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

[inutilis]

Fury and grief, pain and loss and rage can be such powerful motivators -- but they can also be the most blinding sources of strength as well. Sometimes a fire, whether it burns hot or cold, can eat away with an insidious stealth... both at the man in whom it smolders, and all those near him.

Abel would not see any suffer that fate if he doesn't have to.

His hands remain firm over rigid claws, and he is fully prepared to stop this man from any recklessness while he has the presence of mind to do so. The gentility and mindful delicacy of that grip doesn't change, but it conveys a message all the same should Estinien find himself able to read it.

They aren't going anywhere.

"You will. I know you will. But I need you to hear me when I say that you aren't in this alone, and that means the weight of this-- it isn't all on you, either. If you try to bear it by yourself, it will crush you. That's what they want... and we can't let them have it. I know you won't give them that satisfaction."

This man's will is strong -- so strong that even as his body buckles under the pressure, the unconscionable weight of that sense of duty mingling with loss and yearning and hate... he hadn't fallen yet. That tells Abel everything he needs to know about the sort of person Estinien is.

"Just as you have those you need to get back to, those who fought to save precious things-- the same can be said here. I know it's impossibly cruel to ask this of you, but... please hold on, alright? I'll hold on to you, if you can hold on to what you're really fighting for."

[coerthantorment]

It's a testament to the vulnerability of his mental state that Estinien is allowing this sort of interaction to unfold. Even so, some part of him pushes back against it. It's sheer contrariness to some degree - his is a spirit that doesn't like to be contained. Yet, with Abel's gentle words and the traces of a familiar appearance, he can't bring himself to lash out.

Still, he tugs back against Abel's hold on his hands, as if resisting some deeper urge to pursue these violent feelings. His head bows forward as the growl in his throat intensifies, his body tensing, only to gradually soften into something almost like a whimper.

He knows Abel is right, but it still takes some time struggling with himself for him to fully make sense of that. He also knows that Abel isn't the person he imagined him as. After all, Alphinaud, Aymeric... they aren't here to help him. They'll be lost if he doesn't fight this.

Finally, Estinien lifts his head again, meeting Abel's gaze directly. There's a trace of clarity there that wasn't present before, as if Estinien is truly taking in Abel's actual features for the first time in this conversation.

"Who are you...?" he asks, at last.

[inutilis]

Suppose it would be no mystery that Estinien's mind sought to find some familiarity and comfort in a time of need; Abel considers it a blessing, because he doesn't doubt that this might have gone much less in either of their favors otherwise.

He releases those clawed hands when the other man seeks to draw them back, and some brief rigidity settles in the priest's shoulders as it looks like the situation is about to take an unpleasant turn, but... Estinien seems to resist whatever welling of madness had been building inside of him. Still... it isn't until Abel sees those eyes meet his own and see -- really see -- him for the first time that genuine hope begins blooming in his chest.

Even if just for the moment... he has found himself.

"...a man very glad to hear you ask," he says with a try at a smile, though it might be decidedly weary -- it is relieved and warm. This time, Abel offers his hand softly in greeting rather than in plea. "Abel, sir... my name is Abel."

[coerthantorment]

There's some shame in Estinien's posture now, seemingly realizing that he has been imposing on this person while having a fit of madness. Though Abel has perceived his struggle as strength, Estinien feels infuriatingly, helplessly weak - falling to specters that he had thought he'd long since moved past.

He eyes Abel's hand and shifts his own fingers as to accept the offer, only to realize again the way his body has been twisted. In the end, he doesn't take Abel's hand, flinching back and curling his arms around himself. He thinks, suddenly, about those gnarled fingers closing around his own neck and squeezing. Suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

Gradually, though, he pushes away the thought enough to speak.

"I am Estinien Wyrmblood," he says, as much an affirmation to himself as it is a greeting to Abel. "Scion of the Seventh Dawn."

With that statement, another burst of determination allows him to straighten his back, to look at Abel with a bit more confidence. He can't lose himself now. He can't bear the thought.

[inutilis]

Though it is clear that Abel's newfound friend isn't out of the woods by a long shot, this momentary lull in the grip madness has had on him is a source of comfort. One must celebrate every victory, no matter how small it might seem in the grand scheme of things; every inch they creep forward is one less they're festering fruitlessly in that black-tinged nightmare.

Thus, he is patient and watchful as Estinien gathers himself enough to offer his name-- and the mere speaking of it aloud seems to bolster the man's sense of self. The priest can see the steel, the pride, returning to his company's countenance -- and it is an emboldening thing to witness.

"Ah-- that is... quite a name, my friend! And title? Scion of the Seventh Dawn..."

Abel repeats it with no small amount of intrigue, and perhaps some absent-minded sort of bewilderment. Sh-should he have been addressing this man with more decorum? He gives off the sense of nobility, aristocracy, between the sit of his spine and the manner of his introduction.

"--Let me, um-- let me start over. That's-- I mean..." Dear God. He flusters, somehow feeling a creep of Intimidation settling between his shoulder blades. "--Father Abel Nightroad, at your service, Mr-- ah. Wrymblood? Is that right? I'm afraid my title isn't half as important-sounding as yours, i-it leaves a bit to be desired, doesn't it? Do you mind if I ask what that means...? Your title, that is!"

It's like a dam has broken, and now that Estinien is more present... Abel is determined to keep him rooted and anchored here. Thus, he may begin to suffer the dreaded storm knows as endless conversation in a most devious effort to keep his mind from wandering, to keep him distracted.

That, or he'll lose his mind in a different way entirely.

[coerthantorment]

Abel had seemed so confident before, when he was talking him through things, but now he's babbling? Estinien seems a bit bewildered by the transition as if he feels like he's missed something. To him, of course, his introduction doesn't seem that impressive at all.

Curious, though - is this man a priest? He shakes his head, as if to refuse Abel's apparent intimidation. He's never heard an Ishgardian priest refer to their title as lackluster. At least it's a concept he thinks he understands.

"The Scions of the Seventh Dawn... they are my comrades... the company I fought along with." Granted, it is an organization of some renown, but entire by their own hands. "I was... a recent inductee."

He clings to it now not out of a sense of importance, but because of the bond it gives him to his companions. The first time he truly felt at home since the Dragonsong War. He has other titles that are just as impressive but that feel far less relevant.

"They fought to preserve our world against all odds, and I swore my lance to them... all that I could offer."

[inutilis]

Abel can extrapolate that the Scions are some sort of fellowship or group-- maybe a militia? Estinien had mentioned fighting for the sake of his world when he had been lost to himself as well; were these comrades the same folk whose friendships had helped this man find himself again?

"Saving the world... that is no meager feat."

A hefty weight, an enormous burden to bear -- but Abel is gladdened to hear that Estinien seems to have found a place he feels belonging in despite it. It's clear from the way he speaks of the Scions that there is no shortage of loyalty between him and these companions of his.

[coerthantorment]

Though there is a distance in his eyes, a slight smile comes to Estinien's face, thinking on it. It was no meager feat, and yet they'd done it regardless. Through faith and sacrifice, they've achieved what even gods could not. His belief in them is unshaking and pure.

He can't help but think of their faces with a swell of pride and fear, all at once. Thoughts of them flicker into the emotional ambiance, of wise scholars, brave warriors, and hopeful young ones. All people capable of things he felt were beyond him.

"They achieved so much... more than anyone could have imagined. 'Twas the dawning of a new age of hope," he says. "To see them come so far, only to be met with oblivion... I could not bear the thought."

Part of him does wonder - if it really did turn out to be for nothing, could he survive it? What would be the point?

[inutilis]

The smile that slowly begins to bud at Estinien's lips offers another kernel of reassurance. It seems that talk of the Scions does indeed tie with memories of his comrades, companions... of friendship and the things this man finds worth fighting for. Good, he thinks; the more reasons his newfound friend has to fight for - the easier resisting the thrum in his veins will be.

It's... strange, still a uniquely surreal experience - the slight waver, an impression of people, of places, of attachments and nostalgia and admiration for things that don't belong to Abel quietly making themselves known to him. These are pieces of Estinien's life experience, aren't they? The priest watches him in a sort of distracted daze for a moment as he takes it all in.

"You won't have to," comes Abel's reply, gentle but with an undeniable air of surety behind it. "I have faith, Mr. Wyrmblood-- if not in you and me sitting here, then... in the people that we've left behind. Say that our worlds as we know it were lost to us. Say... it truly were a worst case scenario, and they were gone."

A truly morbid, agonizing thought. It is one Abel doesn't let linger for long.

"What's gone doesn't necessarily mean lost. Maybe... what's happened to all of it is much like what's happened to us. We can't see them, might not understand their fates, but-- we will do all we can until we find them. And if there's a way to bring it all back to how it's meant to be, then... well. I hardly need to tell a man who's already in the business of world-saving what comes next, right?"

[coerthantorment]

Estinien can't help but relate it back to what Emet-Selch had said to him not long ago - asking him how far he'd go to have them returned. It's irritating, certainly, but Abel's words also bring tears to his eyes, as much as he tries to blink them away. He'd like to think that Abel is the one here with the point.

If he'd done it before, why not do it again?

He moves to rub his eyes, but ultimately the best he can do to draw his forearm across them, with his fingers as sharp as they currently are. He can't give Abel much in way of verbal reciprocation, but from the shiver in his breath and the look in his eyes is clear it's made an impression.

"Aye," he finally says, nodding once. It's an affirmation what he's been saying from the start - he will keep fighting for as long as he has to, to see this made right. With that settling in his gut, though, there's room to think of the man he's found himself speaking to.

"Are you a priest?" he finally asks, trying to remember what Abel actually introduced himself. "You said your name was Father... ah..."

No, he can't remember it. Sorry, Abel.

[inutilis]

That's right... Abel sees what might constitute some hope, some equilibrium slowly making its way back into those eyes still aglow with an inhuman crimson hue. As long as Estinien has something to hold onto and keeps it close, then all isn't lost.

No... not their worlds, and not them, either.

Abel cannot help but chuckle softly at the re-prompting for his name-- he takes no offense, leaning back onto his hands as he regards his new friend. "Mm-- Abel?" he reaffirms. "Father Abel, that's right-- a touring priest back where I'm from, though admittedly... this is a bit further from home than I'm used to going, h-haha..."

Suppose he isn't alone in that at all, hm.

"But there's no place outside the Lord's jurisdiction, so I suppose I'm still technically on the clock, you know? Just-- not getting paid. Ah. Typical."

[coerthantorment]

'The Lord...' Estinien isn't sure which diety that refers to, nor is he really familiar with the idea of a traveling priest. He looks Abel over but, stripped of their belongings, there are few clues.

"What god is it you serve?" he asks. "My countrymen... They are a religious lot. But... I assume whatever patrons you may have are different from what I'm familiar with."

What gods may watch over other worlds? It's not something he's thought much of until now.

[inutilis]

...Well. There is a veritable pandora's box that could be opened here, and while Abel definitely isn't the sort of man to shy away from discussing one's beliefs -- perhaps he's just wise enough to realize there's a time and a place for everything. Thus, he'll keep his explanation rather light and easily digestible; luckily for both of them, he is not the sort of priest the church probably wishes he were, no bible-thumping here.

"In my religion, there is but one all-powerful and merciful God, Mr. Wyrmblood-- and admittedly, I'm a bit curious to hear what faith entails where you're from. I've gathered the gist that some of our homes are... ah. 'Different' might be putting it lightly, and... well, it only makes sense that our beliefs would be quite varying too, right?"

But if Estinien is a man who places faith in anything-- be it a deity or his companions, Abel would love to hear about it. Perhaps that subject would further anchor his newfound friend to the here and now, give him more sense of his purpose and place.

[coerthantorment]

One god... it's hard for Estinien to imagine. There are so many in his world, of all kinds, shapes, and seeming validity. What would a singular god look like? Hydaelyn? Zodiark? The heart of the star itself?

He doesn't argue it, though, because he already understands that different rules must apply. Does this god speak to Abel, he wonders? What does it feel like for that presence to be gone?

He nods his head in hesitant agreement.

"I was raised to worship Halone the Fury - the goddess of war. Guardian of Ishgard." His gaze looks distant again, thinking back. "Yet, she never did answer my prayers. I truly wonder... if she ever did hear them at all."

Having seen the aetherial sea and all that lay beyond... what did that mean for Halone's Halls, in the end?

[inutilis]

Goddess of war... Abel cannot help but harken back to the patron deities of countless faiths that have managed to rise and fall over the ages. It's a bit daunting to imagine the possibilities among different worlds considering how many differing beliefs exist in his world alone. Is Estinien's much the same? Ah; these are idle musings and he supposes he could pick the man's brain another day on them all.

"Can I ask you something, in that case?"

Because this subject, while philosophical and of a faith far beyond the purview of his own, may be one Abel can speak on at least tangentially.

"When you spoke with Her, did you do so hoping to be heard? And... if you did, was it in hopes your prayers would be answered?"

[coerthantorment]

His stomach turns. It was a mistake to bring this up, and he can recognize that. There is too much pain within, too bound to the nature of his own despair. He makes a non-committal sound, shaking his head and looking away, as blackened ooze dribbles down his cheeks.

"...I was but a boy," he says. "There was none else I could beseech for aid. Since then, I have found my own way... I needn't rely on such fickle things."

He wasn't some helpless devotee, waiting for their goddess to save them when it was clear she had no intention to. As interventionist as the church believed her to be, Estinien felt the opposite. Either she was disinterested in interfering with her people or she was unable to.

[inutilis]

Abel can see the subject brings his friend some measure of discomfort, and he nods his head in gentle understanding. This story isn't so dissimilar to many he's heard before; it isn't uncommon for those to look to their gods for guidance, for help, in times of need. But it does speak to a loneliness in Estinien's life; to have no one to ask for help but those whose presences are ethereal is... sad, to say the least.

"In Christianity-- that religion that I practice, it isn't strange to hear that people are disillusioned that their prayers have gone unheard, or that they feel like they're alone because it felt that God wasn't listening. And, of course... I can't speak for your faith nor those you believe in, Mr. Wyrmblood, but-- I can understand if you've ever felt like your words have fallen on deaf ears. It's hard when there is no tangible voice answering back, right?"

But... as there is always a but, he continues.

"But if your Goddess is like my God, then... if you pray, She will hear you. Even if we aren't always answered in the way we might like, or in a way that seems clear and obvious to us-- we're all heard. Part of having faith is believing that those who look over us do so with faith and trust in us, too. Maybe... it's in our power to answer those prayers ourselves in some way, or that the answer we look for isn't in our wishes being granted, but-- being given the tools to grant them ourselves with time. --Ah, I'm... getting a bit further into all this than I mean to, but I-- ha. I suppose what I really mean to say is... I hope that you won't lose faith."

[coerthantorment]

As remiss as it would feel to insist upon it right now, Estinien has generally considered his faith in his goddess already lost. Abel's words don't surprise him though. It's exactly the sort of thing that a priest would say... though in Ishgard it likely would have included the possibility that he simply wasn't worthy of the Fury's grace. So perhaps Abel's faith is a bit kinder.

There's something saccharine about it, almost predictable, but in a way that is familiar and, in that sense, somewhat comforting. It feels like something Aymeric might say. While many of their countrymen were convinced of a highly interventionist Halone, he and Aymeric had never relied on the idea. Maybe such feelings are truly universal.

"Hah." His laugh comes out roughly, not quite a scoff but with its own edge of irony. "You really are a priest."

Maybe it sounds dismissive, but it's more than Estinien has never been particularly good at this kinds of conversations. His appreciation for the sentiment largely goes unsaid.

[inutilis]

Abel takes no offense to such a reply; faith, religion and one's personal beliefs are just that - personal, and it is clear this man has not had an easy-going, kind life. The priest doesn't need to know his background to have determined as much; it is readily apparent, a glaringly obvious fact that does not require being stated aloud. Men who led difficult lives could find comfort in their faith, or they could grow embittered and resentful. Either way, Abel would begrudge him neither.

He's lifting a hand to sheepishly rub into silver hair in response, heaving something of a soft exhale that is both amused and, perhaps, just a little bit teasing.

"Oh, please, Mr. Wrymblood~! Did you really doubt me...? I might have my feelings hurt if you insinuate as much, you know. Not all of us can be in the business of saving the world, but-- hopefully you won't hold it against me..."

...This is much preferable to the state this man had been in when their paths first met. And while it's still a far cry from where either of them would like to be - sometimes a man must enjoy the small victories as they come.