have had moments before has been extinguished, lost in the maddening pain of his injuries and the spears of Kenoma piercing through him. Their touch is unbearable, but he finds himself incapable of speaking, let alone screaming.

He can barely remember who he is or what he came to this place for, as his bleached white eye wavers over the city streets below. There's... nothing. Nothing but the last few desperate movements of a wounded animal, trying to stop what is hurting it, but incapable of doing so.

[chronosynthesis]

In the thick of the battlefield, there's so many things to pay attention to. Estinien, up in the sky, has largely been less of a focus for Syrlya--he's simply put his faith in Estinien being able to handle himself against every Kenoma whose attention he grabs. It isn't until Himeka and Abel are under the protection of healers that he has a moment that he isn't crossing blades with the Kenoma, isn't bleeding out too much as he can turn his attention back to the Sanctifier.

It's really taken a turn for the worst.

"Estinien!"

Syrlya surges forward, but he doesn't make it far in his places before he stops, staring up at their struggling form with dread. So far below, all he can do it watch until Estinien lands.

It never comes. Just as it seems like Estinien can muster the strength to return to them, let them shield him in turn... he's skewered upon spikes of darkness that hold him aloft.

Dying out of reach.

As the Sanctifier's form crumbles to that of only a man he looks back at the other Pleroma--helpless.

Childe | Kenoma (cw: brief mentions of mild gore tied to self-harm)

[vapour]

Childe drops from the air to the ground with a heavy thud with the ground visibly cracking and compacting under his weight upon impact. He exits abyss form, and while his size physically degenerates to normal, he doesn't actually physically return back to normal, still clad fully in his Abyss Armor. It takes him a moment to comprehend it, even as some blood rains down on him like the tragic splattering of rain. It slides off his armor, only staining the fur of his cloak briefly before it seems to reform itself back with the brilliant white fur it initially had at the beginning. Staring down at his hands, Childe says nothing.

He doesn't move for what seems like an eternity. Of course, on the inside of that masked helm he wears, there is a battle still raging in the inner workings of his mind: One to simply react in a feral nature at everything that's happened, to crack even further at seeing his abyss form somehow not reverted back to his human one despite feeling the transformation no longer active. The other is to rapidly try and gain control, to compartmentalize and bury all that's been felt in order for it to never be touched again, even if the argument for the moment is to be addressed later. there's a million thoughts swirling in his mind and he can't make out any of them, any longer. It's just noise, just ugly violent noise—

— does he have to continue doing this? For the first time ever he wants to withdraw from the battlefield, he wants to find a way to get rid of himself: suffocate on soil forced down his throat, claw his own eyes out, gouge his entails out, and other rend himself apart into pieces until there's nothing left to be identified but a gore-laden scene of snapped bones amidst blood organs ground into fine fleshy pieces. He could take his shard out right now and crush it in an instant and end this agonizing set of feelings he never wanted in the first place from ever rearing their malicious fanged heads again.

His mind reels back to Skirk, her turning him from a fearful and hesitant little boy to a confident and violent monster. He remembers her kicking the shit out of him every single damn day, over and over until he learned to stop being so timid and fight back. Even when he finally crawled from the abyss, he still couldn't make her fight him with two hands. But her lessons and her words haunt him like a trance now, showing him how to swallow every emotion and conquer it until he can weaponize it. It's been a long time since hid despair has surfaced like this, not since those days where he thought he would never see his family again and would be locked away in the void forever. Eventually he used it as a weapon to fuel his rage and take control of getting back to his family by any means possible.

Right now, however, this version of it is something he's never felt before. The rage, the despair, the pain, the loss... he feels like he no longer owns any of these feelings he once had under lock and key, and now he's a husk of a puppet doing each emotion's beckonings by his strings that they pull. He can't cry anymore, but he can't bring himself back in control any longer either. He's surpassed his previous definition of a monster, and it has him completely detached from himself and the reality he's in. Perhaps the Abyss Form retaining itself is a good thing (from someone's point of view, maybe) for the sole reason he can't actually simply reach to his spine and dig his own shard out to crush into dust along the ground like he would without it, afterall. He feels like he can't stand any longer, but he still stands without faltering.

Never once does does he look up to the sky— not even when the Regent's power activates and captures Estinien and the Innocence. He knows well enough what being crucified looks like without having to see it. There's no sense of victory for his part in all of this, anyway.

[ OOC: Kenoma can tag him but expect the conversation and interaction to be really brief (like 2-3 comments probably.) He's most likely unrecognizable unless the battle was being watched, but T2 will know he's a Firebrand legacy. Any Pleroma are gonna have to hit me up in pm or discord, though, because he's not going to be hunting them down during their escape. ]

kaeya.

[vapour]

[ ...No, he has to take control of his despair. He had to use it before it uses him. It's over now. What's done is done, he can't just let himself unravel in front of the other Kenoma or the Pleroma. The only way he knows how to counter his despair though is to catalyze it into rage. He may be at fault for this, but there plenty of other guilty parties for it having to have come to this. That's plenty of individuals that need to pay for what they've done to him, what they've done to her through him. He killed her, but so did they. And if he's not forgiving himself, then he has no reason to forgive any of them, either. They will regret this decision to come here to Achamoth. They will regret convincing her to fight for them. They will regret being captured in a whole new way. They will regret making promises they couldn't keep. They'll all regret, and then they'll suffer for the rest of their miserable existences.

Every single one of them.

(Including himself.) ]

Father Paul Hill | Kenoma

[vivificantem]

[It's brief, really, what Paul does after he's done watching the spears go off, after he's watches Estinien die; he does it because he doesn't know what else to do, because doing this makes the most sense to him.

He slips his shard out, and he offers communion to the Kenoma.]

If any of you are injured, and can make it to the Citadel, I'm there. [There's an image that wanders it's way hazily into the recipients' minds, of a familiar entrance to the building.] If any of you are injured and can't make it to the Citadel, show me where you are.

Either way, I can heal you.

wildcard

[epiprocta]

[ At some point amidst all this chaos late in the event but who knows the actual timing of it, since we're all working off wobbly-hands timelines for this, Paul receives an attempt to speak to him through Communion. Except this one isn't a simple nudge or a metaphorical tug at his sleeve -- this attempt to reach him is forceful, almost violent, like a fist pounding at a door. Demanding attention immediately. And the moment Paul permits the connection to open up -- ]

Misa's badly hurt. [ Gen's voice comes through without preamble or warning, words gritted harshly. Harried as he is by the circumstances, there's not even an attempt to mask the way his emotions seep through with each syllable -- crackles of pain, a sickly undertone of shock, the taut pull of stress. But most importantly, jagged barbs of concern. Worry renders his voice sharp as he rasps, ] Amos is dead. We're taking his shard to that -- that revival room. The creepy room with the dirt floor. Meet us there.

[ How did Amos die? Who is 'we?' What happened? -- all good questions, but all of which go unanswered because with his part said, the moment Paul gives even the slightest sign of assent, Gen promptly cuts the connection and looks down at his palm.

Amos' shard lies there, nestled beside his own. The blood coating his hand is starting to dry sticky now, but it's still a slick opera scarlet in parts. And especially given the way his fingers are shaken by minute tremors, he hadn't trusted himself to be able to stow that terribly important object away without risking dropping it. Gen swallows thickly as he replaces his own shard at his throat, but maintains that tight grip on Amos' shard, feeling its edges pressing into his palm and against the creases of his finger. (And he tries not to think about the sight of Amos' body dissipating from around it. The pale blue of his single, still-intact eye shockingly bright amidst the sea of gore. Still looking up at them.) ]

-- I told him to go there.

[ Gen shakes his head before speaking up abruptly. His voice is hoarse from more than the pain in his chest, his fractured sternum exerting a constant pressure against his lungs, and he huffs a sharp exhale as he steps ahead of Kaeya to shoulder open a door for him. After all, it'd probably be best if Kaeya kept his grip on Misa as steady as possible to avoid jostling her any more than necessary, right? He looks aside just to bark at a nearby servant to clear the way as they forge on ahead, but Gen's quick to return his focus to Misa; despite the harsh grit of his teeth and the dark look in his eyes, there's no masking the clear anxiety and concern radiating off him.

... Misa can't die. Not after what just happened. They aren't going to let that happen. Right? ]

For all the New Kenoma - After Events

[lachtara]

The newest among them have not been forgotten. Once there is a break in the commotion that is calm enough to allow for a message, Emet-Selch finds a hideaway that would allow him to remove his shard in peace and send them a message. The message simply pertains of: "The worst of seems to have passed. How do you fair?"

It had been his understanding that those who had needed shelter were able to obtain it, but the extent of the fighting is difficult to observe while in the middle of it. If at all possible, he would try to find them in person to observe their condition. Might as well in case they needed healing.

[entsetzt]

Rather sore, but otherwise intact. Mmm. Perhaps a cracked rib or two.

[He hit that stone wall pretty hard when Vader tossed him.]

I understand our captives escaped successfully, but we managed to slay the creature they employed against us. Is it dead?

rand al'thor, martyr, pleroma

[dragonmount]

[ starter(s) below! feel free to hmu for plotting. ]

magic hangover — ernesto, aerith

[dragonmount]

[ the day after they storm achamoth, after they retrieve abel and himeka (and pay for it, light, they've paid), after he sees abel resting in the safety of greentruth, after he returns to the apartment he shares with ernesto and falls asleep near immediately — that next morning, he wakes up with a pounding headache.

small wonder, he thinks. the previous day had been exhausting, and they're all bound to be spent. they all need their rest. it'd be stranger if he woke feeling like nothing had happened. so maybe he moves a little slowly, that morning, scraping together something to eat, contemplating what's to be done with the remains of yesterday's shirt (thrown out, definitely), and who he wants to check on. he's distracted enough that it's as much a surprise to him as to ernesto when his legs buckle and refuse to hold up his weight.

i'm just tired, he reassures, as he lets himself be ferried over to lie down on the bed. some more sleep and he'll be right as rain.

except, he isn't. it's soon clear that he's running a high fever, first burning up and sweating, then shaking violently from chills. the idea of eating anything nauseates him, and healing magics only provide brief amelioration. the fever might decrease, but not leave, the chills might pause for a time, but eventually he worsens again, every time. the illness, whatever it is — and he professes to having no idea what's happening — is determined to run its course.

and his condition does worsen, till in the late afternoon he slips in and out of delirium. he startles at shadows, he pleads apologies to his father, to friends from home, to friends in horos. he asks for nynaeve on four separate occasions. she can fix this; she can fix anything. just take him home and everything will be fine.

it's around the time that the sun sets that his fever breaks of its own accord. he calms into a restful sleep; and he wakes some time later, blearily, throat dry and every muscle aching like he'd been beaten. but perfectly lucid, at least, and on the way to recovery. ]

Syrlya | Dissipation Containment Zone

[chronosynthesis]

((Closed stuff below for the Dissipation Party with special guest Eustace's Gun.))

Howl, Bunny

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya is exhausted.

Estinien being stolen away right before their eyes put a heaviness that he just doesn't have time to be dragged down by. The little sanctuary the Sanctifier could offer is long gone, and now all stops are being pulled out to hold them back. If anything--they cannot allow his sacrifice to be in vain. They have to get Himeka and Abel out of here.

The unexpected arrival of Tehri and... a glory of dragons? Well, he won't argue with assistance by this point. It buys them some more cover, and Syrlya wades through the mists in the direction of the other Pleroma with his blade drawn, to continue to provide others the cover they need to escape first. He aches, but as long as he can stand and fight he has no intention of letting anyone else come through.

So he's immediately on the defensive at figures that move through the mist. The shadow he sees is large--far bigger than a person.

He starts for it, narrowing his eyes to make out the figure as he gets closer to making out details. That--is definitely not one of theirs.]

Luo Binghe | Kenoma | Open

[devilmancrybaby]

Luo Binghe wakes up slowly even as battle still rages around him. The Sanctifier... is gone, but new dragons have taken its place, and... and something is wrong with his body. He is in horrible pain from his leg and his burns, yes, but, more importantly, when he tries to circulate his qi to speed the healing, nothing happens. His sense of his body is greatly diminished, and... his body, itself, is greatly diminished. A qi deviation, he realises, as he stares at his child's hand. He's read about this kind of thing happening before. It's supposed to be rare, but... of course it would happen to him. With luck, he should recover in time, but until then, it seems his powers are sealed. Binghe grits his teeth. He needs to get out of here.

He forces himself up in spite of his mangled leg, seizing some of the scorched remnants of the robes that don't fit him any more to wrap around himself. Then, ducking rubble from a nearby building, he attempts to hobble to safety. Filthy, riddled with injuries, limping, and wrapped in rags, he looks like the most tragic street orphan you could imagine. Except for the intense scowl on his face, anyway...

OOC: per the boss fight, Binghe has gotten himself qi deviationed into (physically) a child. He looks about 9 or 10. He should still read as an Aion to T2 folks, though!
As always feel free to tag w/ brackets if you'd prefer, I'll match format :>

[tohell]

[ As Luo Binghe scurries away from the chaos, all J sees from above as he circles the sky is a small figure moving in a way that suggests something is amiss. No Aions have shown the ability to de-age themselves, and since he's unable to perceive a fellow Kenoma at his present tier level, the thought doesn't cross his mind.

The most reasonable explanation is that an Achamite child, probably one of the many orphans in this city, somehow wandered too close to the skirmish and got a bit of backlash from the ongoing battle for their mistake. The demon isn't the least bit concerned with the citizens as a whole here, when the world is going to end and wipe them out anyway. But things are a bit different when he stumbles upon someone who, upon first inspection, looks like a dirty child that has crawled out from one of Achamoth's gutters. That hits a little too close to home for even J to ignore. So he lands a short distance away, moving forward quickly to try and scoop Luo Binghe up by grasping him under both arms from behind. ]

Not so fast, munchkin! [ With his stature topping out at seven feet and some change, J's hands are proportional in size. They're large enough to grip tiny arms to prevent them from squirming free entirely, if his captive decides to flail around. ]

What in Heaven's name are you doing out here, you little ankle biter, besides a specular job of bleeding everywhere? [ That mangled leg is not looking so hot right about now. ]

Claude von Riegan | Pleroma | open

[leicesters]

[Claude stops to talk to one of the larger dragons that has come to their rescue, a female dragon with shining scales like bronze gold. They talk briefly, as he asks her whether she comes from the place he saw in that strange vision -- a mountain, an eye, red scales -- but she insists she knows nothing about it, instead hailing from the Forest.

Curious, but there's no time to pursue that line of thought further. They still have to get out of here, and so she agrees to let him ride her so he can take to the skies and cover their escape. She's bigger than a wyvern, and it's trickier without a saddle, but he has enough experience from home that wyvern riding is practically second nature to him. This is a risk he can take.

For fellow Pleroma, he'll fly above, firing arrows at the Achamites who come their way. For civilians chasing the Pleroma out, he'll try to maim rather than kill, but soldiers and guards don't get a similar mercy. If the Pleroma is wounded or surrounded, he'll try to urge the dragon to dip down and snatch them up in her claws.] Hey! You okay?

[For Kenoma who insist on pursuit, he'll shoot down at them, his arrows aimed with remarkable accuracy despite being in flight. He is, however, aware that he's making himself a target, having to dodge artillery and magical fire so he won't get too close while he heckles them from the skies.] We're leaving, so give it up already!

[Regardless of sect, he's not taking too many risks, only ploys he thinks he can get away with without putting either him or the dragon in too much danger. He wants to get out of this alive, and he certainly doesn't want the dragons to suffer because of the rash decisions of the Pleroma.]

[superbshot]

[Where Claude will find Caitlyn is moving from rooftop to rooftop, several Horosian soldiers in pursuit. She's running at a good clip, but there's no good line for her to escape from, and she may eventually find herself cornered.

Still, she's giving pretty well, the hand flung out behind her holding a pistol that periodically fires off a burst of elemental magic. There's just a whole lot of them and she's running out of roofs to run along and that means she'll be in the streets where it's easier to surround her.

Spotting Claude, or rather his arrows, she looks up.]

A little help, if you would!

22ish firaseri - achamoth's place of power - open & closed prompts

[semicharmed]

i. regeneration (for amos)
[ Far, far below the Citadel, there's a dark and cavernous room. Nothing occupies it but a dirt floor, stretching from end to end of the glooming space.

A dirt floor and, at the moment, a trio of crystalline chrysalises.

Matt is having a dream about a green forest. Stars swim in its treetops, gleaming like golden eyes. As Matt watches them, his gaze seems to penetrate much further than the highest boughs, piercing into a dark and swirling cosmos populated with distant galaxies. Matt strains up to see them better, feeling as though he's on the cusp of a revelation.

He wakes up.

As he cracks through the crystal that surrounds him, details begin to register. He's naked again, as he was when he first arrived on Horos. The Regent's dark, bracelet-like band remains wrapped around his right wrist. And Amos is here. Matt can't help a fond smile, even as his stump begins to throb--though the smile vanishes when he looks down and sees the strange fraying emanating from the spot. ]

Amos, [ he says, voice hoarse from disuse and a bit tight. ] There's something wrong with my hand.

[ A pause, then: ] Wronger.

ii. waiting for howl (open)
[ As soon as Matt's dressed, cleaned up, and gotten some food in him, he descends again to keep watch over Howl. He has the Atharvaveda that Sebastian gave/lent him tucked under one arm, as well as one of his spare cloaks. He already knows it's not as stylish as anything Howl would choose for himself, but what can you do.

It's a bad night for phantom pain. Matt tries to distract himself with reading, conjuring a bauble of light overhead to see by--but even one of his favorite books of all time can't distract him from the radiating hurt. After fifteen minutes or so, he gives up and shuts his eyes. He focuses on breathing evenly, deeply, and slowly, inviting ease to flow through his limbs.

Ease mostly declines the invitation, but he keeps trying anyway. Strong, soothing is the medicine: bless us therewith that we may live. ]

iii. wildcard
[ Want to run into Matt right after his regeneration? Maybe bring him some clothes??? Or would you rather catch up with him around Achamoth? Wildcard away. ]

ii!!

[cutlery]

[ It's not the first time he had descended to the basement, since naturally, he was deeply interested to see just how this process worked. Even being told that death was not quite so permanent for an Aion, it was still something he had wanted to witness and watch himself, so much as he was able. Luckily, he had other tasks to keep him busy, whether self-imposed or external, otherwise he might have stayed and kept a vigil to satisfy that curiosity. Once the news reaches him that some had returned, he at least thinks he might have a chance to observe a bit, if nothing else.

Matt will likely hear Sebastian on his way down the steps well before he sees him. There's no need to hide his presence, and he's not in a particular rush, so his shoes click against the stone, and the light of candles slowly starts to illuminate the staircase. Once Sebastian comes into view, he's carrying a simple candelabra in one hand, and a bag that looks full is slung over his opposite shoulder.

Of course, he immediately realizes he's not to be alone down here once that much is visible. ]

Oh— Matt?

[ His pause is only brief, but he continues down with a slightly less leisurely pace now that there's someone else down here. As he approaches and becomes a bit better lit, it seems that he's in good shape after the raid. Rather remarkably so, in fact, since there's not a hint of injury on him. ]

My apologies if I was disturbing you. I suppose I did not think anyone else would be down here at this hour.

Silco | Kenoma | Visionary

[zauneyete]

⤳ The Fall

[ Harmed though he was, ribs cracked, wheezing, clearly out of the fight with shimmer spent, Silco's already started to limp back to the citadel. He's no use here -- not in the middle of the fight, and after getting patched up, he's quick to replace the knife he'd lost in his fight with Caitlyn, and even quicker to force himself back to give himself a vantage point, smoking a cigar from one of the ledges, closing closer and closer back to the battlefield as the fight escalated. He was no good down there, but Silco needed to be close, needed to be there. He wanted to see it Dead, after all, but more than that, he wanted to see it dominated and culled entirely.

He knew something would happen. He knew because he'd planted something in the ground at the Regent's behest. As the fight escalated, he was closer -- his body weak with injury, but he snuck closer, outside of the line of battle, but just to watch.

And what is saw was... better than what he'd even expected. Six individual spears leapt from the ground, and Silco watched them with rapt attention and two wide eyes, instead of one. His lips curled into a slight smile, watching the being cry and dissipate in front of them all. Six. Six. He didn't think the Regent would be doing it themselves, and his eyes looked over the field from his viewing spot, lurking in the shadows, but not invisible, looking for possibilities.

But even as his mind whirled around it, Silco couldn't even try to keep the smirk off of his face. He can't help it, and even when he looked about the rest of the field, his eyes kept scanning upward to that massive array of spears of darkness, to the dissipating light. It felt good, right, to see all of this fall apart for at least one of them, particularly when he'd put such effort into it, tried so hard to make sure to have a hand in its downfall. It was good to see it so thoroughly diminished before him, to see the beast practically vanish, and...only the small, weak frame of that man left behind. Such power, wasted. The Thing needed to be eradicated, but for what? What purpose? Friends? Himeka and Abel hadn't relented, so it was hardly the end of things for the Pleroma, and now instead they had one of their most powerful fighters in their stead. What good did that do them? What was the point of giving everything up for so little? For someone else?

He lit a cigar, as the dazzling, brilliant light faded, and although his ribs ached, and he felt the sting of his injury from being thrown, he inhaled, and then let the smoke curl out, a smirk still present as he turned, and started to gingerly move away. ]

⤳ Stroll
[ Leaving the fight was easy -- but with the roar of dragons, and the promise of their swooping overhead, Silco's quick to pull out his knife, his head wheeled around, looking for them -- signs of the attackers, and while the intention is to simply fly away, at least without incurring any more losses, Silco isn't quite ready to let them all go. He slipped into invisibility, quick to dart close to the sight of a dragon looking to land, waiting to see if any Pleroma drew near.

This time, the thing hadn't taken away his ability to see those who had joined with the other Sect, and he was quick to look for them -- or a quick as an old man with a cigar-smoking problem, cracked and bruised ribs that were still tender and healing -- could be. He may be able to get the jump on someone, but what's a little stabbing, between old enemies? He may not even be able to get a move off, since he has little in the way of defenses. ]

⤳ Aftermath
[ Silco, normally acerbic and mean-tempered, finds himself strolling to through one of the side doors to the citadel feeling all too proud of himself. Yes, the Sanctifier had gotten a shot off on him, but Amos's attack with shimmer had been grand, tearing off the paw, and watching Makoto hoist a projectile of the balista had been a keen plan. He'd wanted it to go well, but the beast had been heinous, and had found its attentions turned to Silco himself.

Really, he was touched, that it thought he was threat enough, almost.

So while his part was small, the aim was true, and the thing was dealt with -- at least as far as he could tell at the moment. He suspected the Regent would have their own information to provide soon enough.

He strolled in, still twitching at times, from his ribs, with a cigar in hand -- and at some point, he'd found a retainer and gotten a drink. Celebratory, instead of out of stress. He walked the halls with swagger, even if it hurt -- indicated by the slight tightening around the edges of one, unmarred eye -- but even then, the smirk across his face made it obvious that he was pleased with the results of the recent events. More than pleased. Mind, he was still smoking indoors, in the citadel, like he had not a care in the world. Then again, with That Thing in custody, it truly did feel like one of the most vile things he'd encountered thus far was dead.

If he blew smoke in a fellow Aion's face, or even at a retainer, well. Perhaps he could be forgiven, just this once. ]

[ just hit me up if you want an individual starter! I'm in the disc/pm! ]

aftermath

[cutlery]

[ It's just as Sebastian rounds a corner that he witnesses Silco blowing smoke right into a poor retainer's face, but of course he only breathes out a soft laugh to see it. Naturally, he doesn't feel bad for the retainer in the slightest, but it's more that he's amused by the brazen rudeness. The smirk and light smile in Silco's eye make it clear that he's in a very good mood, but he can't help but teasingly ask to what he already knows. ]

My, my, someone is in a good mood.

[ The retainer coughs and resists the urge to wave away the smoke, but at least starts to politely and quickly excuse themselves now that they're in the presence of two Aions. Sebastian watches them go as he approaches, and it's fairly clear that he's in better spirits and health himself since when they had run into each other earlier. There's still a few lingering injuries on Sebastian's skin, but they're all quite reduced from earlier. Whether that was because of seeking out one of their members or his own naturally quick healing, though, who knows? It's clearly not nearly as much of a struggle for him anymore either way. ]

I take it that means this outcome was satisfactory, in that case. I could not be sure, in truth.

[ Looking at the numbers coldly, he truly hadn't been sure. The losses on their side had been fairly significant, from what he had heard thus far. And for what, two things to replace two lost? So there's a portion here where he's catching up with the dramapolitics surrounding this particular event. ]

FOR MAKOTO ↣ A REASON TO LIVE (KILL) ↣ 坊主憎けりゃ袈裟まで憎い

[warmare]

continued from here;

[Hayame does not know how much time has passed.

The darkened sky is now crossed by winged shadows, the sounds of the city in chaos and its angry citizens blanketed by the cries of dragons who have come just too late to matter to her. The sounds of fighting are distant and half-muffled by the haze that fills her mind in the wake of the Sanctifier's death and the failure of her mission. Perhaps other Pleroma were heartened that they had at least accomplished their original goal, but Hayame had come to Achamoth to do only two things.

And she had failed at both: Estinien was dead, and she was alive.

At some point, she has drained her body of the bitter sobs that she had refused to allow herself throughout the years. They burn her, as they well up and aggravate the ruined socket of her left eye, but that is only fitting. If she were calm, if she ever thought kindly of herself she would know that the injury did not ruin her, she often shot with an eye closed, she could surely relearn her perception of distance... But her mind is clouded with despair. What use could there be for an archer with one eye? What master would buy a jinba damaged so for anything but fodder or breeding? What free jinba would accept her, after all the damage she has done? What... What future was there for her at all, a warrior who could only fail, a mare who could not love, a person who could not even die properly in battle?

The light in her shard dims further. Something dark and insidious worms its way into both of her hearts. As she moves, though, just a single shift of her weight... her hair, long strands of ebony released by the whip of wind and wings of fire, falls against her face, and in the process... something hard brushes against her injured face. The first true reaction she has managed since her shard clattered to the ground is a flinch as she jerks away from the new source of pain, as inconsequential as it was in comparison, reaching up to try and grasp-

A scale. It was a pale scale, tangled in the wind-whipped strands with a dirty streak of the Sanctifier's glow and her own crimson. Something that had landed on her and just happened to remain, in the rain of blood and hail of scale from above that had burned the demon that humiliated her, that had "saved" her. Hayame stares at it with her one remaining eye. If she had any sense of appreciation for beauty... it would be beautiful, pearlescent and softly gleaming beneath the stain of ichor and blood where it had been ripped from skin. But she doesn't see beauty when she looks at it. Her fingers curl weakly around the rough edges, slowly peeling it from the inky strands of her thick, dark hair. Her other fingers grope along the broken roof stones until she finds her shard, the flame within flickering near death as she presses it back into her body between her breasts.

There is only hollowness there.

But there is another winged shadow on the wind above her that is not a dragon. So far she has avoided notice from the angry Achamites below her, hidden by the shape of the roof from view of the street. She has avoided notice from the dragons, who are gathering elsewhere. She has avoided notice from other Kenoma, celebrating their victory or pursuing Pleroma who have made more obvious targets of themselves.

She has not avoided the sight of the person who punched a hole through her the Sanctifier's chest.]

[affal]

( when he'd returned to achamoth after their first time deployed to venera, hands stained metaphorically red by the first life he had taken personally and intimately, he had carried with him the begrudging understanding that he had only been capable of such a thing because he had found his victim very nearly dead to begin with. the dragoon had been a wounded falcon, grounded by myriad injuries and broken wings, and makoto had merely been the first lucky jackal to come across him. he didn't necessarily feel shame for it (regardless of what others might think of him because of the circumstances), but he did feel a gnawing sort of need begin to grow within him. in horos even more than in hell he understood his physical limitations. he had crumpled within an instant standing in defiance against the innocent entity, and even months later, facing off with it again after pouring blood, sweat, and tears into developing himself as a potential threat, he had still come up short in every regard. he hadn't been able to draw a single drop of blood — hell, he hadn't even been able to scuff one incandescent scale. that is what burns as an acidic shame in the pit of his stomach. that he could devote so much of himself to trying to overcome something, to make the slightest bit of impact, and that it would all come to naught simply because he was outmatched. the essence and substance of what he was simply couldn't compete.

has that truly changed now? when his head had first been reattached to the surprisingly plain and human body that J had acquired for him — the same that he used now — he had been told that any unique attribute or ability that he wanted, he would have to go and acquire for himself. nothing would be given to him. nothing would be taught. makoto had felt at the time that he had been promised one thing and presented another; he had allowed the demon's honeyed words of acceptance, belonging, and love sink into his ears and dull his instinctual despair, so it had been all the more wounding when he had found that hell was simply another crucible for him to be thrown into. he had two choices: to bend or to break. for the latter, he would have been one among thousands of other humans brought in to try to adapt to the way that demons lived; it would have been so easy. he would have been yet another disappointment to J, another life whose name was penciled in to the footnotes of his journal, and his search for a worthy successor would have continued. but for all of his lack of any intrinsic physical ability, makoto bore one preternatural ability, and that was vicious tenacity. he had refused to break. instead he had warped and changed into the first former human that could be fully considered a "demon," both in name and initial. he maneuvered hell's political landscape as good as any other dangerous upstart; he had manipulated datenshou to losing his brothel, he had taken kieran's wings.

it all went to prove one thing: the inherent danger of the demon known as "M" wasn't in what he was naturally and intrinsically. it was in what he was willing to take from others and use for himself.

so when he had survived the ordeal of accepting a mote of the Regent's essence into himself and was granted some use of their power, it had made sense to him. this is how he grows stronger. this has always been his method. whatever he is not given, he will take, perhaps to the point where he is indistinguishable from the young man he had once been — a ship of Theseus driven by that selfsame feeling of ruthless determination and fueled by a bitter and indignant desire for revenge.

for a single, fleeting moment today, he allows himself some feeling of satisfaction in that. in his long adversarial history with both estinien and the innocent entity, he has finally scored a victory by the merit of his own sacrifice and efforts, wounding the Sanctifier so deeply that it finally succumbed to its injuries enough that the Regent's trap might successfully be sprung. it's at least one victory, one instance in which he dedicated himself to something and saw the physicality of the successful results wrought in flesh and bone, that he can drink deep from. but he doesn't want to stop there, not even with his body battered, bruised, and near-broken. the moon of Firaseri urges him on, whispering to him that there is no shield, no wall, no defense that was insurmountable to him. if a path did not exist to his goal, he would simply have to break through and blaze one for himself. so as he wheels in the skies above achamoth, narrowly avoiding the cursory attacks from the dragons that now cloud it, he spies something of far more interest to himself down below on one of the rooftops:

the centaur, hayame.

he doesn't have much time to glean much from her, but from the sluggishness of her movements and her defeated mien, he believes that he spies a chance opportunity, and one that he doesn't want to overlook.

so if some baseline instinct of hayame's warns her to throw her attention once more towards the sky, she would find that one of the winged shadows has detached from the swarms above, bearing down on her with aggressive intent. clothing marred by drying, luminescent blood, hands burned raw by its caustic effect against him, makoto dives towards her now like a predatory hawk might towards its prey.

ah, but she wasn't to be so easily defeated, was she? after all, no proud jinba would fail to bare their teeth and relegate themself to the position of prey. )

Closed to Anduin--Evac on dragonback

[undertheweight]

(OOC: set after Wrathion's gotten Kotetsu and Dorothea out, per prior agreement!)

They--his friends (were they his friends? He's unsure, but that has nothing to do with Kotetsu or Dorothea themselves)--had wanted Wrathion to leave, too. He's well aware of how he must look. For all that he's gotten some healing prior to this, the dragon could be in much better shape. But he's not leaving Achamoth. Not yet.

Wrathion had assured them that he'd be fine. He will be. In truth, he'll be a damned sight better once he has Anduin on his back, and they're both getting out of Achamoth.

He wallows his way into the air, much less graceful than normal with that rear leg still in an imperfect state, but Wrathion can't wait. With many of the other dragons on the way out, it's fairly obvious when this dragon notes that a few remain...guarding a very familiar, if flickering, shield.

Wrathion makes a beeline for that shield, arriving just as it winks out. He roars defiance at the other dragons and sweeps his tail at a few too-brave Achamite soldiers who think they can easily capture a Pleroma prisoner. At least the other dragons are gracious enough to help prevent that.

"Hurry," Wrathion pleads, even as he lowers his neck to snap at another encroaching Achamite. That's not the only reason he does it--he doesn't expect Anduin to attempt to clamber up on his back. Still, time is running short.

[bythelight]

Anduin is exhausted, but he had wanted to stay as long as he could. To heal as many people as he could.

There are dragons, here, at least, who could probably help him escape. He'd been half negotiating with one as his shield began to fail. Could they get him out? As far as a portal? To Godsblood, or Greentruth? If they could, he could --

The shield fails, and Anduin looks up as a shadow passes over him.

Even having seen him before, it's still incredible to think how big Wrathion is now. Anduin remembers when he was no bigger than a housecat, when seeing him fly wasn't in the least bit threatening.

"I thought you'd left."

Not that he was paying any attention to what Wrathion was doing, of course, not that he'd noticed at all that Wrathion was carrying other people and leaving him behind. It's the dragon's own business. He doesn't care.

Still... He'd come back for him. Anduin feels a momentary rush of warmth, then hesitates.

"-- You're hurt, here let me..."

He pulls at the dregs of his energy, reaching out to rest his hands on Wrathion and trying to push healing magic into him.

Ryunosuke | Pleroma | Champion

[locumstudentesquire]

[Closed starters to follow]

For Tsunami

[locumstudentesquire]

They were supposed to go back to Greentruth together.

That thought haunts Ryunosuke, the echoes of it intensifying and then resolving into the memory of another moment in his past, from back in his own world... One where he was feeling every bit as low as this. The keen sting of loss still fresh, he'd made a similar demand to the departed. A rhetorical cry, despairing of a promised future together, dashed to pieces by cruel fate.

Something ignites inside him. The innocence's parting gift, filling him with strength of will, reminding him...

He hadn't given up back then.

He isn't going to give up here.

Still huddled upon the rooftop where he'd collapsed, he can feel the Innocence's conscious presence fading from him, and it's apparent demise is a loss to him as well... But its strength and its parting words both bolster his resolve.

The Regent... Estinien can't be dead. Not for real, not when his shard was still intact. Maybe... Maybe there is still time; if the Regent has him, he can still be saved. And if that's the case... Ryunosuke can't leave him. He won't.

Rising to his feet with teeth gritted and tears still in his eyes, he hurries back down to the street level, clumsily gliding on tattered wings and landing on all fours. When he rises to his feet, he starts to charge as fast as his tired feet will carry him, back in the direction of the square where the execution was set to take place. That's not his destination, though; his true destination is the Citadel.

He has no plan of what he'll do once he gets there. Nothing other than pure impulsiveness, tenacity, and a desperation to save his friend are driving him forward.

CLOSED - EMET-SELCH

[hundredpower]

Barnaby heads back to the Citadel, through rubble-strewn streets, as if in a daze. The adrenaline of battle has worn off completely, adrenaline that had kept him feeling any pain in the injury that had mostly been patched up, or the new scrapes and bruises he'd earned from the fight with Syrlya. Adrenaline that had sustained him while he tried to chase down the Pleroma, too enraged and consumed by grief to stop himself.

He'd been pulled back, convinced not to throw his life away, that the precious teardrop shard now in his hands is more important than exacting revenge. It was at that point he finally saw reason, and dragged himself back to the Citadel, bedraggled and exhausted.

If he even spots Emet-Selch close to the Citadel, he's barely aware of his surroundings, looking right through him as he approaches. His eyes are reddened, and his grime-covered face streaked with tears that have since dried. His only goal is to get Howl to the place of power, at which point he can finally crash.

[lachtara]

Emet-Selch busily barks orders at guards near the Citadel. Certain areas needed to be secured, others needed to be swept for straggling Pleroma, and it comes naturally to dictate as such.

It's with a brief glance away from the crowd that he spots one of his wayward Kenoma. The one he had healed in their battle with the Sanctifier. It seems he has recklessly ignored the instructions to proceed cautiously and got in some manner of fight. That familiar expression on his face, the lifeless look in his eyes, it's a familiar sight from a battlefield.

He approaches Barnaby and snaps his fingers in his face to try and startle him to attention. "Eyes focused on what is in front of you." He orders.