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

howl (celebrant)

[galdorleod]

(1) communion.

It seemed plain as day to Howl that they were about to be sacrificed. Killed, that is to say. It made sense to him considering everything else that had happened — the death march, the poor clothing and meager food, the disrespectful treatment. And he tried to make it as hard for them as he could, kicking and yelling and spitting insults and making a scene. But, after two weeks of endeavoring to be as ungovernable as possible, his lanky body is weak and covered in knotting bruises. Even as they're forcing what must be poison down his throat, he only has so much resistance left in him... and it isn't anywhere near enough.

The black sludge is so overwhelming that Howl doesn't even register the disturbing remainder of the ritual. His chest feels tight, like an elephant is stepping on his sternum. The sensation focuses around the Shard embedded in his chest; indiscernible black liquid seeps from around its edges and stains the front of his dirty robe from the inside.

When the force keeping them in place disappears, Howl does not stand. Crumpled on the ground, knees and elbows grinding against the stone floor, he holds his head in his hands. He coughs and gags, still grappling with the sensation of his body being crammed with something foreign and horrible — but then he chokes, sucking in a sharp breath of air instead of forcing it out, and begins to sob.

And sob. And sob. Normally, weeping helps release and dissipate sorrow, and Howl is not immune to the relief that weeping can bring. But Howl's sobs do not lessen, much less stop. He cries harder and harder as the minutes tick by, crouched on his hands and knees, his face inches from the ground.

Every person I managed to trick into caring about me is gone.

His misery radiates out of him like a thick, poisonous fog. This despair was not created by the ritual — it's merely been set free, for everyone to feel and hear for themselves.

Bacon in the hearth. The toys in my bedroom. Spiders building cobwebs along the banister. Calcifer, Markl, Sophie... Never again.

It's a strange mix of sadness, distinctly childlike in how pure and acute it is, but heavily burdened by the failure and guilt that only adults know. The heartache of self-loathing. Howl is so immediately overwhelmed by the flood, and so incapable of handling it, that he's already drowning in the darkness overtaking him.

His communion's volume is figuratively ear-splitting, and while there are no other Celebrants present to confuse the feelings for their own, they're nevertheless so strong that they'd be hard to ignore.

(2a) long dark.

The first night is cold and miserable. The woeful cries of a wizard caught in the throes of despair echo off the domed ceiling for hours. Thin black liquid drips from the narrow gap between his palms and his face — presumably leaking from his eyes instead of tears, but for those who aren't able to catch a glimpse of his face or talk to him, it's hard to say.

But, of course, for as long as he cries, he can only go on like that for so long. At some point during the night, Howl's sobs quiet into pathetic gasps and shudders, until eventually extinguishing completely. He barely speaks to anyone who doesn't actively attempt to engage him. For the most part, he remains sat against the back of one of the enormous thrones, forehead either pressed against his hands or resting on his knees.

He doesn't move to accept the offer of food and water from the soliders, nor does he lay down to sleep. His embarrassingly sincere self-pity, once broadcasting at full blast, has plummeted to a buzzing whisper. Looking at him now, one would not be wrong to wonder if there's something seriously wrong with him.

(2b) acceptance.

Then, as the sun begins to rise on a new day, Howl seems to come alive again.

He raises his head from his hands, letting the back of his skull rest against the stone behind him. His face looks gaunt and sullen from hours of crying. The dark circles under his eyes emphasize his marble-like blue irises. It's unclear at first what Howl is looking at, as he seems to be staring up into space, but no — he's gazing up at the strangely patterned dome ceiling. The intense psychic agony he was wracked with yesterday is gone. And while his thoughts are quiet now, he's clearly deep in thought.

Then, finally, he stands. As he scans the chamber, taking in the people around him, the Martyr approaches. Following a brief conversation, Howl is free to leave. He turns and begins to follow her back towards the edges of the chamber, by the long, long path of stairs leading back to the surface.

Perhaps you're among the soldiers guarding the stairs, having accepted Kenoma even faster than Howl did. Or maybe you're still trying to resist, and maybe still willing to spare a moment of concern for him. There are only so many moments left to say something, as Howl is not wasting any time looking back.

( wildcard! )

((I was gonna do prompts for Howl being up at the surface again receiving supplies, and for coming back down to convince people, but this is already so long jadhkjsfkjsaf If you want those scenarios feel free to just tag me or poke me with your TL!! or, let's plot on plurk/discord if you want to first!))

2B

[lachtara]

Emet sits propped against one of the cold walls of the throne room. With his head leaned back and eyes closed, he looks like he could be resting after the recent ordeal. Though that is very much not the case.

He deigns to crack an eye open when someone passes close by. It's not difficult to recognize one of the individuals who has spent a considerable amount of time crying. They still looked on the fringes of it as they walk around in something resembling a daze.

"Oh. Finished your mewling, I see." He comments flatly before closing his eyes again.

[galdorleod]

Had the man not spoken to him, Howl probably wouldn't have noticed him at all, much less paid him any attention. But he did, and Howl's morose shuffling halts so he can look sidelong at the origin of the snide comment. He doesn't recognize this man at all — not even from the past two weeks.

His first impulse is to throw him across the room, but it's only been minutes since his acceptance, and his powers are nowhere close to back yet.

"Have you something you wish to say, old man?" Howl mutters, expecting an answer. His voice is gravelly and exhausted, but the annoyance is clear. "Or are you bored?"

[lachtara]

Emet-Selch shrugs lightly in reply. It's not an answer by any means, but then again he didn't receive an answer either. "Simply curious if I should expect more of the same as we continue our stay here." He replies. "You seemed to handle it with such difficulty."

[galdorleod]

Howl scoffs. "Aye, you should," he answers, his flippant and dismissive tone possibly obstructing the honesty in his words. "That and more, I'd guess."

What answer had the old man expected? Something about his arrogant reply finds the wizard deeply annoyed. But, for perhaps the same reason that it reminds Howl of his former mistress sorceress, Madame Suliman, he can't bring himself to get all that worked up about it. Or maybe it's because he hasn't showered or groomed himself in over two weeks — it's hard to maintain one's pride in such circumstances, so what does he have to lose here.

"If you've the gall to judge me for my sorrows," he continues, "then I'm happy for you for still having such innocence at your age." And with that, he turns to continue up the stairs.

wildcard - surface + supply-adjacent

[semicharmed]

From Matt's perspective, it works like this:

They cut his hand, they fed him something poisonous and wriggling. For days, he thought he was dying, mind and body unspooling. Then in the darkness, a voice spoke--in just the way he feels the voices of spirits, the way he feels the axis of the cosmos tilt when he casts a spell.

A better universe awaits.

And when Matt steps out of the cave, the first thing he does is suck in a breath, lift his hand with dirty, sliced palm turned up--

And light blooms.

Just like before, like nothing ever happened to stop his communion with the heart of things. There's the tiniest ashen tinge to the gold gleam of his spell, but all things considered, that makes sense.

"Oh my God," Matt exclaims, turning a stunned, sunny smile on the man nearby. He heaves a sigh of purest relief, the breath bubbling into a laugh as he expels it. "Holy shit, that was awful."

[galdorleod]

As simple as the spell is, there's no way Howl could ignore it. As his magic has returned to him, he's discovered that such power is even more rare among the people here than it is in Ingary. All the better for him, really, and so he will hardly complain about it, but — a display of magic from another, and right in front of him as luck would have it! Well, that just has to be investigated further, doesn't it?

"Indeed it was," he answers mildly, smiling as he relates to the stranger's relief. Howl is propped against a column of the surface ruins, his clean toga fashioned mostly around his waist. The tails of the fabric sit comfortably around his shoulders, almost like a scarf or cowl.

"Strength coming back to you, is it?"

[semicharmed]

Now that Matt's positive his magic is working, and isn't going to wink out on him like so much phantasmagoric fluff, he spares his new companion a more considering glance. That robe ... thing ... sure defies gravity, doesn't it?

"Ah," Matt fumbles, still smiling but a bit distracted now. "A lot of things are, I think."

He vaguely remembers being told something about food and a change of clothes and maybe a bath, but honestly what the Aion said hadn't mattered to him as much as the way he felt: like everything was gonna be okay after all. Like he was whole again, or in a new way.

"What about you, do you feel better?" Matt asks, half data-gathering and half for the sake of reciprocity. "You look good."

[galdorleod]

Defies gravy? He finds it makes plenty of sense, not to mention quite fashionable.

"Oh, me?" Howl asks. His tone is innocent, but he looks away as he answers the question. "Yes, in a way. It's much better up here than down there."

The non-answer receives no follow-up, as Howl elects to stand up and push off from the column. Let's not talk about him or that embarrassing display he put on. Let's talk about this interesting new acquaintance, casting magic the moment he exits the underground. That's much more interesting and far less uncomfortable.

"What's your name, sir?" he asks. "I'll take you to get fed and cleaned up, if you like."

Communion

[hippocarnival]

There's something petrifying about this... empathy, between them. Yuya's gotten used to sharing his heart with others, and the feedback of feelings and thoughts that aren't his own. But this is so many, drowning in so much pain. He's afraid of what might be escaping him. He wonders if others feel the same, about things they didn't really want to tell everyone else about.

Howl is loud, even above others, and Yuya finds it hard to ignore him. It doesn't feel right too, the way he's crying.

So Yuya pulls himself up through the miasma, gripping the thin excuse for a blanket to drag it over to where Howl is. He drops to his knees as soon as he can, and reaches to clumsily drape the blanket over Howl's shoulders.

"Hey," he starts, in an effort not to startle him too much.

[galdorleod]

The blanket set around his shoulders doesn't startle him; Howl heard and felt the person approaching. Even through his abject despair, the despair of others still registers in his head. It's horrible. Miserable.

This one's aren't coming in clear — not yet, he fears. "Who?" he breathes between sobs, not lifting his head from his hands. What awful thoughts or memories are going to invade his head, at any moment?

[hippocarnival]

"My name's Yuya." He doesn't expect that to mean much beyond an introduction. But he says it gently, far more so than the feelings that slip the connection feel like. Pain, lethargy, anger... hate.

But whatever the ritual has done to emphasize their anguish, there's still an undercurrent of defiance and sympathy, just barely enough to not be completely drowned out this close. "I'm someone they brought here too."

[galdorleod]

Howl barely processes the answer he receives. He's fearfully stuck on the foreign emotions flowing into his head, mixing with his own thick misery. At least there aren't any memories. He's afraid of what other horrible things he'll be forced to experience second-hand, much less how they might dredge up those of his own that he'd rather not remember.

"What do you want?" he manages to say, his voice tainted with tears. The question is combative, but inside, Howl is vaguely grateful, and surprised, that someone is taking the time to comfort him.

2bish/wildcard! For the early adopters! lmk if this doesn't work for you!

[zauneyete]

That early morning, when things seemed clearer was a bit of a blur, after all the pain, sickness, and misery. Silco, for all that he saw himself as an intelligent man with his finger on the pulse of what was going on, lost it a bit, wheezing in the cold dark; miserable, sick, and weak.

It's a distant memory now, in the sunlight of early morning. It's not necessarily warm, the chill still too settled as the morning tried to shrug off its chill, but it's a far cry better than the dank, dark sickness that was down below. It feels renewed, like cresting from beneath the waves, that first sharp, piercing breath, after far too little, when lungs burn the whole way down.

Howl isn't alone that first morning after he ascended the stairs. After soap and a proper washing, actual food, and a moment to breathe, Silco -- who looks probably twice Howl's age, with the stripe of white hair, and the massive scar that bifurcated his face -- spoke up. "I didn't think anyone else was up here," he prompted, a tip of his head, in thought. What other kind of person would accept a promise like they'd been given? Looking around, there aren't many about, and that meant Howl was a curiosity. "Was it bad, for you? Down there?"

[galdorleod]

More than food, more than sunlight, it's a bath and clean clothing that provide Howl the most relief. The circumstances haven't exactly been good for his undercurrent of vanity, and while he has enough sense to put his appearance aside in the serious and dire situation they've been in for over two weeks now, being able to look more like himself is doing a lot to make him feel more like himself.

He's leaned over, shaking his open fingers through his damp hair to help it dry faster, when he hears someone talking to him. He looks up at him with one eye, the other obscured by his midnight black hair.

"Oh," he begins, "you mean you didn't hear me? You'd be the first, I wager."

It's a self-deprecating answer, spoken lightly to keep the atmosphere from getting uncomfortable. This makes him feel more like himself again, too. Making excuses.

Standing up straight, Howl smooths down his hair as he regards the unknown man beside him with an impenetrable smile. "I was the one wailing all night. Sorry for keeping you up, if I did."

[zauneyete]

Silco had been in his own head through most of it, choking, gasping on his own breath -- like a man drowning -- and had he heard a man wailing? Maybe, but the night had felt long, mired in pain, sickness, warped bodies, and fights. He'd certainly been in a few scuffles, but that should hardly be surprising. Just looking at the man, he has a face that looks like it had been punched.

"Hm, sorry, I might have missed it between all the..." he waved his fingers, as if it described a particular sensation, even if it didn't. "Crying, coughing masses down there," he finished his thought, and rolled a shoulder, as if slaking off the last of all of the misery was as easy as doing just that. Was he going to speak up about his own night, wallowing in past trauma? No, that was most certainly not the way this old man operated.

"I'm sure someone will come up complaining about how they didn't sleep soon enough, though. I'm sure you can apologize to them, if you'd like," he said, his own attempt at humor. He gestured at the fire. "They apparently have food, if you have the stomach for it. It even tastes better than the garbage we had before."

[galdorleod]

Howl is in no hurry to share any of what he'd been through either, nor is he eager for the sense of obligation that would arise in him if someone else tried to share. If he could get away with pretending none of it ever happened, he would.

"Are you asking me to join you?" Howl asks with a practiced grin, as he bends down to begin wrapping his new robe around the waistband of his trousers. Not being particularly familiar with toga-like clothing, his attempt is a bit awkward, but he manages to fasten it and wrap the remainder around his shoulders.

2a

[bearshermark]

Eleven remembers hearing him from his place on the floor. His heart had ached a silent resonance of his devastation and he'd wished to help, but he'd been too physically spent to manage it. Later- he doesn't know how much later- Eleven drags himself to where he recalled the source, takes in the quiet misery of the man sat there now with black dripping between his fingers.

"Hey," His voice is whisper-soft, eyes tired and outstretched fingers unsteady as they reach for him. "How are you?"

[galdorleod]

Howl is still not well. That goes without saying, yes — none of them are "well" — but Howl has not recovered from his particular brand of unwell. When he picks up his head and peeks at the stranger from between his fingers, his eyes are wet and swollen with tears.

Who is this? He doesn't recognize him. He's trying to touch him? Howl's eyes dart to the hand outstretched towards him, fearful. Their touch could trigger something in him, as he's learned — something good, but something horrible too. Or the other man could share some awful sensation of his own, adding it to the pile currently crushing down on Howl's shoulders.

"Who are you?" he asks, haggard voice barely above a whisper.

[bearshermark]

Eleven's hand lowers without touching him in an effort to abate that fear in the man's eyes. He looks half-wild, and his heart aches for the misery he finds there.

"My name is Eleven," he says softly. "I want you to know you aren't alone."

[galdorleod]

For a short moment, Howl simply gazes at the man. Then, his face lowers back into his hands, and a bitter laugh chokes up from his throat.

"Of course I'm not," he mutters miserably. "There are dozens of us trapped down here."

Obviously, that isn't what the stranger meant. Howl is fully aware that he's trying to comfort him — somehow — although Howl cannot fathom how the stranger could bear to spare a care for him when he must be suffering like everyone else. Despite his sarcastic response, though, deep down in his empty heartless chest, he's grateful for this tiny gesture of sympathy, as mystifying as it is.

2a

[dragon_rider]

[ He'd be better off if he wasn't Hiccup. It's a fact he can't stop thinking about that for the first night. Anyone else would be more prepared (would they?). Surely, if he were the twins or Snotlout he'd be willing to fend for himself. Gods, maybe even Astrid (no, that's not true, in the end Astrid is more altrustic than him — he believes this much, but she could do the hard stuff). Instead, he's Hiccup and for every person he sees down there he gets angrier. Angrier at the situation, at the guards. At himself for not doing more.

The strange darkness centered itself internally, clasping a firm hand around his heart and squeezing it tight as if to make it stop beating. It's everything in his power not to act rashly and it's — perhaps — the fact others are there, trapped and terried, that he doesn't. The blond haired man in the corner, keening doesn't escape his notice. When the soldiers pass on food he takes it begrudgingly, scowling at the small amount of rations.

It's practically a bad winter's dinner on Berk — barely a scrap. He sighs to himself. Tilts his head this way and that, eyeing the group. No one's paid mind to the crying guy for a while. Turning his attention back to the food in hand he heaves another breath and gets up slowly, putting his weight on the better leg as he moves to cross the distance.

He hesitates for a moment, waffling on what to say. But then decides saying nothing for the moment is better. Instead he placed the food next to the other and moved to lean against the wall himself. He doesn't move to sit next to him, not just yet. Another moment and he tries, plundering on: ]

...Y'know, my island was full of caves and woods. There used to be this one they said had a great treasure in it. I went looking for it once when I was a boy.

[ He's trying to give his mind something else to think about, anyway. It probably won't work, but he'll ramble on for anyone if given the chance. ]

[galdorleod]

[ The limp in the stranger's stride manages to catch Howl's attention before the man makes it to his side. He watches him draw closer with one eye from over the edge of his hand. His anxiety swells into fear by the time he's standing beside him. Will this person bring more misery to him? Intentionally or not?

Peering at him, Howl expects the worst, dreading whatever it is he's about to say — another pointless platitude, another attempt to get him to eat — but, no. It's something ... so mundane as to feel bizarre. Howl furrows his brow and squints at him in silence, but he is clearly listening instead of wallowing. The confusion alone has already relieved him of a tiny fraction of his misery, without Howl even realizing it. ]

[dragon_rider]

[ The man doesn't respond verbally which Hiccup takes to be a good thing. The fact he quiets is better, for even a moment — Not to silence him, but he knows the other side. He heaved a breath, the sound more of a scratchy laugh, as he moved to slide down the wall and sit down as well: ]

Turned out that was a pretty stupid idea, but then — Most of them were.

[ Humor traced his voice, but he doesn't smile. Instead he stops for a moment, the slide show of how many stupid incidents reeling through his brain. You're nativity will get someone killed, the darkest voice of his mind plays and it's a lot to shake it off, force the words out more for himself than the man. ]

To be fair, I guess I didn't know there were Whispering Deaths tunneling all over. Do you know what those are?

[ He's guessing probably not, but asking questions is important to. Distractions, good. Maybe it's just as much for him. ]

[galdorleod]

[ Howl shows no more of himself as the stranger slides to sit beside him. With his posture remaining hunched over and withdrawn, and his face almost completely hidden behind his hands, he simply watches as the unknown man settles down on the rock and continues his story.

The ambiguous silence suggests that he's about to turn away and ignore him after all, or even spit out a bitter and miserable demand that he leave him alone, but... instead, it's broken by a slight shake of his head. An answer to his question. Howl is listening. And he's looking at him more openly now, a little softer, as he gazes over his fingers. ]