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

gen | boy's abyss | lover

[epiprocta]

i. communion

[ Aah, youth. Gen puts up a genuinely impressive struggle for the first two or so days, truly the embodiment of teenage rebellion as he throws himself at the Hylian guards blocking the exit like a rabid dog regardless of how many times they fend him off. It's ... well, it's pretty pointless. And honestly kind of disruptive and stressful to witness? Everyone's dealing with their own demons, after all, and it can't be pleasant having to watch someone snarling as they throw themselves at the guards for the Nth time, retreating just long enough to catch his breath and lick his wounds before trying again.

But he seems absolutely uncaring of how much the ruckus he's making might be bothering others, and the moment anyone approaches him -- whether to tell him to quiet down already, or out of concern (surely not) -- he immediately turns to them, bristling as he snaps, ]

-- back off!

a. [ general ]

[ Anger and frustration pour off him in waves, so dense that one can almost taste them in the air, bitter and acrid at the tip of the tongue. But it's all cut through with the sharper tang of ... fear? Sort of. Anxiety, maybe. Desperation, mostly. The sheer depths of those emotions are a little unusual, almost like they've been building up for a much longer time than the few weeks they've been dealing with All This. But those are all understandable reactions to this plight they're in, right? Constantly picking fights with those guards can't be helping matters much, and maybe he just needs to hear that sensible advice straight up. Even if the air around him ripples with a vague sense of 'You deserve everything that's happened to you.' ]

b. [ for those of THE LOVER legacy ]

[ But for a select few, the thoughts radiating off him are a little worse. Not in their intensity, but in their clarity. Because accompanying those roiling waves of anger and frustration and desperation are vivid hallucinations, each one terribly lucid despite barely lasting a fraction of a second. The claustrophobic crush of the interior of a small closet. The sounds of ragged breaths echoing in the ear, set to the backdrop of muffled sobbing. The warmth of fresh blood starting to dry sticky between the fingers. A pair of eyes staring with an intense, blank apathy, eliciting a breathtaking wave of despair.

That last one is the worst, somehow. The worst by far, strong enough to elicit a chill down the spine and a knee-buckling wave of nausea. Maybe it's some small consolation that that horrible sensation is a shared one, and Gen also has to shut up for a second to fight down the urge to empty the meager contents of his stomach. Misery sure does love company! ]

ii. affliction

[ Thankfully even teenage obstinance has its limits and Gen quiets down after a while. In fact, goes the complete opposite direction and retreats entirely -- finds some dark corner as far away from other people as he can manage, back against the wall and knees brought up so he can keep his head ducked against them, curled up as small as possible. Even shivering from the cold and from those horrible chills, he still wants nothing more than to be left alone now. He flinches the moment anyone draws near, just the sound of approaching footsteps enough to earn a hard shudder, but he refuses to raises his head.

It's only if someone lingers for a few moments too long or dares to say anything to him that he looks up -- just so he can fling the meager rations he'd scrounged for himself right in their face. Thanks to days of beatings and exhaustion there's no real force behind the throw, meaning his poor victim will only have to deal with the indignity of getting beaned in the nose with a rock-hard piece of bread. ]

You can have'em. Leave me alone.

[ His voice is low and hoarse and peters off into a stutter as his teeth chatter, but even with his face pallid and drawn save the streaks of black ooze etched down his cheeks and lips, Gen glowers like a cornered animal. He's tired enough that he doesn't want to start any fights, instead leaning towards bribery(?), but that doesn't mean he won't still lash out if he needs to. ]

iii. acceptance

[ He gives in halfway through the week. And honestly, it's a relief. No more chills, no more flashbacks, no more nauseating sensation of something slithering through his veins. Why the hell had he even resisted for so long? After all, it's not like that voice whispering in his ear had said anything wrong -- and why would he have any reservations about letting everything burn?

Gen is quiet as he lets himself be taken out of the cavern. Quiet as he listens to the Aion. Quiet as he takes the chance to clean himself off in the stream and pulls on a fresh set of clothes, quiet as he accepts a bowl of steaming hot stew, fragrant and inviting. But as he settles down around the warm fire, he casts a sideways glance towards the Aion's silhouette off to the side, then meets eyes with whoever else is nearby -- whether they'd already accepted Kenoma days before, or are just arriving after him -- and mutters just loud enough that only they can hear, ]

Creepy bitch.

[ Like, sure, he'll cooperate with her and he's glad he gave in, but she is a creepy bitch, right? Surely even the others who're out of the cave would agree with that. ]

iv. persuasion

[ It's only on the last day that he wanders back into the cavern, and only because he is bored and restless and tired of hearing those gentle suggestions that it'd be best to persuade the stragglers to give in. Sure, why not. He doesn't see the point in delaying the inevitable, after all. And so here he is -- clean and fed and watered now, properly dressed, booted feet padding off the uneven ground as he approaches one of the remaining holdouts. His movements are languid as he crouches down before his chosen victim, a tantalizing piece of dried meat dangling between his fingers but not offered forth. ]

Hey. Hurry up and get this over with. [ He says it casually, like he's suggesting someone hurry up and finish off an errand they'd been dawdling over. ] There's food and clothes outside, and they're making us wait. What's the point in still staying down here?

[ Is it to his meager credit that he seems to be putting minimal effort into the homework the Aion's assigned him? Maybe. Or maybe he really does think accepting the Regeant's words is a trivial matter. Gen heaves a small sigh before taking a bite of the dried meat, looking the other party in the eye as he eats. ]

It's not a big deal.

i.............ish

[lockedon]

[ Ah youth indeed. Impossible to miss the kid and his loud angry antics despite how many of them are crammed into this cavern, and how many of them are pitching fits at any given time. Whatever contaminate he'd been fed has left his body far worse for the wear, and the headache beginning to take up permanent residence behind his temples only serves to make him feel even more miserable.

The ends of his patience are frayed thin, threatening to snap at the slightest provocation. Even his seated position behind one of the crumbling thrones hasn't afforded him much sanctuary—not that there's much to be found here in the first place, and especially not when that kid is back at it again, rounding on some poor person foolish enough to step in.

He's never been particularly witty nor particularly wordy, so maybe it's not surprising that his retort, rough and biting, is about as short and emphatic as Gen's own outburst. ]

Shut up.

[ Hello?? Some people are trying to be miserable in peace here??? Youths these days, absolutely no respect. ]

thank you eustace, truly the hero we all need

[epiprocta]

[ Turns out Gen had been bristling at someone totally innocent in the first place -- some innocuous third party who'd just been trying to step past him to fetch one of the meager offerings of firewood, quick to avert their gaze and put some distance between themselves and the clearly unhinged youth -- and so he's all too eager to set his sights on the brusque interloper, instead. After all, as much as Gen does desperately want to get out this miserable cave, he knows on some rational level that actual escape is impossible, and so all those fruitless attempts to break past those guards instead serve as a distraction from his own acrid thoughts.

If he can keep himself occupied bristling at someone who isn't wielding one of those whips, even better. ]

Aah? What is it to you?

[ There's something telling about just how quick he is stomp up to Eustace and invade his personal space, getting all up in his face until they're almost nose-to-nose. The air around them practically vibrates with the shockwaves of distress and restless unease that he's exuding, but Gen either doesn't notice or doesn't care as he snarls right into Eustace's face: ]

Who're you to be telling me what to do? Are you with them, huh?

a very dubious hero but he will take on this mantle for you

[lockedon]

[ Bruh.

This isn't the first time someone has directed all of their pent-up anger right at him and he's certain it won't be the last, but cumulative past experience hardly makes the current situation any more tolerable. Eustace stays still even as Gen comes in swinging, unflinching even when a face blots out his vision (though the return of incensed taunting does make his ears go flat). Ugh. So loud.

Since someone has to be the adult here and it sure ain't gonna be this kid, Eustace waits for Gen to pause for breath before interjecting with a question of his own. ]

Did taking that potion make you forget how to think?

[ Is one of the side effects of that cursed potion the slow erosion of their intelligence? Having to suffer through chills and nausea and the persistent darkness clinging to the back of his mind is one thing, but to turn into a raging idiot like this guy would be truly intolerable. ]

iii

[galdorleod]

[ Gen's lone companion around the fire is a handsome and delicate-looking man, at least a few years older than him and clearly an adult, but still young. His fresh clothing is toga-like, wrapped around his waist, with the trailing tails of each half pulled around his neck like a shawl. Sitting somewhat awkwardly before the fire, as if his long legs are unused to anything but a proper chair, he was silently eating his stew until the young man beside him speaks up.

The unkind words draw his gaze away from the fire and towards the stranger. He hadn't given him more than a glance since he sat down, but now that he's looking at him, he can see that he's barely more than a boy. A tall boy, but still quite young. ]

Oh? Her, creepy? [ Howl smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. ] The woman who vaporized a man before our very eyes?

[epiprocta]

[ He'd just been bringing a spoonful of the stew up to his mouth to eat, but grimaces at Howl's words and lowers his utensil to shoot him a resentful glare. ]

Don't remind me of that.

[ For all his bluster and attitude, he's still just some idiot teenager, after all. One who takes death a lot more seriously than most his age probably do; it takes him a moment longer to try and push that sight of the cultist(?) melting into the further corner of his mind, set aside long enough that he can bring himself to eat. After all, despairing or not, he's still a teenager with a healthy appetite, and Gen wolfs down two, three spoonfuls of the stew before mumbling past a still-full mouth, ]

You sound pretty calm about it.

[ His tone of voice is deadpan, feigning calm, but there's a sharp edge to the stare he levels at Howl. Trying to gauge how comfortable the people here really are with the sight of a man being melted into a puddle of sludge. ]

[galdorleod]

[ Still smiling humorlessly, Howl shrugs and goes back to eating as well. If you ask him, he's not the one who brought it up, but the young man's bitter words don't bother him. How can anyone be upset about passing comments, after everything they'd just been through? After coming to their senses, and accepting the truth?

He isn't expecting the conversation to continue when the young man speaks up again. Howl glances at him once more. Maybe the ornery teen is secretly eager for some conversation. Hey, understandable. ]

Me? Hmm. [ Howl sets his spoon into his bowl and rests them in his lap. ] Perhaps you're right. But, such a thing is not so unusual where I'm from. A skilled wizard could do it to himself.

i-b

[goldendeceiver]

[ With how aggressive and distrustful this boy was when Ernesto first met him, it's not surprising that he's carrying a lot of intense negative emotions inside of him. People rarely act like vicious, cornered animals if they've had nothing but content and happy memories. And really, who does he know that has nothing but those to begin with?

His slow approach towards the kid brings a flood of increased discomfort with it. He has been feeling ill since the moment the ritual began properly, though his already sensitive stomach rebels violently as the vision of those eyes flood his brain; Ernesto has to pause to hold one hand over his mouth for a few seconds.

At the same time that his body is reacting so strongly to the strange connection he feels to Gen right now, he's find a sick and twisted kind of relief in all of it. Gen's emotions are strong, so strong, in fact, that they're doing a great job of drowning out Ernesto's own. It feels a little fucked up to use someone else's suffering to tamp down what he's dealing with, but he'll still gladly deal with the worst physical sensations Gen's feelings might cause him, as long as it means a reprieve from his own trauma.

With a shaky breath he places one hand lightly on Gen's shoulder, brows furrowing as he looks at the kid's face. ]

Hey, you don't look like you're doing so hot.

[ He smiles weakly. ]

Even less so than most people here.

[epiprocta]

[ He needs a moment to regain his own composure -- or rather, his own pretense at composure -- doubled over with his hands pressed to his face as he coughs and hacks and fights back the rise of bile at the back of his throat. But Gen still reacts the moment he feels that touch to his shoulder, immediately lashing out to slap Ernesto's hand away from his shoulder and snarling, ]

Don't talk like you know me!

[ That first outburst is clearly reflexive, then there's a quiet pause before recognition gleams dark in his eyes. His face is pale, flecked with cold sweat and traces of that black ooze, drool stringing sickly down his jaw from the barely-suppressed urge to vomit, but there's still something almost manic in the aggravating smirk that Gen shoots Ernesto after a moment. Just as Ernesto is glad to have someone else's trauma to distract him from his own dark thoughts, Gen is all too eager to latch onto anger and resentment to drive his thoughts away from those disturbing flashbacks. ]

-- or, what. Is this another attempt to gather information? Using other people as your guinea pigs again so you can sit nice and pretty out of the way, huh? You coward.

[ That last word is spat out acrid with ire, and Gen bristles like a hunted animal even as he sways on his feet. His thoughts keep going back to the image of those eyes, that chillingly apathetic stare, and it's enough to make his breaths come shallower and his heart shudder -- a sensation that Ernesto must also be enduring, though Gen seems to be unaware of it, occupied as he is spitting between ragged breaths, ]

Don't act fucking concerned, when you don't even mean it, you fake!

[goldendeceiver]

[ The hand is quickly withdrawn, but Ernesto stays rooted in spot for now otherwise. It's hard to say what he expected from the attempt at comfort, but judging from the surprise on his face, it wasn't to become the new target of Gen's ire.

Surprise is the worst that Gen is going to get from Ernesto though, whose expression smooths out after a moment, before an apologetic smile curls up the corners of his mouth. Even Ernesto isn't entirely unflappable, but it's going to take more than a completely fair accusation to rattle out any real or genuine display of emotions from him.

It's strange for him though to experience this kind of unfiltered anger, even second-hand. ]

Even if I wanted information right now, I don't think you'd be able to tell me much.

[ Does that sound mean? It's meant to be reassuring, but he's not so sure it is. Alright then, he'll relent and be truthful just this much. ]

You're right though, I am pretty fake.

[ The apologetic smile stretches a little wider. ]

But having ulterior motives doesn't mean I can't feel some real concern too.

ii. babby......

[inutilis]

[ Abel has come to this pitiful, huddled mass bearing gifts; he's got a cup of water and torn some strips from the sleeve of his robe for use if necessary, either to clean the discomfort of sweat or to cool a feverish brow. but as the priest sinks down to crouch and before he can so much as open his mouth in offer, he's

rUDELY

beaned smack dab in the shnoz with a bit of stale bread which falls harmlessly into his lap and then the floor, crusty and unappetizing. normally, Abel would be happy to make some kind of joke about the good ol' five second rule. which is a totally valid rule, for the record?? completely valid. but in this case...

there is a small, quiet exhale through his nose, before he gently and stubbornly holds the cup where Gen might see it. though the priest's pallor is poor and he is hardly immune from the same vitriolic 'poison' they'd ingested, there's a firm and pig-headed sort of concern in his eyes that has -- for the moment -- swallowed up everything else. ]

You should drink, if you can. You look like you're on your last legs, my friend... and you're no good to yourself like this, right? It feels miserable enough without making it harder on yourself.

i'm so sorry abel you really don't deserve to have to deal with All This

[epiprocta]

[ He does want that water. Badly. Evident in the way that Gen's eyes immediately flit towards that cup, lingering for a pointed moment before he can drag his focus away. But he's clearly determined not to let that weakness slip, because after moment of glowering furiously at Abel, the first thing he spits out is: ]

I didn't ask you for shit. [ Even if his words are hoarse and crackling at the edges from dehydration, he refuses to acknowledge it. ] And I'm not your f -- friend.

[ That petulant retort had been interrupted by a sniffle, and Gen glares resentfully at Abel before averting his gaze only so he can swipe the back of his hand past his upper lip, smearing through the black ooze that dribbles from his nose like a particularly persistent nosebleed. His face is a mess of cold sweat and smudges of black, but he's clearly determined to pretend that isn't the case; Gen sniffles again before glaring at Abel and jerking his head towards that fallen piece of bread. ]

That's not my fault. [ Like, yeah, he was the one who threw the bread at Abel's face, but it's obviously not his fault Abel was too slow to catch it? The guy can eat it off the filthy ground for all he cares. Gen swallows back a glut of black slime that threatens to rise from the back of his throat, angrily swiping a hand past the trickle of black that seeps from the corner of his lips as he mumbles, ] Sick of all you people pretending to act all noble, giving each other food and pretending to care. Like you're in any position to be worrying about other people.

he absolutely deserves All This, there there kiddo,

[inutilis]

[ Gen's delightfully contrarian act doesn't seem to irk Abel at all; if anything, it only solidifies the impression that this boy is something akin to a wounded, cornered animal desperately putting its hackles up and trying to appear menacing to protect itself. he knows this song and dance; he knows what it means. he reads it no differently than he would a child curled up and sobbing his heart out, and so... the priest takes no offense.

instead, he sets the cup of water at Gen's side well within arm's reach if he can stand going for it, before scooting to sit in front of him, cross-legged. Abel absently picks up the piece of discarded bread; he has no stomach for food right now, but... he turns it over thoughtfully all the same. one doesn't waste food, alright?? keepsies for later!!! ]

If a little human kindness is too hard to swallow, sir... I assure you, the water goes down much easier. You don't have to take me at my word, of course; giving it a try yourself might be the easiest way to see for yourself, mm?

iii

[devilmancrybaby]

[ Luo Binghe replies with a noncommittal hum. He doesn't really disagree, but... ]

I think it would be wise to watch your tongue, don't you agree? [ He keeps his voice quiet too, although... ] Some people have very good hearing.

[epiprocta]

[ He rolls his eyes at that and makes a point of taking his sweet time answering, wolfing down two, three spoonfuls of stew, chewing and swallowing before answering, ]

What, you think she'll send me back down there if she hears me? [ Bold words, though he notably keeps his voice low; Gen's brash but not stupid, and he's not about to say all this in clear earshot of the Aion, keeping his voice quiet enough that he can feign ignorance if some keen ears do get him into trouble. ] She doesn't seem the type.

[ Funny how easily those words come. Maybe it's an indication of how much he's used to dealing with 'the type.' Or maybe it's a sign of how well he's taken to Kenoma's influence seeping through his veins, now that he's acquiesced. Maybe both. ]

[devilmancrybaby]

[ Luo Binghe smiles at him, propping his chin on his palm. ]

I don't know what she'll do, but personally I think I'd prefer not to find out. Ah, I suppose you can if you want, though.

iv

[salvageable]

[ How many days has it been? Has it been longer than a week? Dokja's lost track of time as he sits leaned against the cavern's wall, gaze anxiously roaming across the expanse. Their numbers have significantly gone down, and he's watched as people have been led outside to the upper ruins.

Every single time he'd watched as they disappeared, he'd been tempted.

But there's an unmistakable warmth nestled into place inside of him, and he finds himself growing more and more curious about its presence. With each passing day, the feeling becomes stronger, and soon, the voices gnawing away at his mind slowly begin to disappear. He'd been prepared to die rather than give in, but this result is unexpected, keeps him wondering.

And then his head snaps up at someone's approach, and Dokja recognizes the stranger as someone who had left the cavern. He's silent as he listens, silent still as he watches the kid take a bite of that meat right in front of him. It's surely torturous with how little he's eaten throughout this entire ordeal, but he doesn't take the bait and grins weakly in response. ]

What's not a big deal?

[epiprocta]

[ That watery smile earns a derisive squint, and Gen studies Dokja as he slowly takes another bite, chews, swallows. Pointedly lets the silence linger for another moment before he deadpans, ]

Is it fun playing dumb? Or are you actually out of it after spending so long in here?

[ His tone of voice implies he's pretty certain it's the former, and he's not that impressed by it.

But fine, he'll still play along with this dumb farce. Not like he actually cares that much about adhering to the Aion's request to help convert the stragglers, but he's admittedly a little curious to know why some people are still lingering here. ]

Letting this shit happen. It's not a big deal. [ A low huff before he points at Dokja with the remainder of that piece of dried meat. Rude and a disrespectful way of handling food. Fantastic. ] Not like you're still here because your hobby's starving half-naked in a freezing cave.

[salvageable]

[ Out of it? He might be out of it. He might have lost his sanity a very long time ago when he had to endure a similar sort of pain for more years than he can count. How could he possibly have made it out of that situation completely intact in mind, body, and spirit? Impossible.

So what's one more week?

The grin on his face turns mocking and he doesn't look away, pays attention to every word. This kid... There's a familiarity about him that Dokja dislikes. A disagreeable piece of a precious story. ]

What kind of hobby is that? [ he asks with a derisive laugh, though the effort of it has him breathing hard afterward. ] I do have a rather interesting hobby, though...

[ He closes his eyes (to stop looking at that stupid piece of meat) and leans his head back against the wall, smile shifting into one a bit more forlorn. ]

iv

[coupris]

[Kim has been rallying more and more over the past day or so. The physical mutations have stopped, and the fire has been getting him warmer, but he's still exhausted, still mired in whatever mental cage the ritual had tried to construct around them all.

When Gen finds him, he's propped up against one of the cracked thrones, a much more haggard sight than when they met. His hand holds his side, where the black, viscous excretion from they crystal in his side has stained most of his robe. His eyes have always looked tired, but they're nearly sunken now.

He gives no real indication of having heard a thing the kid says, his eyes following the blurry bit of food in his hand, until he finally rasps out a reply.]

"I don't owe anyone here shit." No?

[epiprocta]

[ The silence stretches long enough that his first thought is that the guy's in some sort of coma, and Gen huffs an unamused exhale when Kim finally utters that hoarse echo of his own words back at him. ]

So you're still alive. [ He says it casually enough, but Gen sits back on his haunches as he chews on that piece of dried meat, slowly looking Kim over. It's honestly kind of a nauseating sight -- the pallor of the man's skin, the stains of black against his robe, the sheen of cold sweat at his brow -- and he wrinkles his nose as he takes it all in. Maybe Kim can feel that hard stare prickling at his skin for a long moment before there's the deadpan observation of: ] You look like shit.

[ In sharp contrast, Gen looks and -- and more importantly for Kim, whose poor eyesight is no doubt exacerbated by his terrible condition -- sounds fine. Much better than when they last spoke, at least. Clear proof of the benefits of giving into whatever poison they've been made to drink. ]

Why're you even still here, old man? Weren't you the one willing to play along with what these guys want? Figured you would've been one of the first people out of here.

i-b. dumps more tags in your lap

[passio]

[ dextera can only process what he sees through the lens of his own understanding. the sensations feel so real, enhanced by each one being something he’s experienced himself, but he would independently elect the worst as the gaze even if gen didn’t already feel the same.

already deathly pale, dextera’s blood seems replaced by ice under the observation of such a hallucination. he closes his own eyes and breathes in deep, but the stale air of the cavern really only serves to further unsettle his stomach. ]

…

[ he sits. he can’t help gen just yet, overwhelmed, but his intention hasn’t faltered despite their shared delusion. ]

pulls them into my sweaty embrace with great gusto

[epiprocta]

[ He'd clearly lashed out without thinking, almost bristling on reflex the moment he spotted anyone drawing close, and it's not until Dextera plops down onto the ground that the movement seems to snap Gen to his senses somewhat.

There's a pause as he blinks cold sweat out of his eyes, then swallows hard to fight back the wave of nausea rising at the back of his throat. His gaze finally focusing in recognition, brow furrowing as he growls, ]

-- you. What d'you want now.

[ He still sounds livid, of course, his anger and frustration further exacerbated by the steady throb of fresh bruises. But the knowledge that he's managed to bowl Dextera over has served to mollify him just a little bit; that tiny scrap of control attained, he at least manages to glower at Dextera instead of simply lunging for him like a rabid dog. ]

i a

[eolja]

[At this point, Seonho cannot tell whose emotions belong to whom. It all feels the same -- the resentment, the despair. There are moments though when something like hope breaks through -- those are the moments when Seonho realizes that he's experiencing someone else's emotions, because there's no way something that positive could come from him. and since we established how badly we're all feeling tonight...

at some point, Seonho's eyes narrow in on the woman, and his emotions turn keener. no anger, fear, or despair here. just something cold, calculating. a driven sort of focus that means ill will towards this woman, who's done nothing but prove that she has the power in this situation. She's just a target Seonho wishes he could hit.

The next time Gen tries taking a swing, Seonho's emotions fluctuate, his murderous urges rising so fast --

he tries to grab Gen's arm mid-swing, turning him around so he can face him.]

Stop.

[epiprocta]

[ He's normally a decent enough brawler -- not trained in any way, but honed through sheer experience and years of getting himself into scraps. But exhausted and disoriented and lashing out purely for the sake of lashing out, his violence barely-focused and almost mindless, Gen's reflexes have tanked pretty hard.

Which is to say, that grab-and-yank from Seonho is almost enough to pull him off his feet.

He does manage to catch himself at the last moment, stumbling back a step away from Seonho as he rips his arm out of that grasp. Eyes wide as he stares at this stranger in obvious confusion. His body had moved first, and his mind needs a moment to catch up -- whence it promptly reacts with more anger, because of course it does. ]

-- and why should I listen to you?

[ Anger radiates off him in bitter waves as he bristles at Seonho, almost eager to have a new direct at whom he can direct his ire. But it's tinted with an undercurrent of something almost ... relieved. There's a familiarity to be found in confrontation, after all. The only way he's ever really known progress. ]