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

moiraine damodred | the wheel of time | champion

[velvetoversteel]

i. the ritual

As the soldiers muscle her and the others towards the ritual circle, Moiraine fights back for the first time since she came out of the cavern. For as much as she spoke to some of the others about patience, about waiting for their moment to break free, about being certain they were not about to die here – she is done being herded like a sheep to the slaughter.

A whip wrapped around her throat puts an end to her brief moment of resistance with embarrassing ease. The soldier who administers it nearly looks as if he'll strike her with his fist if she keeps fighting back; it's fear she reads in his eyes, she realizes. Fear of the ritual, of her, of something else?

Her anger flames hotter when the whip comes off and some magic she can neither see nor sense forces her to her knees. She has time to glance around for a moment at the others near her, to realize a few of them have the same sigil that adorns the back of her own left hand, stained with drying blood – and then one of the black-masked individuals kneels down next to her and forces a vial of something foul down her throat. Moiraine coughs and spits, trying to get it to come back up, but to her pure unmitigated horror it almost seems to slither further down her throat instead. Violated fury mingles with something she would never admit aloud to feeling: fear. I will not yield, she thinks, focusing on that as if it will somehow make any difference at all. I will not--

It doesn't matter. The dark tide sweeps over her as it does all the others, and when it's done she feels immediately awful, as if her whole body has been dunked in something vile. In the aftermath, all she can do is kneel there, exhausted, almost too weak to get up.

i. kenoma sickness / communion

The illness comes on gradually, weaving its way into body and mind alike. At first, Moiraine almost feels all right, at least physically. Dirty and scuffed and desperately in need of a hot bath and a change of clothes, but she's undergone worse before.

After the first day or so, the symptoms start to make themselves known. Chills first, and then fever, blazing hot, though to anyone else's touch she'll feel cold as ice. That in and of itself drains her energy and makes her want to simply lie down and not move again – she tries to ignore it, gets up and moves about the cavern as and when she can unless someone very persistent coaxes her to sit down and rest.

Other things come later – she starts seeing things from her peripheral vision, people or places that shouldn't be there, flickers of the dread and despair she's been suppressing all this time. Rand is dead. Rand went to the Dark One. Rand broke the world again, he went mad, killed everyone and everything you ever loved, and it's your fault. Failure. Murderess.

She doesn't believe it. She cannot believe a word of it. But determination and anger vie with doubt and self-loathing, and sometimes it's not clear even to her which is winning. She certainly doesn't have the first clue that anyone else might be able to sense her thoughts or feelings.

iii. wildcard

( hit me with a PM or on the game discord if you wanna talk ideas! otherwise I'm game for anything c: )

sickness

[fingergunning]

:Who's Rand?: The question was echoed in his head along with the name that cropped up out of nowhere. He couldn't figure out if it was maybe some kind of flashback to a commercial or tv show he couldn't quite remember, but it was clearer in a way that memories often weren't. A voice not his own, definitely. In fact, it kinda reminded him of that posh woman, Moiraine. Crisp, accented, but weird, because he was pretty sure she was in another part of the cavern and it didn't have an echoey sound to it like talking in a cave had.

Maybe he was going crazy. Whatever they'd given him in that vial, it was messing with his mind pretty badly. Between feeling like he had malaria, the nightmares that he could see even when he was awake, and the skittering of things at the edge of his vision, he felt like he was on the worst acid trip known to man. :I'd rather be hungover on tequila than whatever this shit is.:, said more to himself than anything else, but likely to be picked up if someone was listening.

[velvetoversteel]

Moiraine is becoming aware, slowly, of the psychic mélange of others' thoughts and feelings. It's supremely uncomfortable, both because even the One Power doesn't allow her to read minds and because the idea of any of these people -- not a one of them more to her than mere acquaintances -- overhearing her own private thoughts and feelings makes her skin crawl.

The question floats into her awareness, startling her; unbidden, the image of the man in question rises to the surface of her mind's eye. Tall and young, no more than twenty or twenty-one years of age, with dark red hair in short-cut waves, a full mouth and a strong, stubborn jaw. Not the sort of person who looks as if he could be the savior of the world -- or its destroyer.

It's too late to recall the thought, even if she could; her frustration is a bright flare for a moment, though it's more overlaid with plain exhaustion. Instead, she focuses on the voice who had asked. There's a familiarity to it. What was his name? Light, but it's harder to think than it ought to be.

It comes to her in a moment. :Jensen?: Her own voice is weak, a fluttering barely louder than a murmur. She can't manage the strength to make it a demand for his identity, certainly can't manage anything like the tone with which the Kenoma had spoken to her in her own voice: a register somewhere between condemnation and the scalding upbraiding of an Aes Sedai lecturing a novice who had spoken out of turn.

[fingergunning]

The cacophony of voices in his head was what was making it harder for him to handle all of this. His head was the one place that had always been his and his alone. Beat him, tease him, shoot him, starve him, he still had his head he could run off into and think of better places, better times, better people. Hearing distinct voices inside his own mind that he knew weren't his was terrifying. Was this what it was like to go mad?

But he focuses on the familiarity of the voice, on that austere presence Moiraine had that made her seem like a teacher- or a librarian at the very least. The image crept in his head along with the answer to who Rand was, but it wasn't a familiar face to him. What he feels from her along with that answer and the question of his name is something he's felt more than once himself. Despair. A sucking of energy that just drains everything until it almost feels like giving in and dying would be the smarter option. :Yes, ma'am. Is this fucked up for you? Because this is definitely fucked up for me.:

Not that he expected an answer really. Or maybe he was. He needed something to focus on that wasn't all in his head. Licking his lips, he tried to sit up, but wound up just slumping against the wall of the part of the cavern he was in. Shit. He felt exhausted.

[velvetoversteel]

Moiraine huffs -- aloud, not near enough physically for him to hear it, though something of it might come across the communion between them -- at the idea of her being anything like a librarian. She is not a Brown sister, to care more for books and esoteric study than people.

:A side effect of whatever we were given, I suppose.: She tries to sound nonchalant, cool and in control. The problem with mental connection, though, is that other things come through whether or not she wants them to -- so Jensen can sense very well the anxiety/frustration/worry behind her words.

[fingergunning]

Oh, she was definitely a librarian. That was a librarian huff if he ever mentally heard one. Not that it was a bad thing. Jensen was a red-blooded American male, after all. Sexy librarians were definitely a category in certain searches for a reason.

... Oh god. He hoped she hadn't gotten that. Time to think about baseball.

Or to focus on what she was saying instead. :I don't know about you, but there's nothing where I came from that can make people talk in other people's heads.: The fear that this was all in his own mind was there, that he was on a sharp incline that might tip him over into insanity. :Lots of stuff that I'm not used to here. Assholes? Assholes I'm used to.: That was directed with the image of one of the guards that she might find familiar. The one that had seemed to look for reasons to use the whip or be harder on them than had been strictly needed.

[velvetoversteel]

She might not have fully understood the context of what passed through his mind that time -- but she understood enough that, well. Perhaps she would try to pretend she hadn't. For both of their sakes, but mostly his.

:Nor is there in my world. Not even the One Power allows a channeler to read thoughts.: At least, not in her time. Channelers in the Age of Legends had been able to do so much more, it seemed... but that was thousands of years ago, and much from that time had been lost. All for the better, honestly, because this was extraordinarily uncomfortable and having the privacy of her own thoughts stripped from her made her wonder what other tortures would be inflicted on them by the end.

There was recognition of the image, and a flicker of her own distaste. But what came through clearer was his fear -- and it wasn't a fear that was entirely alien to Moiraine, either. As much as she would never have admitted to it aloud. Still--

:You're not going mad, Jensen.: She believed that was true, or she wouldn't have even been able to think it.

i

[aquaveiled]

Himeka understands restlessness--the need to move, to be active, to do anything but sit and wariness catch up with her. Now more than ever does it seem necessary, after engulfing literal darkness. This kenoma. She isn't sure if the thick sludge has made itself whole in her veins or if that weight is in her mind, but it propels her to move forward all the same.

When she sees the familiar woman moving about despite the fact that she looks like she is about to collapse, Himeka recognizes it. It's a distraction.

Mayhaps they can all use a distraction right about now.

So Himeka walks over to intercept, her smile forced but present despite the flecks of sludge still leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

"--It's Moiraine, right?"

[velvetoversteel]

"It is." Despite her evident physical weariness, Moiraine tries to keep her tone firm -- still, her voice sounds rough, as if she's been coughing (she has).

It would be all too easy to lie down on her bedroll; standing alone takes more effort, let alone walking. But there's a very real concern that if she lies down, she might not be able to get up again.

There's a pause, as if she's struggling to recall the other woman's name. Thinking is harder than it should be right now -- but it comes to her, after a few moments. "Himeka, yes?"

[aquaveiled]

She nods, glad that both she had gotten it right and the other woman has could remember. It's a test in many ways of both of their states, even if that hadn't been her intention. A confirmation that her mind is still her own right now in this moment of clarity.

She rubs off some of the flaky kenoma from her cheeks.

"I was just thinking that walking around aimlessly may be better with company."

A beat. Might as well be upfront about it.

"A decent way to keep stray thoughts at bay, at least."

[velvetoversteel]

Company. It's not something she would admit to wanting, even normally. Before the fateful day she'd gone to the Two Rivers, Moiraine had had only Lan for company for some two decades -- and even then, she'd had to separate them on occasion. She's well used to being alone.

Still, in a situation like this, there is... a benefit to not isolating oneself, she supposes. Moiraine nods, just an inclination of her head, as serene and collected as she can manage when she's feeling just as poorly as she imagines Himeka must be.

There's a long pause, walking alongside the younger woman, before she finally speaks up. "Tell me something about your world." She doesn't phrase it tentatively, there's no could you -- but it is still a request, not a demand. If they are to be trapped here for some time yet, Moiraine supposes she can allow herself to indulge her curiosity. The idea of multiple realities is not new to her; that they might be completely different from her own is the part that's novel.

[aquaveiled]

With what little they have, it's what they can offer one another and, hopefully, it is the most effective tool they have against this kenoma. Whatever it's nature truly is, she finds herself all too keen to pull backwards and wander off alone, only to give in to darker thoughts.

A distraction is sorely needed.

"My world?" Goodness, where to begin? Her images of Eitherys have been less than homey these past few days, but she knows they are overshadowing her true feelings. As they walk, Himeka takes a moment to summon them.

"My star is...vast and varied, full of many different peoples and places. There is a place where islands float amongst the clouds and Moogles are rebuilding old monuments and edifices for dragonkind."

[velvetoversteel]

Moiraine tries to picture what Himeka is describing -- she doesn't know what a moogle is, but she can almost envision the islands in the sky, the crumbling ruins, and--

"Dragons?" Somehow -- she's not even quite sure how -- she manages to restrain herself enough to make her shock and surprise sound like mild curiosity. "You've dragons in your world?"

The word dragon has a very different context now -- which is why it had caught her -- but once, many thousands of years ago, it had referred to a mythical beast. The creature that had been borne on the standard of the man who had later been called the Dragon -- the man who had set out to save the world, and through the Dark One's machinations had instead set in motion its destruction.

sickness.

[lockedon]

The pros of everyone simultaneously being forced to gag down the disgusting potion means that everyone's too busy dealing with their own problems to infringe on his privacy. Eustace retreats to a quiet section of cavern wall to ride out the symptoms, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists during the worst of it.

During the not so miserable parts, he keeps his eyes (and ears) open still, watchful of the guards standing their perimeter as well as of his fellow captives. Some fight and rage, others curl into themselves. Still others move about restlessly, pacing to and fro. He doesn't recognize the latest woman doing her rounds, but the single-minded focus on her face stirs a small shred of emotion within him.

"You'll wear yourself out sooner if you don't take a break."

The words are barely audible in the oversized cavern, pitched just loud enough to filter through the air where she is before fading.

[velvetoversteel]

It's what Lan would say, if he were here to see her. You should get some rest, Moiraine -- and whether or not she listened would depend on her mood. He is not, however, and the voice that reaches her ears is certainly not his.

She turns, eyes falling on the young man with... wolf ears? Unusual, but she's seen stranger.

"Perhaps." It's all she'll allow, because while he's probably right, Moiraine is stubborn. Her only concession at the moment is to go over and lean on the cavern wall near him, without sitting down. If she sits or lays down too long, she might not get up.

A round of chills takes her suddenly; she crosses her arms to try to hold them in, and waits to speak again until she can do so without her voice shaking. "We haven't met."

An observation, and a tacit invitation for him to introduce himself. Moiraine is aware she could probably stand to try to make allies at this juncture.

so sorry, vacation prep + actual travel really slowed me down

[lockedon]

There's a crease that forms between his brows as he takes in the cessation of speech, pushed aside in favor of an internal battle between herself and the contamination that circulates through all their bodies. They aren't friends (or even the barest of acquaintences) but neither is he heartless; it's discomfiting to watch so many people suffer for no good reason at all.

It makes him a little more amenable to engaging in conversation, if only to serve as momentary distraction.

"We haven't. I prefer keeping to myself."

Which, in tandem with his closed off posture, probably explains more about him than he's willing to verbally say.

"But there's not much else to do here other than sit around and wait for whatever it is they're planning on doing with us next."

And be haunted by all his past mistakes, but that's not something he's willing to gossip about just yet, even if the misery that radiates off all of them in waves more than alludes to such a thing.

no worries!!

[velvetoversteel]

Moiraine's brows lift as he doesn't take her rather obvious opening to introduce himself. Well then.

"I suspect that they are waiting for us to give in. They've even sent -- the others -- back to try to convince us."

It all comes back to what she'd suspected from the beginning -- that the reason they're still here and alive is because they have some value. The torture, for that is all she can think of it as, is just one more means to try to get them to serve this Kenoma.

Moiraine will have no part of that, and she hopes none of the others who remain here will, either.

[lockedon]

Sorry Moiraine, sometimes people are mannerless heathens in the face of introductions (like this guy). He doesn't seem to notice - or care about - the brief Look she gives him, more interested in sniffing out her thoughts on their current situation.

"And you don't plan on giving in, I'm guessing?"

His voice is surprisingly mild as he asks it, at odds with the tight grip of his hands as they clench in his lap, a silent nod to the internal battle being fought against the darkness unleashed upon them by their captors. It's not much of a question to ask, given how many of them are still here curled up in various sections of the cavern and the woman's own restless pacing, but he's no mind reader despite his watchful eyes. Perhaps she has some other plan tucked up her sleeve.

[velvetoversteel]

In another situation, Moiraine might well have several plans tucked up her metaphorical sleeve. It's part of what's bothering her -- that she can't make plans, that truly she has no idea what's going on any more than the rest of them.

"I would die first." That has the ring of unshaken conviction, even in spite of what's being inflicted on them. She has absolutely no intention or desire to surrender, because she knows what's waiting on the other side. Corruption. Hubris. The destruction of everyone and everything she's ever held dear.

Communion

[superbshot]

Caitlyn doesn't really know how to address this without being obtrusive, but the sudden rush of thoughts playing through her own is enough to make her need to find a way to do so. She doesn't have any context for this, for who Rand is, or how he might break the world in his madness, and while she isn't sure she'll want to know...she can't ignore the woman she's seeing rather clearly in her mind's eye.

Gaze drawn to Moiraine, Caitlyn rises from the fire she'd been sharing with Vi and the other Piltovans, collecting some bread and water. Making her way over, she waves as she approaches, offering a gloomy but still genuine smile.

"You look as though you could use some water, ma'am."

geez i'm sorry this took so long, idk where my head's been at

[velvetoversteel]

Moiraine is not, fortunately, at the point of being delirious. Compared to some of the others, the Kenoma's effect on her has been relatively contained. But her thoughts have taken a darker turn than her usual wont of late -- and she has no idea they're more or less drifting off her like so much psychic smoke. Not only her worries about Rand, but for what's happened to the others. Egwene and Nynaeve, whom she left behind in Fal Dara. Perrin. Even Mat. Lan, whom she deserted. And Siuan--

The despair is deep enough to drown in; it's a credit to Moiraine's strength of will, even now, that she manages to keep her head above its black waters. At first, she doesn't notice the other woman approaching her, but the voice has her look up from where she's more or less slumped against the cavern wall. It's a distraction, lifts her further out of that foul mood enough to be annoyed with herself at her state and to push herself to sit up straight. She knows she most likely looks pale and haggard with fever, that her hair is a disheveled mess, she's still wearing the same now-dingy shift she's worn for the past two weeks, and Light she could use a hot bath -- but there's nothing she can do about that, so she'll try to preserve her dignity in the only way she can think to do: by pretending it doesn't matter.

Her throat is parched; she's been moderating her water intake, trying not to take too much from the others. But while she could probably hold out a little while longer, she's not going to refuse what's offered. Moiraine takes the water with a murmured thanks, sips just enough for now to moisten her throat so she doesn't rasp when she speaks.

"We haven't met." Not a question, but an invitation for the younger woman to introduce herself.

it's okay, mine's been nowhere near RP lately either.

[superbshot]

Caitlyn has opinions about the state of Moiraine's dress and hair, mostly that they're not that dissimilar from her own and that she hates the people who've forced them into such states. Beyond that, nothing else matters. Shifting, she sinks down beside Moiraine to offer a little warmth by sheer proximity. It's not much, but body heat is body heat and the poor woman looks like she needs all the help she can get. Not just the water but the heat too.

"We have not," she agrees, offering a dip of her head in greeting. "My name is Caitlyn. What's yours?"

<3

[velvetoversteel]

"Moiraine." Cautious as she often is -- paranoid, some would probably say, though those people don't know what she does -- she has realized she has no need to use a false name here. No one has recognized her, let alone known her for Aes Sedai. Jensen had made a joke out of her passing mention of the One Power, when they'd been above ground. The people she's spoken with have described worlds that sound nothing at all like her own. She's far from believing she's safe -- quite the opposite, given their circumstances -- but there's no need for the charade of disguising her identity.

"I hope I'm not taking you away from your friends," she says, with a look in the direction the other woman had come from.

[superbshot]

Caitlyn studies Moiraine quietly, for a moment, taking her measure as she does. The tenseness of worry, the evident illness setting in, and the need to cling to dignity are all things she's seen before. The strangeness with the visions, the phantom urgency and need to help other people who may or may not be gone, strengthens her resolve to not slip back to her fire until this woman is well settled. She's in a bad way, and it shows.

"Not at all," Caitlyn offers, casting a glance back towards Vi and Jayce. "They'll be fine without me for a time. I noticed you alone, and thought I'd check on you. Your...thoughts...were coming through, I think. Some sort of shared vision."

[velvetoversteel]

To say that this alarms Moiraine is an understatement. She's a private woman, and to have her privacy almost invaded in such a way -- she would never admit to it aloud, but that frightens her. There are things she knows, things she might think about without any ability to control it that should remain private, not broadcast for anyone to pick up on.

She schools the fear before it can make it to her face. "I see," she says, and -- ah, that's not as calm as she'd like, there's a little quaver in her voice but perhaps given her physical state, Caitlyn will blame it on that.

"Perhaps a side effect of whatever it was we were given." Moiraine takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Part of her wants to ask what the other woman overheard. Part of her would really, really rather not know.

"I wouldn't let it concern you."