[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

[coerthantorment]

WHO: Brainwashed Estinien and YOU
WHAT: Having been dissipated during the Innocence's execution, Estinien returns very much changed.
WHERE: The Citadel, Achamoth
WHEN: Early Sekiseri
WARNINGS: Torture, abuse, brainwashing, public humiliation. The forecast for Estinien is extremely miserable and depressing at the moment.

I➔ Of the Abyss

He had been born into this world empty, with a body misshapen and unfit for survival. There had been no reason for it, no meaning to existing... he'd simply been formed, drawn from the abyss in the service of another. It was only at that master's touch that he was provided with a means and purpose to act. Only at their call that he had regained hazy memories of hatred and torment and remembered that there was something out there to blame for what he was.

His was a miserable existence, after all. Since the moment he had been pulled from his chrysalis, utterly helpless and blind, wracked with spiritual pain, he'd known that much. At first, living had been nothing but aimless suffering. With nothing inside of him besides a sense of devastating loss that he had no means to understand, he had eagerly latched on to whatever was given to him. To know that he had some use to his keepers, the ones that had gifted back his sight, gifted him the legs to stand on and hands to touch... he'd do whatever they wanted with the strength they had afforded him. Even if they saw him as a wretched creature worthy primarily of disgust, it didn't matter. Not when the alternative was unending, meaningless pain.

He's been told he'll have an opportunity to strike back against the forces that reduced him to this state, that destroyed whatever he was before. He had no memory of it. He's the spectral remains of something that once lived, and now there is only vengeance to look forward to. He'd like to hurt someone else, he thinks. To drag the enemies that he touched closer to himself, to what he had been made into. To make them experience it for as long as he can.

It's in that state of mind that he is first let loose into the Citadel, craving to inflict pain, but having been taught that no one within the tower's walls was to be harmed or struggled against. Instead, the people of the Citadel, the Aions in particular, were his objective superiors. His presence there was a mercy to him, and he was to accept whatever he was given by the others, whether it be torment or aid. His role was to act in their service, by whatever means his feeble mind could manage.

Any Kenoma who come upon him may recognize Estinien Wyrmblood, but only in some aspects of his form. To those with the Sight, he is attuned to the Kenoma and of the Firebrand. Physically, he is a mess. His torso and head still reflect the snow white of the Innocence, though with crimson, draconic eyes. The one on his left side is severely scarred, its sclera darkened with void. Each limb is similarly blackened, looking less like a natural extension of his body and more like foreign flesh that has been grafted on, scaled and clawed and monstrous.

His gait is unnatural, as if not quite accustomed to the idea of walking, as if his limbs are confusing to him. He's dressed in nothing but what appears as a rag-like loincloth, his long white hair unkempt and hanging in ragged chunks. Restraining him is a thick collar and muzzle. Around his darkened, greyed-out shard a sigil is carved - one that might be familiar to some. It's the very same mark of disfavour that Emet-Selch had briefly worn, all those months ago.

There is no recognition in his eyes.

II➔ Walking in Shame

While the Regent's mark on his chest has caused many of the Citadel's inhabitants to give him a wide berth, that hasn't been enough for some of them. Either having heard the rumours of who and what he is, or having seen him themself in the sky of Achamoth, some are unable to contain their spite for him. Though he's been made to heel already, a few of the Citadel's non-Aion residents may be seen heaping additional scorn on him, spitting cruel words and accusations that he has no context for.

Sometimes the abuse turns physical. You may witness Achamite soldiers berating him in the halls, shoving, tripping, or manhandling him. For his part, he has little reaction, taking whatever he is given as rightful and purposeful. At some point, a gaggle of Citadel neophytes assigned to cleaning duty dump a bucket of dirty wash water over him. Others hurl rocks.

[Feel free to invent other scenarios with Citadel NPCs if you want, I'm open.]

III➔ In the End

When he isn't aimlessly wandering the Citadel, he is caged for the night. While that first day Dionys is there to lock him up, from that point on she visits only intermittently to let him in and out, and much of his time is spent alone. His prison is something more befitting of a zoo animal, kept to a distant corner of the Citadel, nearby the tables where the mounts are kept. There are guards on patrol nearby, but Kenoma will be allowed to pass through, provided they don't do anything suspect.

There is nothing in way of comfort or adornment to its interior, just bars and a cold floor to pass out against. He lays still most of the time, nothing to devote his thoughts to, nowhere else to be. He almost looks forward to when one of his keepers return... anything for a moment of respite and meaning. It's possible that the one visiting him now has been given permission to unlock him for some purpose. He is unlikely to complain.

[OOC: Estinien has been 'trained' to go along with whatever the Kenoma subject him to (besides outright killing him) and he can be freely taken anywhere in the Citadel. For the most part he's been wandering around common areas. I've been told that Kenoma won't get in trouble for interacting with him/feeding him/dressing him as long as they aren't excessively compassionate about it. The Kenoma can also specifically request his use for whatever tasks they might need done, though he will be incompetent at anything that isn't straightforward.

To clarify what "excessively compassionate" means: it's really just not doing stuff that portrays what the Regent did to him as wrong or acting like he deserves better. Part of the humiliation is him having to rely on what Kenoma give him, so they may deign to help him, it would just be bad look to do it from a place of moral objection that would undermine the Regent's decisions.]

Comments

[coerthantorment]

He's already dully staring at Crane even before his presence is requested. He doesn't know much about this place or about the Kenoma - only that they are free to do as they will with him. Despite himself, there is a trace of wariness in his recognition of Crane's order, largely because he doesn't know what to expect.

It always seems to be a gamble, every time he interacts with someone. Dionys herself had been impossible to predict, and every time she'd visited him he didn't know whether she would help him or make him more miserable. The lesson behind it all was that he didn't get a choice in the matter, but being cooperative generally provided the best results.

And so, he approaches Crane as requested, waiting silently for the Kenoma to make his judgment.

[entsetzt]

"I am Doctor Crane." He introduces himself once Estinien draws near. "I require your assistance with an experiment. Follow me." There's a place he has in mind for this, the Citadel courtyard where the burnings were to take place. It's a well-traveled area, for both Citadel staff and other Aions of the Kenoma.

They might enjoy the show, if nothing else.

As they walk, Crane's head half-turns, the hood he always wears shifting to one side slightly. "And how are you feeling today?" He asks; there's an affected pleasantness to it, but it's more than simple small talk; he needs to know the creature's baseline emotional state before the experiment begins in earnest.

[coerthantorment]

He follows after Crane without any argument, though he feels like he's being led to somewhere he hasn't been before. At first, the only thing he knew was a single room, where he received his 'rehabilitation' after being pulled from almost nothing. Then, to the cage where he now sleeps, and then to the interior of the Citadel. He finds himself... curious? With such an empty soul, there was much space to fill.

The true depths of his cluelessness begin to show with Crane asking him how he feels. Such a simple thing that most people take for granted is filled with unknowns for him. He has no sense of social acceptability when it comes to the correct way to answer such a thing. Whenever he'd been asking something like that before, he usually just said the immediate truth.

He's hurting. He's sick.

He doesn't say either of those things right now. Dionys seemed to find his answers funny, or at least she was always chuckling about something, so he assumes that was why. Sometimes she would soothe him, but it was never a guarantee.

"I don't know," he finally says, his voice quiet and raw with the damage to his throat. He isn't physically hurting as much as he was a few days before. Being freed from his cage should be a good thing, but it's only left him more confused.

"Lost..." he murmurs after a few moments more.

[entsetzt]

"Hm. Yes." Atmospheric, perhaps. On one level Crane can appreciate the emotions such an answer evokes. But from a research perspective, somewhat useless. "Well, we shall see what we can do about that, shall we?"

Passing through the entrance of the Citadel, they reach the courtyard. Crane takes a moment to survey the the area. There are a few people about. Enough of an audience for Crane's satisfaction.

"Stand over there." He points to a location near the center of the courtyard. "This will only take a moment."

[coerthantorment]

As he first sets eyes upon the courtyard, something turns in his gut. This very moment is the first time he's actually seen the sky since being reborn, but the theoretical wonder of that is washed aside by feelings of unease. For the first time, there is the prickle of terrible familiarity - the sort that inspires nothing but anxiety.

He looks around, clearly confused. The more vague emotions he was describing before are being replaced by something no more concrete but far more difficult to dismiss. Something bad is happening. Something isn't right.

His thoughts are wandering enough that he doesn't really pay attention to Crane's initial order, instead looking about as if searching for the monster in his memory.

[entsetzt]

Oh, the pathetic fellow really has regressed, hasn't he? It's like a cat being introduced to the outdoors for the first time and being overwhelmed by the abundance of smells. What he needs is something to focus him, and Crane has just the thing for that.

He summons the power again. Black mist begins to seep out of the stones around Crane, writhing, twisting, and curling in on itself like the act of being chained to the man is physically agonizing for it. The wisps of mist looking like outstretched hands, attempting to claw the air, trying to break free, trying to get away from the one who summoned it. As the mist billows around him, Crane's eyes begin to glow a firey orange-red through the eyeholes of his mask. Then he opens his mouth to speak.

"Stand there, Creature. Now!" His normally soft, quiet tone of voice has deepened, and layered with that of several more, some speaking in unison, while a few speak just a bit out of turn, and edged with Crane's own sense of annoyance as he points again. He does not enjoy repeating himself.

[coerthantorment]

He looks at Crane now and instantly seizes. While not exact, it's so much like the Regent, so much like that multi-toned voice that had wrenched him from the abyss and forced him into life. The one that had known so well how to cause pain.

Is Crane speaking on behalf of them? He is viciously reminded of the cost of disobedience and backs away from the ghostly visage until he's in the location he's been directed to. He has to force himself from getting down onto his knees and groveling, but only because Crane has said stand and he doesn't know how specific it needs to be.

He doesn't know what is about to happen to him, but he feels there is nothing he can do to stop it.

[entsetzt]

Crane watches as Estinien hurries into place. "Good. Now...this is going to be extremely uncomfortable, but do try to retain as much of the experience as you can. I shall want a thorough report when you're able to speak again."

And then suddenly, the mist retracts downwards to Crane's feet, and then launches itself forward in a single tendril, towards Estinien, striking him square in the chest.

For Crane, and anyone watching, only a few seconds pass as the tendril withdraws after a moment, its work done.

Estinien however, is not so fortunate. The second the mist touches him, the nightmare takes hold.

[coerthantorment]

From the outside, he drops immediately, falling to the ground in a squirming pile. On the inside, it takes a while longer.

What do you fear, when 'you' as a concept hardly exists? At first, he feels like he's in the dark again, like he's in pain again, like the only part of him that exists is the part that hurts and regrets. He fears being like that forever, he fears never knowing why. By the same token, he fears living as he is now, trapped in a state of perpetual misery that is forever beyond his understanding or ability to recover from.

At first, it's just that. It's like experiencing his destruction, the destruction of what he used to be, all over again. As the effect lingers, however, more complicated things to bleed through. He fears losing something so important to him that he can't imagine living without it. He fears having his control stripped away from him, imprisoned in this helpless form, enslaved by forces beyond his ability to fight. He fears losing who he was... who he is.

And he feels like, for a moment, there is a 'him' that lies just outside of his grasp. A self that he would always feel the absence of but never regain. Pain that he could always feel, but that he could never find the wound causing it. That he would be forever imprisoned, forever chained, forever...

Finally, the feeling begins to pass. He wakes to his current reality wretching and clawing at the earth, a surge of defensive power going through him. His shard is still with him, and with it comes some of the power he's forgotten.

Two sets of draconic wings emerge from his flesh, along with a long spiny tail. Even with his muzzle on, he could clearly do damage like this, but ultimately... he doesn't try. Instead, he is curling inward, defensively, as if trying to keep everyone nearby away. He growls and spits, but it's just an impulsive gesture of self-defense.

On the inside, he's just afraid.

[entsetzt]

It takes more effort to capture an Aion. For the first time, Crane feels winded by the effort. Interesting. The power would be nothing more than a distraction, albeit an enjoyable one, if he could not ensure Pleroma Aions with it.

It's as Crane is pondering this that Estinien's more draconian features emerge, a sort of involuntary reaction to the trauma of whatever private nightmare Estinien experienced.

Dispelling the mist, light fading from his eyes, Crane walks forward to where the wretch lays curled. Curiously, he reaches out and grabs one of his wings, pulling it towards him, uncaring if this causes the Elezen discomfort or pain. Crane's curiosity will nor be denied. Such a unique feel. Hmm.

Releasing the wing, Crane jams a foot into his side, less a kick and more a prolonged, uncomfortable gesture to focus him. "Up. Get up." He commands, stepping back a bit to give Estinien space. He produces a board with parchment and a pencil from within his robes, eager to begin a new set of "patient's records."

"Now then...what did you experience after the mist struck you? Any specific traumas you that recall as stand-out?" He begins.

[coerthantorment]

The wings attempt to shrink back when Craned grabs them, but not strongly enough to actually escape. The sections of the wings are sturdier than one might expect, compared to the classic 'bat' form of wing, instead made of thicker sheets of leathery scales, divided into distinct sections like giant feathers. His tail lashes back and forth in an ultimately harmless show of discomfort. For a moment, he wants to attack this man, to defend himself... his claws dig into the earth, desperate to swipe, to tear.

But he can't. In the end, the barriers imposed by his 'programming' are too strong, and he can only envision what suffering he would face for breaking the Regent's decrees.

He's prodded to his feet by Crane's boot, still wavering. The question... he doesn't even know where to begin. His ability to express himself has been entirely eroded, and some part of him hates that he has to do this to begin with. That part is far too quiet, too muffled and bound, to save him.

"I... I felt..." He trails off, his thoughts still confused. Had it been real? A divine punishment sent by the Kenoma? Or... "I suffered. Like I did before I was remade. It... claimed me again."

He sort of assumes Crane knows what he means. That all of them do. It's the only reality he knows.