![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
[OPEN TO KENOMA] EXECUTION OF THE INNOCENT
WHO: The Regent and Interested Kenoma
WHAT: As promised, the Regent is carrying out the Innocence Entity's invite-only execution.
WHERE: The Regent's Throne Room.
WHEN: Firaseri 22nd, after dissipated Kenoma have emerged.
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, gore, limb loss, general unpleasantness.
It's the evening of the 22nd when the call goes out: it is time for the execution. This is purely an event for the willing and or eager, and besides being informed of it, no Kenoma will be pressured into attending. Those that are interested, however, will be led to the Regent's throne room for what promises to be a very special occasion.
Upon entry, the set up of the throne room will seem quite familiar to those that have been there before. A cavernous room filled with nothing but the throne itself, its emptiness seems an intentional call to the void. Several stairs lead to the dais where the throne sits, currently occupied by a the Regent. As usual, any details about the Regent are obscured behind flowing robes and a faceted mask. Presently, they are swirling around a glass of what is presumably wine, but drinking absolutely none of it. Any Kenoma that seem interested will be offered a drink by one of the Citadel servants on duty.
It's not just the Regent present, however. Off to the right side of the room, an arrangement of familiar void-dark spears have been fused into the wall and floor, with their prisoner still held at their center, pierced from all sides. Estinien Wyrmblood appears as little more than a shadow of his former self at this stage, every ounce of color stripped from him, in sharp contrast to the black ichor that bubbles and drips from a cruel assortment of wounds. One eye is swollen with infection, oozing void, while the other is completely blank with whiteness. Each limb has been shorn down to a stub, as if burned by a dark fire from the outside in; all except a set of ragged, broken wings strung up being him. His torso, pierced as it is, seems to be barely holding onto form.
If he reacts to the arrival of 'guests', it isn't apparent. Instead, he seems practically comatose, all except for that open eye and the shallow movements of his breath. His shard is exposed, resting beneath his collar bones, an eye-like shape that has become similarly colorless. The usual sheen of color that all shards hold has faded away, now showing nothing but the gray of the stone beneath it. Those with True Sight will see that he has fallen to the first tier of Pleroma, and even that he is only tenuously hanging on to.
At their throne, the Regent lifts their glass.
"Welcome, kindred."
WHAT: As promised, the Regent is carrying out the Innocence Entity's invite-only execution.
WHERE: The Regent's Throne Room.
WHEN: Firaseri 22nd, after dissipated Kenoma have emerged.
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, gore, limb loss, general unpleasantness.
It's the evening of the 22nd when the call goes out: it is time for the execution. This is purely an event for the willing and or eager, and besides being informed of it, no Kenoma will be pressured into attending. Those that are interested, however, will be led to the Regent's throne room for what promises to be a very special occasion.
Upon entry, the set up of the throne room will seem quite familiar to those that have been there before. A cavernous room filled with nothing but the throne itself, its emptiness seems an intentional call to the void. Several stairs lead to the dais where the throne sits, currently occupied by a the Regent. As usual, any details about the Regent are obscured behind flowing robes and a faceted mask. Presently, they are swirling around a glass of what is presumably wine, but drinking absolutely none of it. Any Kenoma that seem interested will be offered a drink by one of the Citadel servants on duty.
It's not just the Regent present, however. Off to the right side of the room, an arrangement of familiar void-dark spears have been fused into the wall and floor, with their prisoner still held at their center, pierced from all sides. Estinien Wyrmblood appears as little more than a shadow of his former self at this stage, every ounce of color stripped from him, in sharp contrast to the black ichor that bubbles and drips from a cruel assortment of wounds. One eye is swollen with infection, oozing void, while the other is completely blank with whiteness. Each limb has been shorn down to a stub, as if burned by a dark fire from the outside in; all except a set of ragged, broken wings strung up being him. His torso, pierced as it is, seems to be barely holding onto form.
If he reacts to the arrival of 'guests', it isn't apparent. Instead, he seems practically comatose, all except for that open eye and the shallow movements of his breath. His shard is exposed, resting beneath his collar bones, an eye-like shape that has become similarly colorless. The usual sheen of color that all shards hold has faded away, now showing nothing but the gray of the stone beneath it. Those with True Sight will see that he has fallen to the first tier of Pleroma, and even that he is only tenuously hanging on to.
At their throne, the Regent lifts their glass.
"Welcome, kindred."
opennnnn
It's not as if this gathering is wholly without its pleasures. Matt is fascinated, astounded, to look around the cavernous room and pick out his fellow Kenoma: by gradients of darkness, by Legacy. He can't articulate why he feels the way he does. Like nearly all intuition, his conclusions come as if from far beyond himself, divorced from whatever evidence may have prompted them. For the moment, he simply observes, trying to catalog his thoughts and feelings as they come.
Aris, his retainer, has done a frankly incredible job of dressing him given the timeframe. Matt's usual black boots are accompanied by slim navy trousers and a grayish-blue shirt, dazzled with a constellation of smoky beads. Its sleeves are a bit shorter than Matt's usual, exposing both the bare stump at his left wrist and the dark band around his right. Matt woke up with it still in place, so whatever his blank-check promise to the Regent entails, death wasn't the answer.
For the moment, Matt sips from a glass of wine. All he can do is watch and wait. ]
for the regent
Um. Your Grace.
[ It sounds a little funny coming from his mouth, but Matt means it. Partly because it's an aristocratic term he remembers; partly because he does, honestly, feel that the Regent has been surprisingly gracious where a lot of Kenoma fuckups (him) are concerned; partly because it feels ... ironically apt. The way people call Kali "mother," or the Furies "kindly ones." ]
I was wondering. Is there anything we can do to keep this from happening again? Like, keep another Legacy-born entity from attaching itself to Aions?
no subject
What makes you think there are others?
no subject
Well, since it sprung from a Legacy ... I thought there was a chance that the situation could repeat itself with the rest of them. That's how things would work with like entities where I come from.
Is there something unique about the Innocence?
[ Matt hates being wrong. But when it comes down to it, he way prefers it to staying wrong. ]
no subject
What knowledge do you have of how and why this entity came about? You speak as one informed on these matters.
no subject
[ Matt shakes his head, chagrined. He doesn't interpret his last interaction with the Regent as them exerting pressure on him, even though that's literally what happened; what sticks out much more sharply is the Regent asking what made Matt think he knew better than them. ]
I only know what you and Xishen have said about it, [ he adds. ] From there, I guess I ... spun out, a little bit.
no subject
It's not right, but such is the laws of this land. And what are her hypocritical principles next to that? She simply needs to adapt like usual, and do what little that's in her power to in the meanwhile. Which includes checking in with those who've been dissipated, and seeing Matt's silhouette on the other side of the room...
Ah, he's 'grown'. She can't help but frown slightly at the stump of his wrist, and it has nothing to do with his missing hand. The way how he's put emphasis on that unnatural dark band is eye-catching too, and she's not entirely sure it's for the 'right' reason. Matt... What had he been through?
Unless he's paying attention to his surrounding, however, which he doesn't seem to be doing very keenly, he'd have afforded Ciel the time to make her own observations from afar at her leisure. It's once she's digested all those details about him that she finally approaches, demeanor laid-back and sporting a small and easy smile to greet him despite their macabre situation. All to maintain an amicable atmosphere and keep him unalarmed, she remembers well how skittish he can be when pressured (and boy, does that seem to happen relatively easily). So even if she's in no mood for it, she can smile; of course it's always easier for a Martyr to do anything because of someone else.]
Good evening, Matt. How are you?
[Just a fellow magic-aware coworker checking in. No need to put your guard up, hm?]
no subject
He answers her smile with one of his own, though his isn't as good. Without knowing what Ciel's thinking, Matt's goal is to reassure her in turn--that he's okay, that he can handle what's about to happen here. What already has. ]
Hey Ciel. Been a little while. [ Which is entirely his fault. He's been avoiding other Aions as a general rule since he lost his hand. ] I'm good, I'm okay.
How about you? I assume you got through the raid all right.
no subject
...Strange. Why did she get that impression, for a split second? Ciel's stray thoughts don't make it to her face though, so for now, the patch of darkness from the Martyr is happy to keep the conversation light and casual to her fellow patch of darkness of the Visionary variant.]
Is that so? [For someone who got dissipated? Alright.] That's good to hear. [She'll let him keep his narrative. For now, at least.] Yes, I'm alright. I was well equipped to engage the threat we faced. [That desperate and pitiable monster was not worth mentioning by name.] How have you been adjusting?
[Lightly, conversationally, as if asking someone how they're adjusting after changing work department or something.
Or would her innocuous question need further clarifying?]
no subject
At the question, however, his cheerful expression fades.
Maybe it's his guilty conscience, but Matt isn't sure what adjustment Ciel might mean. Adjusting to Estinien's presence here, his body pierced like some medieval engraving? Adjusting to his increased proximity to the Kenoma? (To the fact that ever since Venera, Matt's gone from "barely been in a fight before" to "murder-adjacent"?) Or maybe she means the most obvious, visible change in him since he arrived here. His hand. Matt's gaze flickers down to it before returning to Ciel's face. ]
... You know, I have my moments, [ he says wryly. ] Mostly okay, though. [ A thought strikes him, and he brightens a touch. ] Actually, I should tell you about some of the magic that I've picked up. Maybe get your take on it.
After the execution
There you are, Matthew. [ Tall as he is, J has a habit of leaning into the personal space of whomever he's speaking to, reminiscent of something feline making its presence known by relentlessly demanding attention, and resorting to contact if simply taking up space doesn't get the job done. If anything, his is a greeting full of warm familiarity. All of it topped with the finishing touch of a hand that settles upon Matt's right shoulder. ] I've been meaning to catch up, but we've been rather like ships in the night, you and I.
How are you holding up- [ There's a thoughtful tilt of his head, without a hint of further clarification if J is discussing the scars left after a battle, the execution, or Matt's glaring absence the last few days and what that implies. Rumors pertaining to Aions, both Pleroma and Kenoma alike, don't stay sealed behind lips among the gossip network in Achamoth. So by the time he seeks out the man who had shown a knack for spell work and promised to aid J in finding a lost possession once before, the demon has long since caught wind of Matt's spell of forced downtime. ] All things considered?
[ It's as good an icebreaker as any to open with, by touching on a present wound and all at once soothing that fresh hurt. A demonic tool of the trade, but useful as always. ]
💃💃💃
J's approach is something Matt almost feels rather than sees or hears. The strange consonance in their natures, Visionary to Visionary, feels stronger than it ever has, like a string Matt could pluck to hear the sound. A warm hand settles onto his shoulder, producing a momentary tension that loosens to relief. J's warm voice comes a moment after. ]
Hi, [ he says, glancing up to meet his gaze. ] I'm sorry ... I meant to check on you too, but things got--kind of busy. [ His lips quirk ruefully. ] I'm okay now. Better than ever, in some senses.
[ He remains horrified by Estinien's appearance before the execution. Those six spears piercing him so cruelly, the candle stubs of his limbs. But if there's a place to voice that feeling, the Regent's throne room is definitely not it. ]
What about you? You didn't get hurt when the Pleroma came, did you?