EVENT #3: THE COST OF INNOCENCE

[aionmods]

The Cost of Innocence

INVESTIGATION

As the Aions arrive in Venera, they will find the natural beauty of the city in sharp contrast to its uncomfortable aura. Though the sun still shines and flowers still bloom in a place filled with physical vibrancy and life, the air itself is impossibly still, as if wind no longer blows. You can taste the stagnancy of it when you breathe, and the pleasant sights only make that feeling of absence more haunting. The streets are mostly empty, with most of the city's residents hiding away in their homes, fearing the touch of whatever illness has caused this. That is, all the citizens besides those most affected, who wander the streets in a lifeless and painless daze.

Normally, Venera would be occupied by both Hylician and Achamite soldiers, but it quickly becomes apparent that both have abandoned the city, only guarding its furthest outskirts. Their reasons vary: the Achamite soldiers seem to take religious objection to the feeling of the city, believing it to be some trickery of the Innocent, while the Hylicians simply see it as a plague they have no interest in catching or spreading. Because of this, it will be easy for Aions of both sects to explore with little pushback from any form of law enforcement. The Kenoma will be directed into the city with warnings about the potential physical and spiritual danger while Pleroma will be able to sneak in mostly unbothered. After all, no one is eager to follow you.

Most shops and businesses are currently closed, though some uninfected individuals still nervously keep watch over their workplaces, fearing potential looting. It's difficult, but not impossible, to find people to talk to, and while the most plentiful wanderers are the infected, the reactions from those with their minds still intact will vary. Some will be eager to speak to anyone who looks like they're trying to do something about their situation, desperate for any source of outside help. If revealed you are an Aion, this may either entice them even further or cause them to retreat, as if fearing that you are somehow to blame for their plight. For those that are enticed, it will become clear that they hold onto faith that Aions are in Horos to save them, and will tell these new arrivals whatever they can without discriminating between sects.

The base level information that can be found is thus: the infection began at the same levels it has been in the rest of Horos, only for the numbers of the afflicted to rapidly accelerate upon the coming of the Innocent's Moon. Some see it as a form of divine punishment for their cooperation with the Regent, while the less cooperative citizens see it as a malady brought about by the Aions themselves, their only hope being that they will be able to clean up the mess they made. Some citizen have managed to corral their inflicted loves ones into their rooms and will be willing to introduce you; most of these individuals are past the point of conversation, and seem fully lost to whatever fantasy world they are experiencing. They are disinterested in eating or drinking and it seems like, without help, they are destined for a slow death of starvation and atrophy. That is, if their apathetic state doesn't result in a severe accident, as it has in many cases already.

Any other clues will take more dogged investigation. It will be a day or so after the majority of Aions have arrived in the city that the first signs of their own infections become clear.

HEAVENLY BODIES

The first to feel its effects will be the Innocents, Lovers, and Celebrants; like a voice has fully awakening to them, whispering of how their touch can be the cure to the others' pain. It bids them to take their fellow Aions into their loving embrace, to share this gift, as only suffering lies ahead. It expresses without words that it will be a shield for their Aion kindred, and that those that accept will become their outstretched hands to a cosmos that craves peace. Any form of physical contact with those three Legacies will either introduce or rapidly accelerate the infections experienced by the others, this effect only becoming more intense if the wielder intentionally forces the power of this strange entity into their victims.

Even without that accelerating touch, however, other Aions are not necessarily safe; the infection will still seep in, albeit more slowly. All Aions may experience a growing feeling of connection to the infected Venerans, as if the energy within them is being drawn into their their own bodies. As the Aion's symptoms worsen, the the ones suffered by the Venerans will gradually lessen, though not go away entirely. It seems that the Aions soaking up this strange power is enough to take the edge off of what is happening to the citizens: but at what cost?

Various symptoms will manifest in afflicted Aions with outcomes far more diverse and devastating than what the Veneran civilians have experienced. Visionaries, Firebrands, and Artisans will suffer the most catastrophic symptoms, the clash between their spiritual natures and that of the Innocence being the most extreme. This malady is characterized by its innate desire to quell its victims of their resistance, smothering them in artificial peace, even if it has to deprive them of their bodies and minds to do so.

It is not without treatment, however. It will gradually become apparent that feelings of intense suffering or upset are capable of purging the infection, that clash with painful reality seeming to wake them up from their trance and reduce or eliminate physical symptoms. The more intense the distress, the more effective it will be. Fortunately, this heightening of Aion spiritual energy has the added consequence of making empathic communion connections far more acute. Instead of just transmitting and receiving emotions and thoughts, Aions will find themselves more easily able to enter the delusions and memories of their kindred, drawing them out and manipulating them for this purpose. The catch is that they will only be able to access what is on the surface of the other Aion's mind.

When an infection is reduced or expelled this way, the energy causing it seems to be dispelled from the city, lowering the intensity of its ambient effects. While similar can be done to Veneran citizens to help treat them, the energy will not leave, and will either go into the Aion casting it out or return to the nebulous source of Innocence and eventually infect someone else. Something about going through the Aions specifically seems to act as a filter, as unpleasant of a way as it is to help.

IN THE SILENCE

For those unlucky enough to develop complete, or near complete, infections (IE. a full Innocence petrification) a presence will awaken within them regardless of their Legacy. It will urge them to join with it, to embrace the peace it offers, and to become the extensions of their will in this ravaged world. With an infection of this intensity, there will be little they can do but to hear its call. What exactly this would ultimately entail is unclear, but there is the sense that his entity is looking to join with you on a spiritual level. If your character becomes infected to this degree please let us know under the Committed Actions toplevel below along with the context of that transformation and whether or not they are being cured from it. You may receive some additional information in return!

QUESTIONS

What is the best way for Aions to travel to Venera?
The quickest travel paths are for Kenoma to take a boat from Achamoth, which will take about a day, and for Pleroma to teleport to the Celebrant's shrine and take either a carriage or river boat to the city (there are offshoot rivers not marked on the setting map). The riverboats would be the faster option option of the two, and would also take about a day. The carriages/delivery carts would be slower and take a couple days, but have relay access to horses and therefore could keep going overnight. Characters with flight are also able to use that, though flying right into the city might cause a bit of spectacle. Then again, none of the local law enforcement is eager to chase you at the moment.

Are Veneran civilians experiencing the same symptoms as the Aions?
Veneran civilians are only experiencing apathy/loss of self/daydreaming and maybe the loss of pigments/color for advanced cases. The more body horror orientated effects are Aion only and are being caused by their body's spiritual makeup.

Can 'cured' Aions be reinfected?
Yes! Even if cured or treated, symptoms can return or worsen again. This will keep happening until the build up of Innocence energy in Venera is entirely expunged, at which point the illness will fade away across the continent. Whether or not the Aions mere presence will be enough to trigger that is yet unknown, but it does seem to be helping lessen the effects suffered by the civilians, at least.

How long does the infection period last in Aions?
Chronologically, we are considering the infection period of the plot to last 2-3 days.

Comments

[galdorleod]

Howl was among the Aions infected quickly and deeply upon entering the city, and he has spent most of the last few days wandering aimlessly. Unknowingly infecting the locals he drew close to, spoke to, or touched in an attempt to console or inspect their infection, Howl entered something like a trance, and it took him to the outer limits of the city, where the farms and orchards are. This was a lucky boon to people like Emet-Selch, who had been trying in earnest to rid the city of the infection, as one of its biggest sources had essentially quarantined himself. It wasn't until Howl was cured himself, and told how it was done, that he makes his way back into the city proper... and the way the disease has spread and progressed is somewhat shocking. Even as he can feel the sickness starting to creep back into his skin, bleaching his clothes and turning his golden hair the color of yellow chiffon, he continues onward. He's caused enough damage, it's time to help.

The increased empathic bond with his fellow Aions is one mercy among all of this, as it at least helps him find people that he can help. One person in particular is highly concerning, considering he has not been answering any of Howl's attempts to commune with him since he headed back into the city. Hells, they hadn't even talked after Howl was released from Dionys' custody, but surely that was the old man being aloof and broody, and has nothing to do with the present situation. Right?

When he finally finds Emet-Selch, he stops in his tracks from afar, taken aback by the change in his appearance. Perhaps it's just the low light filtering through the tall park trees, but... it does not look good.

Howl takes a deep breath and paces towards him with long, determined strides. Time to act.

"Old man!" he calls out, putting on a wide smile. Emet-Selch hates it when Howl calls him that. It should get some sort of reaction out of him.

[lachtara]

There is no reaction.

It's clear that Emet-Selch registers that he is being spoken to, However, there is a blank look on his face as if he can't quite make sense of what he is seeing.

Emet-Selch doesn't say anything. He turns around and begins to walk with intent towards...something nearby.

[galdorleod]

When Emet-Selch starts to move, Howl stops in his tracks to watch. The lack of any reaction — any at all — is not a good sign, and now that he's drawn closer, he can clearly see the toll that the sickness has taken on his friend's body. This really is quite bad.

"Emet-Selch!" Howl calls out, trying again, as he continues toward him with more hurried steps. The least he can do is follow him to make sure nothing happens, even if he fails to make a dent in the disease. Upon reaching Emet-Selch's side, he matches his pace and leans in to the space in front of him to show off the same wide smile.

"Aren't you going to say hello, you cranky old codger?" Howl asks pointedly. But as he does... a trickle of the other's mental state reaches the edges of Howl's mind. Emptiness. It's far too familiar, something he'd only just shaken off himself. He has to be careful.

[lachtara]

The world around them begins to change. It melts into an amalgamation of indistinct colors and shapes before beginning to form something else entirely. Soon, A large room fades into view. Its polished floors and decadent red and gold drapery give it a sense of grandeur, and the large seat at the far end accentuates such a notion. It is the unmistakable splendor of a throne room.

"Call me that once more and I will make it so you never speak again." Emet-Selch finally says in return to Howl's comment. The tone is sharper and sounds different compared to how he usually speaks, even when irritated.

Emet-Selch approaches the throne and sits on it with all of the confidence of someone who is meant to be there. Although, his appearance from moments ago is different as well: He has hair that looks almost entirely brown instead of white, clothes that exude an air of regality, and a face that looks a little younger, but is still unmistakably Emet-Selch. It's the only indication of this being some time long ago. A memory.

"The chirurgeon will be here soon. If you want to make yourself useful, then attend the door for their arrival." This seems to be an order he gives to Howl directly.

[galdorleod]

Howl feels the world start to change. He jerks away from Emet-Selch to spin away and gaze upwards just as the room finishes materializing around them. While he's never seen this place before, he knows what it must be: a memory. One of Emet-Selch's. Anything can happen in a situation like this. But while Howl knows that, he isn't prepared for the realization of what this place is, and what it must mean.

"A throne?" Howl mutters to himself in disbelief. What the...? How can this be? Emet-Selch isn't a king. He's a mage; he told Howl that himself. Although... all that talk about bringing his "people" back... and all that grief over their loss... This couldn't be related, could it?

Blinking, Howl looks back to Emet-Selch. His younger appearance makes sense, considering this is a memory, but he doesn't look that much younger. Not that Howl really understands how the "ancient being" thing works, but...

This is quite a lot to take in, and little of it fits into Howl's limited understanding of the old man. So he lets his gaze linger on Emet-Selch, perched confidently on his throne, before he walks to the door as instructed. The most he can do is play along for now — and maybe hope for an opportunity to shake him out of this.

[lachtara]

All is quiet in the throne room for some time after. Emet-Selch busies himself with some manner of an official-looking document, and it seems to proceed like any other day. It doesn't seem like a memory of particular importance.

But there is... something through their Communal bond that starts to seep through the emptiness. It is a lurching feeling that hedges on distress.

Then there is a knocking sound at the door. This door spans from floor to ceiling and looks much too heavy for one person to move. However, cut into the bottom is a smaller more manageable door. They seem to have knocked on that to ask for permission to enter.

[galdorleod]

Howl says nothing during the period of silence, choosing to wait by the door and watch Emet-Selch from afar. The creeping anxiety is not lost on him, but he can't even fathom a guess about what this memory is about or what might happen next.

When the knock comes, he startles and looks back at the door. After another glance at Emet-Selch, he reaches out for the door handle and opens it, as he'd been ordered.

[lachtara]

The door opens and a chirurgeon in all white rushes through. They rear back in a noticeable start when they see Howl. It is such an awkward motion that Emet-Selch looks up from his papers. The chirurgeon explains, "I'm sorry. You look like - " They shake their head and rush further inside without further explanation.

"Your Radiance, we humbly request your presence in your son's chambers. The physicians have done all we can and we thought... perhaps you being there would provide some level of reassurance?"

Emet-Selch gives them a dirty look. "You were summoned here to provide me with news of his health, not asking me to be one of your nurses." He sets the document he had busied himself with on his lap. "So what of his health?"

Their face changes to one clearly announcing pity. Despite Emet-Selch's sharp tone, there is a sense that this physician cares deeply for those involved. "His health has declined considerably in the last few hours. Though we have other methods of treatment, there is no way we could procure and apply them in time. Nevertheless, I have sent my assistants to retrieve them with all haste." There is a long pause of consideration. "... We... expect that he will not see the sun rise. I'm sorry, Your Radiance."

The look on Emet-Selch's face can only be described as absolutely...shattered. He sits there quietly, eyes wide with shock, and looks on. Looks on as he feels all the hope inside him flicker out like a dying flame.

[galdorleod]

Howl watches the exchange with a furrowed brow. The scene is dense with detail and the implications that come with it. Your Radiance. Your son's chambers. The sun rise. I'm sorry. And that unfinished statement from when the healer first entered. As Howl looks to Emet-Selch to anxiously gauge his reaction to all this, an unsettling suspicion begins to take shape.

"The great equalizer," Howl says aloud as his gaze drifts to the floor. His grip on the door handle loosens, and for a moment his arm hangs horizontally by nothing but his curled fingers. Then he finally lets go, and his hand swings limply to his side, and the door creaks shut.

"Nobody can escape it. And... neither ancients nor kings nor mages of eld can stop it."

Howl is mostly talking to himself, but he does not keep his voice down and means for Emet-Selch and the shade of the imagined servant to hear him. The look on Emet-Selch's face... the emotion seeping out of his mind and into the walls and floor and air... it is just too heartbreaking to look for long. Howl glances away again and sighs.

What will they do now? Shall they be off to the 'chambers' next? He doesn't like this. He doesn't feel good about it. Emet-Selch has given Howl a path to saving him, but he does not like what he suspects he'll have to do.

[lachtara]

The same endless grief that has eaten away at his heart in bygone years emerges once again, painfully clear in their Communion. It feels like it has actual weight to it - The feeling of his future stretched out before him that promises nothing but an endless succession of days. The endless despair that the Kenoma feeds on day by day.

His words that follow in the Communion are said quietly. "He was not just my son. As I held him in my arms when he was just a babe, I felt hope that I had long since lost."

Emet-Selch stands from his throne and begins his way toward the door Howl attends. Notably, his steps seem more laborious than a few moments before. He stops just in front of Howl and looks down with such contempt on his face. The words he says out loud have a bitter edge to them. "...But there is no hope. You are weak, frail, and attached to your limited perspective. Your people have always left my heart broken, and I wonder why I am such a fool for allowing myself to love you at all."

The room around them fades like a dream. It shifts to the interior of a larger room with a lavish canopy bed, red and gold tapestries, and finely sculpted decorum at each corner. Sun peeks through a curtain at the opposite end of the room and with it the only source of light.

The shade of a chirurgeon kneels by the bedside. They reach across the bed and pull a white sheet up and over the head of the person who lies motionless upon it. One can briefly glimpse a deathly pale young man with golden hair reminiscent of Howl's. Their golden eyes - which so closely resemble Emet-Selch's own - look empty as they stare at the ceiling.

He casts his glance to the bed. His voice raises as he is overwrought with emotion. "How many times must I watch you bleed? How long must I kneel at your bedside to tend to your wounds? How many times must I watch as you become your own undoing before it is finally enough?"

[galdorleod]

Howl stares back at Emet-Selch, mouth slightly agape, as he spits venom at him. He'd seen and felt his sorrow before, but not like this. The ancient had not shared this facet of himself before — this irreconcilable disgust that is both sourced from his sorrow and a source of it. He's still shaken by what he's heard as the room begins to change and does not even look out at the new surroundings. It's when Howl's gaze follows Emet-Selch's to the bed that he manages to glimpse the dead man's death mask just before it disappears.

In this moment, there is no time for the young wizard to make sense of the contradictory things he's learned about Emet-Selch over the past few months. Nor is there any time for Howl to get mad at him for what he's hearing — these new revelations are making him feel very lied to. He must do something, mad at him or not, offended or not, or else Emet-Selch will be trapped in a white prison of apathy, and drag Howl back in with him.

Gritting his teeth, Howl reaches out with a suddenly clawed and feathered hand to roughly grab the front of Emet-Selch's ornate vestments. There is a defiant, determined scowl on Howl's face for when he inevitably looks down at him, but Howl wastes no time, knowing that this gesture will not be appreciated. With a steel grip, he yanks Emet-Selch forward towards the bed. As soon as he reaches the foot of it, he uncerimoniously snatches the white sheet off with his other hand. The blond man's empty, lifeless, unfeeling eyes stare up at the ceiling.

"And what exactly, you useless old man, are you doing about it?"

Howl lets go, pushing him away as he does, before pointing accusingly at the body. This might actually ruin their friendship, he screeches at himself silently, but he could not think of anything else to say, and they both need out of this memory. Fast.

"You can't tell me you sat on some stupid throne, busying yourself with paperwork, while your own child lay dying in some other room? Left him there to suffer, alone, with not even his own father there holding his hand as he perished? Not to mention some supreme mage who I'm quite sure could have fixed his ailment in an instant? Was that Emet-Selch on holiday at the time?"

Howl is trembling, he hear it in his own voice, but he continues, pointing his accusing finger at his friend now. "If this is how useless you are when it comes to saving your own son, you'll never bring your people back. What are you doing, man? What are you really doing about any of this?"

[lachtara]

As he is led to the bedside, spoken to in such a way, and openly berated, it feels as though something that he has been trying to keep at bay finally shatters.  

His gaze slowly, quietly, shifts to Howl. A white tear slides down the slides of his face - it bears the signature look of the Innocence that has afflicted him - and then another, and then the next. There seems to be no end to them.

"You think of me as so unfeeling," Emet-Selch says bitterly. "That I would sit on a throne and not suffer the weight of despair of what has been lost? For me, for you, for all who draw breath? That making the world right again does not consume my every thought?"

Emet-Selch thrusts a hand outward and the whole of everything around them dissipates into wisps of black. The flurry of darkness surrounds them, builds upon itself, and leaves them standing in a shallow pool of inky darkness bordered by the silhouettes of ruined spires.

"Then let me share with you my misery." He says before their Communion is flooded with the same heartbreak he had felt so long ago - As stood and watched as his world burned.

[galdorleod]

Howl is anticipating retaliation for what he's just said. The tears prompt him to take a nervous step away and he bites his tongue as Emet-Selch seems to be ramping up to something. As he'd feared, the room around them starts to change for the second time, and Howl stands poised for anything — whatever horrible magic spell or legion of imagined soldiers the Ascian's mind might subject him to next. And he has no idea whether his cruel words have actually worked or not.

The young wizard has little time to digest the dark water around his ankles or the structures towering in the murky distance. The psychic assault of emotion hits him so hard, it's as if he's crashing into the ground again. This isn't physical pain, though, it's even deeper than that, inescapable, the sort of pain that does not heal or fade with time, but languishes, unresolved. This same sorrow has been permeating the air since Emet-Selch drew them into this memory, but here it is in full force, pure and undiluted.

The first time Howl felt this sadness, it brought him to tears. Now, he's trembling as the world blurs around him. After a moment, he drops to his knees into the black at his feet, splashing down with his hands to stop his fall. But there is not exactly a floor beneath the pool... it feels like... sand, or muck...

"Emet, p-please," Howl gasps. When he squeezes his eyes shut, tears drop into the water beneath him. "I understand... I do understand.... stop this already...!"

[lachtara]

"You understand?! How could you possibly understand?!" It's the first time that he's truly raised his voice in anger. It sounds different, distraught in a way.

Flickers of feelings bubble up one at a time; The feeling of having to murder those he knew, the heartbreak he felt as he watched his dearest friend give themselves to death, watching their sacrifice shatter into nothing, waking in a ruined world surrounded by the broken souls, the loneliness of lifetimes, the hopelessness, failure

upon failure

upon failure

the feelings run on and on.

All the emotions build on one another, as a thousand thousand screams of those he'd seen lost fill the air.

Emet-Selch pets a hand to his face, his fingers curling with his own tinge of pain. Even as he feels these same emotions with such clarity, he does not so much as bend a knee to them. "No matter what misery I may endure next, no matter what sadness or heartbreak or loss I face, I cannot yeild to it. The hopes and dreams of those I love fall to me and I will not fail them."

Through all the grief and sadness, perseverance remains. And through the endless sea of darkness around them begins to appear small pinpricks of light, as if the illusion is finally starting to break.

[galdorleod]

Howl braces himself against the muck under his hands and knees, gasping for air, praying that the sensation of being sucked downward into quicksand is only a figment of his imagination, as the sheer weight of Emet-Selch's emotions bears down on him like a physical, tangible force. The gravity of this heartrending past feels like it's being converted into literal gravity, and Howl cannot do anything in the face of it. He can't even raise his gaze to see the tears continuing to stream down Emet-Selch's face, or the glimmers of natural sunlight starting to break through their constructed surroundings.

No. With his head bowed, he sobs. Each tear sends a ripple across the surface of the black pool. He's sank into the pool up to his elbows now. He should have never said any of those things to Emet-Selch, to his friend, not even to save him. He hears the voice of the Innocent in the back of his mind again, telling him that it would have been more merciful, more loving, to let the Ascian become lost to peace that it offered. In this moment, it is hard to disagree with it.

[lachtara]

The darkness above them continues to break apart. It gives way to a rippling sky of churning ocean waves.

Everything becomes plainly visible in this newfound light. All around them are buildings that stretch heavenward in an endless array of spires. Their winding structures look as though they were once awe-inspiring creations of artistry, but now sand and muck seeps through them, they are peppered with cracks, and fire seems to have tarnished most of the building's lovingly crafted faces.

Emet-Selch finally closes his eyes. The white tears of innocence on his face begin to run clear, and whatever affliction of Innocence that had consumed him drains out with it. He takes a deep breath and finally settles back into a familiar calm.

When all the pain and sorrow has run itself through, All that remains is the heartwrenching feeling of wanting to go back to a place that only exists in his memory. To the ruined place they both stand in now.

His voice sounds quietly through the Communion: 'After my people were no more, a countless number thought themselves worthy to inherit our world. I shared with them what I know, ruled over their nations, raised a family with them, befriended them - ' He looks up longingly to the ruins around them. ' - but they are not the people I once loved.'

[galdorleod]

Slowly, mercifully, the onslaught of despair subsides. Howl remains motionless on the ground, soaking wet and on his knees, but now there is a city street beneath him, grey and smooth and clean. His sobbing has been replaced with deep, shaky breaths. He's still collecting himself when he hears Emet-Selch's voice in his head, quiet and yearning. Controlled again.

When Howl rises to his knees and lifts his head, he's finally able to take in the expansive landscape around them. It feels foreign to him, and it's clearly not the city that housed the royal quarters he saw before, but there's an overwhelming nostalgia invading his mind as well, layering on top of his own genuine emotions. One look at Emet-Selch tells him that the peril has passed, and that he's succeeded in saving his friend. This sadness is not being shared for the purpose of hurting him anymore, but it hurts him all the same.

Howl doesn't want to stay. He doesn't want to talk to Emet-Selch about what he's just seen and felt, or what he had to say to make him lash out. He swallows dryly and turns away. As he does, a coat of feathers emerges from his arms and clothed back, and his mind pushes back against the psyche overlapping with his own. He wants out of this. Get Emet-Selch out of his head, get himself out of his head, and let him fly away.

[lachtara]

Emet-Selch looks up longingly at the buildings that surround him. Once happy and buzzing with life and laughter, here they sit. Silent and ruined as the graves they mark.

He observes as the illusion fades. The ominous morning gives way to the blood-red evening skies of Venera, and each wonderfully ruined spire quickly slips back to the flower-filled archways and daintily carved architecture of the city.

He doesn't say anything to Howl. The link between them is quietly severed in silent dismissal.

[galdorleod]

With a loud and rushing beat of two wings that swiftly sprout out of the feathers now covering Howl's back, he launches into the air, sending up dried leaves and a cloud of dust in his wake. Almost in the same instant, he's put enough distance between himself and the Ascian, and that pervasive, never-ending sadness is gone.