aionlogs | [OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's already having a hard time making sense of things as he passes through the Citadel's halls. Most of his days are a meaningless haze, and he's found there is little purpose to paying keen attention to his surroundings. Harassment will come whether or not he pays attention, and focusing inward means that maybe he won't hear the bards they throw before they escalate to the physical.

It does mean that he trips on the butt of a spear though. He falls, except for a boot to follow, or a flask of liquor to be dumped on his head. Maybe some insult about how he should keep his tainted form away from the good, righteous followers of the Regent, lest he infects them with his curse. He's treated as an unlucky omen that must be banished from one's path.

It's someone new, though, who ends up hauling him up from his crumpled position. Zenos has his hand wrapped firmly around the collar finding his neck, tugging him up and forcing him to meet his gaze. It's inescapable, from his perspective. To struggle against this would be heresy, and so he tries to stay still and compliant. His red, draconic eyes flicker over Zenos's face. He doesn't know what to think, except that being kicked by him would probably hurt more than average.

He doesn't understand the question. A few of the Kenoma here have asked him if he knew who he was supposed to be, but never what. It's not the first time he's been called a creature, though. Maybe that's what he is.

"I..." he says, trying to speak past the pressure on his collar. What's really holding him up is not knowing what to say. "I don't know..."

"No?"

Unfortunately for Estinien, that pressure shows no sign of stopping - if anything, it increases, Zenos' fingers curling around the strap as he regards the creature (it has lost what scant right it had, to be considered man). To look on broken things is nothing new - though in the world before it was usually him that did the breaking, or at least commanded it - and neither is the disappointment he feels at finding no spark of resistance, however faint and faltering, still smouldering within the ruins.

What a waste, to give this thing talons but not (as far as he knows) the hunger to use them. If it is a joke, then it is a very dull one.

Still, he must be certain, if only (so he tells himself) to know whether Hope or Despair is the better seed to nurture, when cultivating what foes he still has amongst the Pleroma. He cannot afford to waste that harvest as he wasted Godsblood, and Achamoth; when they come again, he wants them Furious, not Playful.

"Why are you here?"

He makes a pained sound in his throat, his fangs gritting. What Zenos could be expecting from him, he has no idea. Being tripped or hassled by the guards of the Citadel is at least straightforward. This man seems like he's looking for something in him, in his answers, and it's an intimidating prospect.

"To serve the Kenoma," he rasps. He means more the people than the force itself - he has no right to that sort of empowerment. He doesn't know if that's what Zenos will want to hear, but it's the best answer he has.

Matt had told him about their end goals, about the better world they mean to create. He wants to strive towards that end, even if he could never be truly part of it.

"To serve you."

Fangs, too. Really? There would be a sublime cruelty to it if this thing had any will to fight - to give it the tools to do so, to see how far it could be pushed before the urge to destroy outweighed the fear of reprisal - but as it is, it's just sad.

To serve, Estinien says; Zenos' lip curls in contempt. There were those in Doma who kept such trophies, who saw in their submission some testament to Garlemald's might; his own interest inevitably ended the moment they gave up. That there is use in unquestioning obedience he, on an academic level, knows - he was prepared to rule, after all, before Varis decided he was a rabid dog and not a prince - but that does not make it any less tedious.

"What use could you possibly be, to us?" he says, and releases the collar, shoving the wretched thing away as he stands.

He is shoved back to the ground and lingers there, his white hair obscuring his face. His shoulders heave as if catching his breath, but there's something else to it there too. There's tension in his muscles now, his claws digging against the Citadel floor.

He hasn't really had anyone push him in his way. To seemingly expect something from him, beyond knowledge of how he ended up in this situation. For reasons he can't quite articulate, he feels the urge to speak, in some semblance of a defensive reaction.

"To hunt the Pleroma," he says, averting his gaze. He feels the ache in his gut again. that urge to pay all of this back to someone. He just knows it can't be the people here. "The Regent... they said I could take vengeance upon them."

Suffering through living here is something of a trial, as he understands it. To prove his obedience - his commitment to rectifying his past self's mistake. He doesn't know how long it will take, but it's the only thing he has to look forward to.

... that is not the answer he expected, and stops him in his tracks, sparing Estinien from having to find out exactly how much harder than the Kenomite grunts Zenos could have delivered a contemptuous kick before leaving him in the dirt. Instead, he tilts his head, curiosity re-enkindled.

How much sweeter will the Pleroman rancour be, if they can see their former friend actively twisted against them? Yes. There's potential here. A way to drag a certain Warrior's gaze away from the Regent, perhaps, and that alone moves Estinien from Worthless to potentially Priceless.

Assuming, of course, there's actual Hate there to nurture, the way he had stoked the worst parts of of the likes of Yotsuyu and Fordola in the pursuit of his Glorious Moment. The tension is a good sign. So he presses again. "Do you know what those words mean, Creature? What have the Pleroma done, to earn your ire?"

[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

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