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

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[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.]

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Matt is relieved to see Estinien alive in the halls of the Citadel, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Is he pleased because Estinien's survival shows the Regent's mercy, their canny retention of resources? Should he wish Estinien were dead because the Kenoma's final embrace would be kinder to him than living like this? Is a sliver of him happy to see the person who tried to kill him put in this position? Matt's thoughts and emotions begin to tangle, so he leaves them alone.

For a long moment, he watches Estinien: the fresh darkness at his center, a soothing shadow set against the ravages of his physical form. But then that bucket of water cascades over him. Matt's gaze snaps to the gaggle of neophytes. He finds the behavior pretty irreverent, but he supposes he can't blame them. Estinien and the Sanctifier put their home in a lot of danger--danger for no purpose but replication of the status quo. And showing disdain for their enemies is only what they've been taught. Still, he doesn't have to like it. Summoning the ghost of his mother, Matt squares his shoulders and gestures with his right hand.

"You guys missed a spot back there," he notes, voice cool and even. "Work before play, right?"

One of the young Achamites flushes, in senpai-noticed-me fashion. Another looks sullen. But all three depart, scuttling their buckets and mops along with them.

So now Matt's alone with Estinien.

He didn't really have a plan for this part.

"... Hey." SOLID. "Do you remember me?"

He's dropped down to his knees, startled enough by the shock of cold water that his balance has wavered. It's not that he is incapable of feeling, or recognizing the disgust in the way he is being treated. He feels... uncomfortable, that that just happened to him. The main difference is that he also feels as if they are entitled to it, that he isn't above their scorn, that he doesn't deserve any better. His discomfort is expected. Everything is discomfort, to him.

He still feels cornered and alone, but at least there's no pride left to wound.

His long, tangled hair is doused in dirty water now, though, and he finds himself vacantly pulling it back with his hands, trying to get it out of his face. It smells, and what little clothes he had been given had been left even more inhospitable than before. He almost doesn't notice that Matt is there until he's spoken to directly.

He looks up, one crimson eye peaking from behind his overlong bangs. The silence drags on as he stares, Matt's question a difficult one for him.

"No..." he eventually murmurs. His voice is soft and gravelly as if his vocal cords have been damaged. Is he supposed to remember them?

Crane had been told that powers would manifest eventually; that those powers would likely depend upon his own nature and inclinations. Thus, he had an idea of what to expect, if not when to expect them.

What Crane got, was beyond his wildest dreams. But super powers or not, Crane was still a man of science. Twisted science, but science nevertheless. It was not enough to simply have these powers, but to know the extent of them, the limits. When he had looked for subjects among Achamoth's people, several citizens had almost come to blows for the privilege of an Aion of the Regent's "blessing". Crane had ended up using all of them, and found his stamina not overly taxed by the effort.

And through the tears, and the shaking, and once the screaming had subsided, they had thanked him when it was over. Thanked him.

Every day, Achamoth got a little better for Crane.

But the citizenry were the citizenry. Knowing that he could torment them with only trifling exertion was, while a pleasant surprise, ultimately irrelevant to his main goal; how well could he torment another Aion?

Fortunately, he did not have to look far for a test subject. As Estinien slumps about the Citadel, in all his pathetic, wretched "glory", Crane steps out of a side passage, and turns to face him. A broken husk of an Aion to be sure, but an Aion nevertheless. This one...what was the name again? Something rather pretentious-sounding. Crane had mostly heard of him as the Innocent Entity, or at least its host, who was of less importance than the creature he carried like a parasite within him. Well, no matter. A broken thing like this does not need a name.

"You. Creature. Come here." He beckons Estinien forward. Yes, that would do. This was certainly no man, standing before him.

Matt watches Estinien's fingers move in his hair, working vainly against its tangles. He's on the verge of intervening, just because--well, tangles can feel intractable when your fingers are in the thick of them, and it's not like Estinien has a mirror or a comb or anything. But then Estinien looks up at him, and seems to take a long time to answer what struck Matt as a straightforward, nearly foundational question.

"... Oh," Matt says slowly. He frowns down at him. Estinien looks and sounds genuinely confused--which on a personal level is a lot nicer than actively hostile. Even the wounded timbre to his voice is sort of nice, in that way where you just wanna soothe him.

"Well ... that's okay," he decides after a moment. "We can, uh, get off to a fresh start. I'm Matt."

He's not entirely sure how safe it is to offer Estinien a hand up. Pardon his paranoia, but the last man he approached who was kneeling in what appeared to be utter defeat subsequently murdered him. And that muzzle doesn't exactly inspire confidence. Matt gestures with his right hand, a sort of up, up motion, and hopes Estinien only needs prompting rather than physical support.

Even something as simple as an introduction feels complicated and overwhelming to him at the moment, in the sense that he had no recollection of having done so before. He'd only ever seen the Regent and Dionys before being let loose out here, and they both had the kind of presence that outpaced exchanges of names.

He does stand when Matt gestures for him to, though, mostly because he takes it as an order. He slowly pushes himself back up, leaving his hair alone for the moment. Once he's on his feet, he continues staring in a way that seems like it might be habitual. He certainly isn't going to speak unless he's invited to do so. What should he expect of 'Matt'? He has no idea.

As for names? He doesn't have one to give in return.

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.

"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.

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.

Paul arrives late at night; as it was with Abel and Himeka, it's somewhat evident that he's coming in from somewhere, as opposed to going out and happening to pass by - as always, his robes are long and dark, the sort that are good for obscuring both bloodstains and weaponry, and while he seems a bit jittery tonight he's more or less keeping it together.

(He's always jittery, when they do certain rituals at the church. He can't keep himself from feeling strangely elevated, like his brain is made of static; manic and uncomfortable, but bearable in the end. It's always bearable, if it's nothing else.)

He knows about the cage, because by now it's hard not to know about the cage; maybe that's why he came in this way. It's hard to say, whether he's doing this deliberately or whether it's just some sense of happenstance his brain managed to link together; either way, he's here, and Estinien isn't asleep yet, he's just...locked in there, and as such Paul greets him as he would anyone else while he's in his current state - a bit too brisk and more than a little distracted, but at least the greeting is, you know, there.

"Good evening," he says, like he's not talking to a man in a literal cage. "Do you need anything while I'm here?"

While he doesn't usually spend much of his nights actually sleeping, he's surprised to receive a visitor. Usually, if someone appears, it's either Dionys checking on him or a soldier rattling the bars. His slit pupils focus on the Kenoma outside of his cage. Should... he know him?

(One of the others had asked if he recognized them, and he still doesn't know what it means. Had they met him before, when he was blind and ill? Or was it before all that?)

Ill-equipped to deal with things like greetings and formalities, he moves a bit closer to the bars, as if trying to see Paul better. One of his eyes isn't in the best shape, if its Kenoma-tinged colouring is any indication.

What question, though... What does he need?

No, in truth, the question is what he could possibly be justified in asking for. His quiet voice, wrought with cracks, comes from beneath a veil of white hair.

"I don't... need anything..."

Is this a test, some part of him wonders?

"You're sure?" Now that he's indoors, the gloves can come off, as can the mask he wears when he goes out; probably a bit easier to see if he's recognized without it, rather than just by voice alone. His movements are abrupt, straightforward; perhaps most importantly they're practiced, just kind of a part of life now that he lives here.

"You can have something if you want it. Food, water?" He glances over at Estinien, briefly. "Company?"

In this short 'lifetime' he doesn't really get asked if he wants things. If he's given food or water it's just put in front of him or fed to him directly, a process that doesn't involve his personal wishes. Maybe sometimes it would be a reward for obedience, given at random. While his natural inclination was to say he needed nothing, Paul asking him again causes him to hesitate.

It takes him several moments to conjure a response, withdrawing eye contact as he turns it over in his mind. He looks down at the ground as he finally speaks, as if in deference.

"Food... and water..."

He hasn't spent much time thinking about his desires but, in this moment, he realizes he does actually want those things. Company, he'll have to think about a little longer.

Edited 2022-08-31 02:31 (UTC)

"That's fine, I'll get it for you." It won't be great, as he'll likely have to specify who it's for; it's long been noticed by now that Paul doesn't eat or drink anything himself. Not that many people judge; it's not like the Regent consumes anything in view of anyone, either.

"I can't let you out, I'm not in charge of that. But I can probably pass something to you, at least. I don't think they care much about that."

"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."

Let him out?

He hadn't even considered that Paul would, not unless he had a task to be completed. Even as the possibility passes through his mind, though, he realizes he's not sure if he'd even want to. As uncomfortable and numbing as being caged was, is wandering the halls of the Citadel any better, facing nothing but uncertainty and scorn?

As for Paul's offer, at first he doesn't think to say anything in response. He just for Paul to leave and hopefully come back, doing whatever it is he deems important. It isn't until a few moments later that the idea of a response occurs to him.

He nods his head. Yes. He'll take whatever Paul gives, and he'll have no reason to complain.

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.

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.

The pause between the offer and the response is...odd, but it's not something Paul is going to question too much; he just leaves once confirmation is given, and he returns a short while later with water and...well, at least he's located where we keep the rations for the new people just getting used to the Kenoma. It's not great and it's not much, but it's also not going to kill anyone.

He sets it out, finding it preferable to let Estinien take it than to hand it to him; he doesn't have a lot of trust in him yet, and he still remembers how he'd tried to kill Matt.

"I don't think you remember who I am. I'd think your response would be different if you did." So there's that much out in the open; he just sort of gauges Estinien's response. "My name is Paul. I'm a priest."

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.

For a long moment, Matt looks back at Estinien. He waits for him to say something, then realizes he isn't going to. He spends another long moment nodding mutely as he tries to figure out what he should say. What he should do.

Ultimately, he figures: It can't possibly serve the needs of the Kenoma for Estinien to stay so bedraggled. It's a morale dampener. And not to be rude, but the smell is a little distracting?

Okay. Yeah. He doesn't know if this feels right--it mostly feels intensely, crawlingly weird--but he jerks a nod over his shoulder.

"Come on," he says. "Jeez, you look like you can barely see ... we're gonna find you, like. A comb."

He's in the same place when Paul returns, like he hasn't really moved at all. How much he does want it only intensified when he sees the modest offering being laid out for him. He takes the water first, already drinking it as Paul speaks.

...Only to pause, choking on the liquid, when he processes what Paul is saying. His gaze lifts to Paul's face again, and the idea that he is supposed to remember something sends a twist of dread through his insides. This is the second Kenoma, the second of that unreachable superior being, that is telling him that he should remember them. What does it mean?

"Why... would I remember...?" he asks raggedly. He can't imagine his response being different. What is Paul anticipating he would do?

"A comb..."

He repeats the words uncertainly. It's not that he doesn't know what it means - he's retained his grasp on language for the most part, and at least recognizes things for what they are when he sees them, even if not before - but it's hard to imagine him being taken away for something like that. It seems weirdly human, like something too far above a wretched beast for him to contemplate.

He won't say no, though. He nods, moving closer to Matt like he's prepared to follow, towards whatever end. All around him, water is still dripping onto the floor, his clawed feet making footprints on the stone.

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.

"You hated me. Quite a bit, actually." His words are blunt, straightforward; he doesn't seem bothered by them. "We'd never met before, either; that was just something you'd decided without knowing me at all."

He shrugs. "It is what it is. The fact of the matter is that I minister to everyone here. If that includes you, then so be it. But you've caused harm to many in this place. Don't expect them to be kind or welcoming."

The most painful part of this is that it fits well enough into what he's already been told that things start to click into place. He already knew of something called the Pleroma, how it had burned him up in its radiance and left only dregs behind. How it was what was responsible for him being in this state, how it was only thanks to the Regent that there was enough of him here to experience anything other than helpless suffering. He knew that the Pleroma's touch was why he was so wretched now, why he couldn't serve the Kenoma like the others.

He just hadn't given much thought to what he did while the Pleroma was within him. He'd died, been torn apart by it, but that was a mistake made by a being he was only a spectre of. He couldn't understand or resolve it. That person had been destroyed and he was nothing but a lingering fragment, desperate to do whatever it could to avenge itself upon the force that had left him like this, because it was the only way to give purpose to his pain.

Hearing about how he'd personally wronged the Kenoma here, though... it's not quite guilt that he feels. He doesn't remember it, doesn't remember being that Pleroma-infected creature. It's hard to relate to crimes that he doesn't understand at all. But it causes his insides to turn, to twist, to ache, because it's just another reminder of what a cursed existence he has awoken into. Better than being trapped in meaningless, sightless agony perhaps, but only just so.

His gaze wanders and he shifts around in his cage, feeling uncomfortable in his body and existence in general.

"I don't..." he finally says. He's never expected anyone to be kind to him. Him being here at all was the Regent cleaning up someone else's mess, wasn't it? Why would he expect anything?

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[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

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