EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

ii / handwaving some kinda very brief i-ish interaction if that's ok!

[galdorleod]

[ From where he stands on the stairs, among the soldiers and other Aions who had given in to the darkness, Howl notices the solitary man huddled against one of the far walls — and recognizes him. Not by sight, but by psyche. He's one of several people who had tried to approach him while he was stuck in the throes of despair, wailing and refusing to eat. Howl had completely ignored him at the time and it successfully lead to him leaving him alone, but — he'd still felt that genuine willingness to help. He'd rejected it, yes, but he felt it all the same. And, recognizing the woeful figure now from his perch among the surrendered, Howl feels compelled to do... something, say something, maybe even try to convince him to let go.

His shoes clack softly on the stone floor as he approaches. The closer Howl gets, the more the man's broadcasting thoughts come into focus, like someone turning up the volume on a record.

Howl stops in front of him, standing directly within the thousand yards of his thousand yard stare. ]

Still trying, are you?

that is more than okay!! 🤝

[inutilis]

[ the sound of footsteps making a slow but unmistakably steady approach draws Abel from wherever he had been distracted inward; blue eyes slide to meet the face of the man who comes to stand in his line of sight -- and the dichotomy of his appearance compared to the last time Abel had seen him isn't lost to the priest at all.

thank God, is the first thought that wiggles its way through the stupor. thank God... this man had managed to pull himself from whatever dark place had claimed him; those anguished cries has been genuinely awful to hear and he had been beyond consolation.

...but Abel's relief is short-lived, because though his brain might be a bit more sluggish than normal, he isn't entirely without his wits. his fellow captive's miraculous recovery from his misery wasn't because he had successful fought off the sick, coiling invasion from within.

ah.

the priest's expression sinks. 'still trying,' he'd said... and Abel understands. ]

...What have you done?

[ the question doesn't leave him in accusation, but grief.

what have you done, Howl...? ]

[galdorleod]

[ The question makes Howl smile. It's a humorless smile, born from pity for the mindset that could've asked it in the first place. This poor man — if only he'd come to his senses already. ]

Oh, this? [ lightly, he gestures down at himself - bathed, clothed in a clean robe, wearing shoes for the first time in two weeks. ] I'm feeling much better, thank you.

And... I'd see the same for you, sir. [ It's not like Howl expects the other man to simply agree with him from the start, but... start somewhere he must. ]

[inutilis]

[ that smile is unnerving, setting some tension in the priest's shoulders as his eyes remained fixed on his wayward captive. no... suppose this man isn't a captive anymore, is he? he had left the cavern, and now he has returned a free man.

or as 'free' a man can be, considering what was required of him.

Abel swallows thickly, shakes his head in quiet denial. ]

I don't want to believe this is what you really wanted, much as it's what you had to accept. And I... I am still...

[ ...still trying, trying so very hard to grip onto the parts of him that will not let go of the hope, yet. because he is terrified of what it means-- what it means for him, what it means for this man, what it means for all of them if this continues.

this is all hauntingly, eerily familiar in a way that would be nauseating, no sludge required. and he is terrified. ]

[galdorleod]

Want has nothing to do with it.

[ For surely, nobody wants their situation to be as bad as it is. Nobody wanted their worlds to be destroyed, along with all their possessions, their goals, their sacrifices, their... beloved. Who would want such a thing? It has nothing to do with liking the state of things, but everything to do with how they ought to deal with it.

With a sigh, Howl saunters to the priest's side. Without any fear of some sort of outburst from him, he takes a seat beside the man. On the outside, Howl is calm. But the psyche being broadcast outward is that of solemn despair. Sitting beside Abel, the wizard clearly senses his strife too. ]

Sir... [ he begins slowly, considering his words. ] Why did you try to help me?

[inutilis]

[ luckily for both of them, even in this state, Abel is perhaps one of the last people who would offer any malicious intent; though he stiffens a fraction as the other man comes to sit beside him, it isn't so much a fear of his approach as much as another sort of fear-- as if Howl might be the one in danger through proximity to the priest's person.

but nothing happens, of course. the man sits, his voice so very gentle; the undertones of a bone-deep melancholy accompanies it Abel identifies as not entirely his own. then... this feeling-- this is...

...

he's stirred from his thoughts by that soft question, and Abel lifts his head and angles blue eyes to Howl's face, simply studying him for a beat. it's impossible not to tell from their closeness that Howl is, indeed, doing so very much better than he had last Abel saw him, so... why does it make his insides twist uncomfortably to see it?

what price did you pay? the thought shivers through him like a physical ache. what have you done to yourself...? ]

Can I ask you something, before... [ the briefest pause; a measured breath, ] before I answer?

[ he won't wait for permission; Abel looks at Howl with as much presence of mind as he can muster. the worry radiates off him right alongside a mourning for something he fears this man might not even realize he's lost. ]

...What was it that you were thinking, then? When it was at its worst, were you... scared? Or were you grieving?

[galdorleod]

[ Howl keeps his gaze averted, out and up at the stalactites interrupting the constellations etched into the ceiling. He bends one leg, bringing his knee up so he can rest his arm on it casually. His mind continues to roil in low-frequency sadness, despite how relaxed he looks. ]

Was it not obvious enough already? [ A non-answer. Howl isn't particularly eager to go over it all again. ] I suspect it can't compare to what you're going through.

[ But, what a shameful display it must have been. Maybe he owes it to at least one person to explain himself — especially when this stranger is so unusually worried about him. He'll see if the priest presses the issue. ]

[inutilis]

[ the discordance of Howl's easy posture and the quiet waves of something sorrowful are at odds with one another. does this man not feel it...? or is it that he's simply putting on a brave face, buried whatever aches inside him now?

Abel studies his hands for a moment as his question is answered without really being answered at all. ]

That isn't true, is it? All of us are here against our will, and all of us were made to suffer the same sort of madness.

[ one that promised a release in an insidious, creeping tongue, an end to the pain it created. ]

...That you've been delivered from yours isn't as reassuring as I'd like it to be, sir.

[ it is fear, and grief, and a wary, deep apprehension burning a low and tumultuous churning to meet Howl's quiet melancholy. Abel is afraid, and it isn't just new fear. ]

[galdorleod]

Madness, you call it?

[ He tips his head, pretending to consider the merit of the priest's phrasing. Howl is sensitive to the fact that the other man is scared — even now, after accepting the fatalistic insistence of the black liquid forced down his throat. He is trying to help people see things the way they need to see it, and Howl knows he has to try to listen to make that happen.

But he shakes his head a split second too quickly, betraying the fact that his mind was made up the second he formulated a thought to answer. ]

Better to call it insight, if you ask me.

[ His eyes tear away from the ceiling to glance sidelong at Abel. Those eyes, a little bit too blue and too pale to be entirely human, were already like that when he awoke in this place. They aren't an affect of the "madness." ]

Don't pretend you aren't grieving yourself, friend. I know that's a lie.

[inutilis]

[ it isn't lost to Abel at all - how very empathetic this fellow is, how whatever the ichor has done to him, it hasn't robbed him of his ability to feel for others. but that is part of why it is so fearsome, isn't it? something that promises oblivion, an end to pain, that leaves a man who succumbs to those promises in possession of pieces of himself that give him a sense of normalcy, of artificial calm--

it cannot end well. it can never, ever end well.

Abel's shoulders sink further, though it's impossible for him to look away from those too-bright, too-blue eyes; is it something he sees inside of them? something about the man's response that compels him? ]

You're right. [ the admission is quiet, soft.

deception really wouldn't serve any good purpose here, would it? regardless, at least on matters of the heart, Abel has always tried to be incessantly and obnoxiously earnest. does Howl feel the same? ]

I'm grieving for something I'm afraid you've lost, something neither of us might be able to put to words just yet. And-- I suppose I'm afraid, too. Afraid of what will happen to you-- to you, and all of them.

[ a slow gesture toward the incline that leads to the awaiting guard, ready to ferry those who had accepted their stain. ]

But your grief... it was a different sort, wasn't it? I could hear it, sir. [ enough to break his heart to pieces for the pain Howl must have been in for it. ]

[galdorleod]

[ Yes, it was different. It isn't anything like the grief Abel feels, which Howl suspects is not really grief at all, but concern for Howl. For that to be the most prominent emotion he's picking up from the other man — it's hard for him to believe. People don't care about him, not like that. Not with that intensity, and certainly not strangers. Hence, there must be more to it. He's got to be hiding something, Howl tells himself. That's the grief he wants to hear about — wants him to think harder on, to help him come to the right decision.

But, Howl finds himself yet again at the business end of a prying question. The priest did press the issue. With a sigh, and the same joyless smile from before, he looks back up at the ceiling. ]

Weren't there people you care about in your home? The home that's gone, that'll never be coming back?

[inutilis]

[ ...it is becoming an uncomfortable frequency, this. this mention of a possibility Abel stubbornly and whole-heartedly refuses to acknowledge as even plausible with the whole of him.

it manifests itself as a sort of willful bristling, something iron and steel despite all of Abel's seemingly soft edges as his gaze settles at some point at the cavern floor before them rather than those bright blue eyes. ]

Are you really so certain of that, sir? Do you really think all of it could be gone, as simple as that? Because I can't bring myself to believe any of it.

[ the words remain gentle, firm as the undercurrent of something forceful and rigid is beneath it.

and though it's there, lurking quietly beneath it all-- Abel would deny it. to himself, to Howl, to the Aion herself: the smallest shiver of doubt, of fear. because they all had the same vision, and they all felt how unconscionably real it had been. ]

[galdorleod]

What I believe is that my senses.

[ They didn't see their worlds die, to be fair, but the certainty with which they felt it and knew it to be true — what reason do they have to doubt that? Its truth was apparent even before they hatched from those giant crystals. Howl knew his world was dead long before they forced that black liquid down their throats. ]

Don't tell me you didn't feel it, too. You're sharper than that. I can tell.

[inutilis]

...I did.

[ it was like some kind of abstract, horrible maw of emptiness had swallowed everything whole. it had all vanished, disappeared; the sense of it all simply ending in a way that was not natural is something he will never forget.

but all the same... ]

But just like faith can be blind, senses can be tricked, and a vulnerable mind can be warped. None of us understand any of what's happening to us, and... I can't-- I can't give up on everything.

[ the look he gives the man beside him is a terribly conflicted one, as if he is of two minds. one half viscerally and instinctually rages against the very possibility of everything of meaning, of value, disappearing in the blink of an eye while the other half looks to Howl in plaintive desperation, as if seeking for his denial to be validated, fears assuaged. ]

I can't accept it's just... gone. If it were... if everything really had been destroyed, then...

[galdorleod]

Then you'd be wasting your time, hm?

[ Howl's expression remains controlled, contained, as he stares back at Abel. Was that a tiny glimmer of doubt he'd sensed in the other man a moment ago? If so, his defiant response still makes sense, and would tell Howl more about his desire for it not to be true than his ability to consider the situation they actually find themselves in here.

Howl doesn't want it to be true either. But, the confidence with which he believes it to be true is unwavering. Buttressed by his incredible despair, it withstands even the strongest hopes and doubts. ]

But, sir... have you given thought to every facet of this? Of the deception you're taking as a given? [ with superficial lightness, Howl shrugs and bows his head. ] Of the time and energy you'd have wasted if your and my and everyone else's gut feelings were right all along?

[inutilis]

...Abel.

[ 'sir,' he supposes, simply sounds wrong to his ears-- and perhaps focusing on such minutiae is a bit more tolerable than the alternatives presently. is he seeking distraction? ...no, not entirely. suppose no amount of small talk nor deflection will take away from the glaring gap between him and the man seated beside him, no matter how close their physical proximity.

but he slides Howl a careful look, before his lips tug into an admittedly weak sort of smile. his hand follows it, held aloft in offer for a shake. ]

I'm Abel, sir. Father Abel, if titles were to mean anything in a place like this.

[ 'deception,' 'wasted time;' even as he seeks to get away from it -- Howl's words repeat in the back of his mind, sticking in his craw, unsettling. does Howl truly believe this...? ]

[galdorleod]

[ Howl does truly believe this. He'd succumbed quickly to the black darkness forced down their throats, weakened as he was already by grief over his home and loved ones. To whatever extent Abel can pick up on Howl's state of mind, his confidence in what he's saying is unmistakable.

So, it's with mild feelings of failure that he reaches out to accept the handshake. It seems this Abel isn't going to budge. ]

And I am the Wizard Howl, if we are including defunct titles. [ As he withdraws his hand, he sighs. ] A priest, are you? Hmm. Your faith would make more sense, in that case.

[inutilis]

Ah, a Wizard? [ well, though Abel hadn't exactly meant for this to be a distraction... suppose he won't exactly lament it if they travel away from more despairing subjects, even if only temporarily. whether or not they can see eye to eye on the bigger picture doesn't change that they are two men in the same circumstances; they've been pulled from their homes, very different homes, left to flounder here and find their own way.

and... well, pardon Abel if part of him doesn't find all this fascinating, if also intimidating and daunting, too. a wizard... ]

Is that some sort of, um-- I mean... is that the sort of Wizard who practices magic? Or does that mean something else where you're from, Mr. Howl?

[galdorleod]

Aye. Magic.

[ Howl leans back nonchalantly during the quick succession of questions, looking a bit bored to hear them. His goal here having failed, he'd might as well return to the surface again and enjoy the sunshine and breeze. But he'll indulge Abel in some answers anyway, as a gesture of respect — what harm could it do? ]

You sound a bit star-struck. I suppose you're another from a word without magic, then?

[inutilis]

[ hOWL... do NOT get bored, this is all novel for Abel okay, wow!! the priest doesn't seem to have caught on to his company's loss of interest (or it doesn't show outwardly if he does.......), ]

Well-- yes, that's right... I suppose it's rather obvious, hm?

[ a sheepish smile, before he regards Howl with a look that is both softly apologetic and stubborn, steady in a way it hadn't been before. ]

...I'd like to see it. This world you're from, one with magic? Even if you might not be able to accept it isn't beyond you... I can't quite stomach such a thought, Mr. Howl. So, whenever we manage to find our way through all of this and get back to where we belong-- please consider taking me for a quick detour before I head on my merry way, would you?

[galdorleod]

[ Howl would normally be oozing charm and cordiality, and be more than receptive to the multiple olive branches Abel has extended to him, but... they're not in a normal situation. He didn't approach Abel to chat, he approached him to try to save him from his own stubbornness. In Howl's mind, to still be resisting at this point qualifies as willful, self-imposed suffering — his own horrid experience being his only comparison point. And yet, Abel seems to be... enduring it quite well. Oddly, paradoxically well. It's no wonder he failed when he thinks about it that way, but still, how is it possible? ]

...A detour.

[ Howl's calm expression twists into a bitter, humorless smile. He's asking him to show him around his dead world? The one that will never be coming back, no matter how many soothing words they can offer each other in comfort? Howl would love nothing more than to take him around Ingary. But for Abel to ask such a thing of him...

Without looking at the priest, Howl rises from his seat on the ground. He pauses once he's on his feet, as if he's simply going to walk away, but then turns to look down at him. ]

Those of us who have finished the ritual... we aren't the ones forcing you to stay down here. Don't forget.

[inutilis]

[ Abel knows Howl isn't capable of holding out hope for the same things the priest does. it had been the same with Amos; it had been the same with CielElesia. if it hadn't been for the reasons Abel has kept close, the reasons he has to endure, to keep faith even in the prospect that all has been lost--

maybe he would've been crushed under that weight, just like they had been.

but that is yet another reason to hold strong. because if they don't have that flickering flame of hope to hold onto, then... it is the duty of those that do to carry it for the rest.

blue eyes trail Howl as the wizard rises to his feet, and though Abel had not brought mention of Howl's world to be cruel... Abel had done so full well knowing the pain it might incite. he wouldn't blame the other man for deciding he had enough. but what leaves Howl's lips instead of irritation or condemnation, is--

ah. ]

...Mr. Howl?

[ even if it's like this... ]

Thank you.