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

shows up to 2 with starbucks

[semicharmed]

[ In the gloom of the falling evening, Matt's seated by one of the fires. Freshly scrubbed from a luxurious bath in one of the nearby streams, he's outfitted in what is probably not supposed to resemble a bedsheet, but here we are.

More importantly for his purposes, he's acquired a long strip of white fabric from somewhere--possibly his old tunic?--and is practicing his levitation with it. The fabric ribbons through the air, close to the fire but not near enough to catch, and ties itself into a dainty knot. Then it unlaces itself and reties into a bow. Firelight flickers over Matt's face; he's concentrating, his eyes sparkling with focus.

He's not so focused that he could miss those wings, though. Matt's head turns, the motion slight but sharp. He's never seen anything like them before, unless you count Meteion's hairdo--they're beautiful. Like the bloody edges of a sunset.

Belatedly, he realizes he's being spoken to. ]

Oh, uh--yeah.

[ And he nods like the new kid at school trying to pretend he gets an inside joke.

There's actually a hint of demonic energy about Matt. It's coming from the hairline scar on his cheek, illuminated in certain crackles of the fire, but the overall impression is pretty faint. Residue. ]

Sorry. I didn't mean to stare.

[affal]

( one might think that after several years lived among demons that makoto would have become less easily-distracted by even a relatively minor display of magic, but that's just not the case yet. despite having become one of them himself, he has no inherent magical abilities beyond what any demon could do when properly summoned — at least, nothing he's either become aware of or been told about, and even those abilities seem beyond him here. they fascinate him, but not in a particularly positive way. even though all demons in hell have to play by the same rules, being a former human puts him at a conspicuous disadvantage both in ability, experience, and knowledge. as there's not much he can do about the former two, he tends to focus on the latter, believing that enough information and cunning could make up for the dearth in all else. so when his keen perception filters out a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, he turns and watches for a moment as the scroll of cloth carefully contorts itself into different configurations, as if by its own will.

he has to hurriedly retrieve his attention when his address is turned back to him; his shoulders peak for just a moment, and then he recomposes himself. ) Oh, no need for apologies. ( the wings give a brief flutter before one pins tightly behind his back as the hand on its same side curls inwards to his chest; the other stretches out in turn with the other arm as it extends laterally. he gives a short bow, in this extravagance. ) With all the work that went into acquiring them, I'd be more offended if I didn't attract at least a few stares.

( even if kieran had ended up giving them to him willingly, it had still been several days worth of performance to get him into such a generous mood in the first place, and not to mention entrapped in a contract he had no way of fulfilling his end of the bargain of.

after the gesture he folds them both at his back, cognizant of how large they were in a relatively busy military encampment. he approaches a few steps, hands folding behind his back as pale eyes set in bloody red sclera search over his new acquaintance with ravenous curiosity. were he still full-fledged as a demon of hell in his own right, more would have been obvious to him now than it actually is — he had more of a natural sense of what was mortal and what wasn't then. it's less of an aura and more of a scent. as it is, he still gets a gut feeling looking at this stranger, something that runs along the lines of "similarity" and "familiarity." he tables this thought for now; he wouldn't want to make an assertion based on a half-baked instinct.

instead he points one finger straight up, indicating the cloth still levitating several feet over their heads. )

Your work?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt is fascinated by the way the wings move, seeming to adopt gestures that are as natural to them as a well-worn tic might be to him: tapping his foot, snapping his fingers. Something flickers through his mind about animal body language. Humans tend to project their own gestures onto animal features, leading them into errors as trivial as "my dog loves hugs" and as calamitous as "this adult tiger and I have a rapport."

Of course, this person isn't an animal at all, so the thought itself is probably--problematic, to say the least. But Matt doesn't have time to sharpen those self-recriminations, since he's been both dangled an interesting tidbit (work to acquire them? so they aren't like--an inborn thing?) and asked a question. ]

My work, yeah. [ Matt can't help a bit of a glow at the admission. Not pride so much as miraculous gratitude. ] I was getting pretty dexterous before, um ... we all got brought here. Nice being able to stretch these muscles again.

[ He smiles, head tilting invitingly. ]

I'm Matt. Who're you?

[ Normally he'd be a bit more circumspect. But it seems silly for them to not know each other's names, or get to know a little about each other. After all, they're going to be collaborating on a pretty consequential group endeavor.

(The red sclera are not a red flag to him. Demons where he comes from are more diaphanous beings.) ]

[affal]

( when makoto had first been given this body, he had complained to J about how plain it was. if he was going to be a demon, he'd said at the time, he might as well be given one with what one associated with a demon: horns, wings, a tail... but his master had just laughed him off, that it was just like a human to romanticize such things. demons born in hell are given such features by the right of their existence, but makoto would have to earn them for himself. and so he had. perhaps he leans a little too much into use and gesture of the wings, having thought from time to time throughout the last three years about what it might be like to have them. that, and having observed the grace and elegance with which J moved with his own.

makoto nods, understanding. the warmth and resonance in response to pointing it out is faint echo to the same that he had relished in for just a moment, after having attention poured onto his wings. ) It would be a shame to allow such skill to atrophy with disuse. Fortunately enough, it doesn't seem like such a thing has come to pass during our interment.

( though it may take some practice to make up for lost time. something else that makoto understands — he had only just been learning how to fly with these wings, and he's now especially wary of having to initiate that process anew. especially since there were folks that might play unintended witness to some awkwardness with them, and that's not really the impression he wants to make...

maybe if he can find a time and place he feels confident is away from prying eyes. )

A pleasure, Matt. If you would, please call me M. ( he has gathered the names of many that he'd shared this camp and the cavern down below with previously, but matt's had escaped his knowledge until now. ever a demon, he's grateful to have any name rendered up to him without asking for anything in return (even if it doesn't seem to have any particular power here... not that it stops makoto from not wanting to give out his own). )

Is your work limited to telekinesis?

[semicharmed]

[ Maybe Matt could find something suspicious in the fact that this winged person is only introducing themselves by syllable. But for all he knows, it's a totally commonplace naming convention where M's from. Or maybe his name is also Matt, and he wants to be called something unique.

Hard to say! ]

M. Nice to meet you. [ Even as he mulls over whether "telekinesis" is the right word for someone who's not a psychic, Matt brightens at the term. It shows some baseline familiarity with preternatural phenomena, which is welcome. While he's on the subject, it pleases him that M calls it "his work"; whether the use of the phrase is intentional or not, that's just how he feels. ] I can do a bunch of things, actually. Let's see ...

There's fire, light, which is related but not 100% overlapping, various shields and containers. I haven't tried the full range yet, but magic is pretty flexible, so it's kind of like, if you can think of it and find the right levers to pull, it can happen.

[ For the moment, he leaves out any mention of sympathetic magic or sex. Both are pretty intense for a first meeting, even amid the roller coaster of intensity that their first few weeks here have been. ]

What about you? Unfortunately, I don't have much frame of reference for human-shaped people with wings apart from a few myths, so I don't know ... what that might mean, I guess.

[ Please no one tell the priests that Matt just referred to angels as "mythical human-shaped people with wings." ]

sry for the delay...

[affal]

( the truth could very well be any one of those things (though them actually sharing the same name really would be a funny coincidence), but it's really just the same as his preening nature about his wings. his initial is something he's earned — it is a naming convention in hell, but only by necessity, because any demon of a lower rank than the one they address wouldn't be able to say their full name, thus requiring the initial.

he knows that these rules don't apply here, but... well, it's his initial, and he's earned it. it also gives him a (completely false and undeserved) sense of superiority and allows him to keep his own name (something precious, as it's one of the last few things of his he has left to him) to himself.

the mutable nature of the magic that he describes is actually more in-line with what makoto has seen and experienced himself, regardless of the terms he uses — it's mostly just labeling, trying to make sense of the power of creatures that resist such convenient organization. he still isn't certain of the extents of his own master's magical ability, but he saw him reduce his own brother to ash with explosive fire magic (it's okay, he got better) only after summoning himself to makoto's side via a specialized rune that he had surreptitiously inscribed on his person. in the end, he finds it safest to assume J can do very nearly anything he wants, which makes it even more annoyingly difficult to plan against him. )

I see, ( he muses, one hand at his chin. funnily enough, any mention of the other mechanics of his brand of magic would have... caused him to raise an eyebrow, certainly, but given the last few years he's had it wouldn't be enough to faze him past that. ) You must've felt like you had both hands tied behind your back this whole time, if that's the case.

( he knew he'd felt the same, and all he'd been denied these past few weeks was the use of his wings. )

Me? ( he places his free hand against his chest. ) Oh, nothing at all, I'm afraid. There were a few things I used to be able to do, but... if I were to hazard a guess, it would be that they were too tied up in the rules of the place I came from for me to utilize them here.

( sadly no portaling to Earth and collecting human souls for him right now. ): though he was kind of Over that whole scene regardless; the gold that he'd gained for his efforts had only ever been to bribe avaricious demons with anyways.

he returns to a faintly former topic with a fiendish smile. ) I am curious now — based on those myths, what would you think to call someone like me? ( a beat. ) Don't be shy. You won't offend me.

time is made up dw about it!!

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's a pretty transparent person. Once he feels a thing, it's hard for it not to show on his face (in his eyes, in the lines of his body). And when Makoto says both hands behind your back, Matt feels an immediate wave of relief that somebody gets it without his having to explain. ]

Yeah, [ he sighs. ] It was--

[ Like missing a limb. Like being a shadow of himself. Like not knowing who or what he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. Thank the remaining cosmos for Kenoma, lancing much-needed purpose back into him. Matt concludes, ] It was a lot.

[ He's curious about what rules or institutions might be so particular that they haven't transferred here as his own powers have done. But quickly, he's distracted by Makoto's question. Matt smiles sheepishly, scrubbing a hand over the scar arcing across his left cheek. ]

I mean, there's depictions of divine entities who are sometimes shown with wings, or as birds themselves, but in terms of which one I'd call you ...

Paris and winged genies and angels probably come the closest. [ Another small smile. ] Only you don't have a beard. So that rules out the middle one. And angels and paris are probably the same mythical family anyway, so. I guess that's my answer.

[affal]

( for makoto, it hadn't just been how they were stripped of attributes and abilities that they might have otherwise had command over previously. it was the dehumanization of their internment, the lack of dignity they were given by being withheld changes of clothes and the regular opportunity to bathe. in hell, the reputation that makoto had built for himself had been a facade shored up by his appearance, his demeanor, and his guile, so these past few weeks he's felt like the shadow of a shadow. even if the fashion of the clothing they were given choice of wasn't exactly his preference, it's something clean and new, and with that and his hair washed and tied back once more, he's almost feeling like himself again.

so he nods, his expression a careful composition of sympathy.

eerily pale eyes track the movement of matt's hand, a faint smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. he nods encouragingly as the mage continues, and he can't help but chuckle at his final conclusion. it delights him in a weird way, but he can't help but understand it in his own way — when the ritual had succeeded and J had materialized in his bedroom, he had found himself wondering why it was that his efforts to summon a demon had brought an angel to him instead. )

Thank you for indulging my curiosity. I haven't had many opportunities like this to ask without there being too much of a preconceived notion. ( he's silent a moment before rolling on with a similar joviality: ) You're off, though, by what I think many would consider a wide margin. "Demon" would be correct answer, though yours interests me, considering — ( and here he reaches up to his own face to swipe the pad of a thumb over his cheek, mirroring the one on matt's face with a knowing sort of glint in those odd eyes. )

[semicharmed]

[ Matt nods, intrigued, over the idea of preconceived notions. It's not something he's considered in so many words, but it's a good point. They're all that's left of their home worlds here--the customs, the social norms, what's weird and what's mainstream.

As M's thumb brushes over his own cheek, Matt's curious expression fades into a look of puzzlement. Then alarm, as it clicks.

He can tell. Matt's never met anyone who knew on sight where his scar came from. The sulfur and shadow beneath it. Though of course, if he's a demon, it makes sense that M would have a sense for the energy that still resides here. Matt's eyes widen, his hand slipping protectively to his cheek. Above the fire, the strip of fabric he'd been manipulating writhes and dips, one corner singeing. ]

Oh, [ he says at last. Matt pauses for the space of a heartbeat, then two. Time starts to drag as he realizes he should probably say something else. ] Well, it ... didn't look much like you.

[affal]

( it hadn't been something he'd noticed immediately. he's almost certain that J would have been able to tell on sight — perhaps that's the difference in the canny ability of a demon born rather than made, as makoto had been. many of the powers that he received being one had been instilled in him by the laws of hell — broken free from those laws, he finds himself freed in many ways and defanged in others. an inherent and intrinsic understanding of demons and mortals was something he'd lost. before, he'd had a vague sense of the shape of the soul, of its contents and how ripe they may be for collection by a demon. he's blind to all of that now, but he isn't yet blind to the telltale signs that the immortal made upon the mortal.

something about that scar had been tugging at his attention, but it wasn't until the gesture itself that it had suddenly clicked in his own mind. a gut feeling that he knew had to be right, informed by instincts and intuitions that he couldn't really put to words.

it gives him some pause. demons are territorial. his association with J, keyed into his flesh in the scar that ringed around his neck, had upon numerous occasions been a deterrent for other demons that had thought to stake their claim. for many others, it brought fascination and curiosity. he has to imagine the demon that left that scar is burned away into the past just as much as J himself is, but that doesn't mean that makoto can't make a mental note where lines are drawn in the sand.

it's certainly not the only thing he takes note of. the fastest and most efficient way to reap a human's soul is to learn everything there is to know about them, and he didn't have the magical tricks many other demons had. what he has instead is observation. each physical indicator of the hesitant, almost stricken, reaction is catalogued, and that's not even mentioning the way it reflects on the length of fabric still hovering in the air above them.

one corner of makoto's mouth curls more into a sharp smile. )

That doesn't surprise me. Few do — though I am finding that my familiarity with demons doesn't extend to all that others might be familiar with, so I suppose it's hard to say.

( he pauses, though, expression taking on an intentional shade of remorse. ) If this is a sensitive subject, I am happy to keep it to myself.

[semicharmed]

[ For a moment, Matt's not even here. He's being chased down a corridor of memory, at the end of which is a twisting, smoky shape. One curlicue lengthens into a claw that just fits the groove etched in his cheek. A piece of him registers the danger in Makoto's smile, but Matt's reaction to dangerous things has never been to back away.

In the meantime, M's last remark, and his expression, strike a guilty chord in him. After all, just because he's had his own experiences with demons, it's no reason to take it out on an uninvolved party. ]

No--it's fine, [ Matt says quickly. ] I haven't had the chance to talk about it much.

[ Which is another way of saying he's never talked about it. Who would he tell? The people who believed him would never look at him the same way again, and his friendships with other magic users were always too few and fragile to risk it. ]

"Demon" is kind of a catchall term where I come from. It's a general category of malignant spirits, but even then, it's kind of like, we define "malignant" according to our interests as sentient, embodied people within certain social contexts ... so, uh, a demon is an incorporeal entity from another plane of existence. There are religious texts that define those planes as the afterlife, hell or whatever, but nobody knows for sure. You identify a demon primarily by what it does, rather than a known point of origin. [ A quick smile, faintly sheepish. ] Does that make sense?

[affal]

( oh, matt... please do not feel bad because you think makoto might be wounded by any perceived prejudice against his kind. they are demons, after all. and, really, while he has great personal distaste for qualities that he finds too disgustingly human, he hates demons and their imitation of those qualities (witting or not) far worse.

it's already obvious enough that the substance of the demons matt has dealt with are far different from the fare that makoto had run up against in hell. in his experience, both as the contracted and the contractor, it's a full-time job for the demon — they are essentially bound to the contract and the human they formed it with until said human was satisfied that their wish was fulfilled. sometimes it took quite a bit of persistence, and not to mention clever manipulation (after all, the humans were aware their souls would be forfeit at the contract's conclusion). so it's very strange to see something like this, struck like a glancing blow rather than something written out painstakingly and signed in blood.

as matt explains, makoto takes a seat by the fire next to him; the wings bundle up as best as he can make them, and he rests his chin on the steeple of interlaced fingertips. at the question, he nods, replying in swift riposte: ) Does it make sense that you and yours didn't seem to have much of any idea what it is you encountered? Yes. Yes, it does.

( he doesn't put any stock into so-called "religious texts." they might as well have been fairy tales. he finds himself suddenly grateful that the laws of his own world had brought him a flesh-and-blood demon rather than something so incomprehensible — he wouldn't have been of much use, if that hadn't been the case. )

What was its intentions, then? Do you have any idea?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's unnecessary guilt over perceived prejudice is unstoppable, sorry everyone. But at least he's easily distracted from it. First by M sitting down beside him: maybe it's the way Matt got into magic, or maybe it's an innate sensibility, but he finds that the proximity of bodies has its own pleasant gravity. He's missed being close to people. And it doesn't hurt the hungry, curious, exploring bent to his brain that M's wings are so much closer now.

Second, there's M's ... slightly shady take on human demonology. And the question that follows. Both are absorbing, conversationally, but the former is easier to respond to than the latter, so Matt starts there. ]

Well--there are people who purport to know what demons are like, in exhaustive detail. I'm just pretty sure they're wrong. And I don't know, I think it's okay to be wrong, or to not know. But what you don't know can hurt you, of course.

[ Matt's lips twitch. His fingers brush his cheekbone again, running back and forth over the scar. ]

Though I actually don't have to guess its intentions. It was pretty upfront. I offended it by trying to summon it, so it wanted to kind of ... put me in my place.

It also said I might be interesting someday.

[ "If you don't get caught doing more stupid shit like this," is actually how the sentence ended, but Matt's not quite ready to share that part. None of this story paints him in a good light, but that's actively uncool. ]

[affal]

( it takes makoto a few tries to get those wings into a folded configuration behind him that feels comfortable as he sits — he'd only had perhaps a few days before being brought here, and then he'd lacked the ability to draw them out until now. unlike a creature who had them all along, he's still learning the ropes on how to maneuver them, and it would take a good deal more time for it to become ingrained and automatic. even longer for flight to become the same.

but time is something makoto has always had plenty of, so that prospect doesn't daunt him in the slightest.

it's alright to be wrong, or not to know something? makoto has to stifle a laugh. what a perfectly academic approach... that wouldn't fly a day in hell, but he has to remind himself that not everyone's background is so cutthroat. ) If all these "experts" have is theory while you have concrete experience, I'd probably put my bet on you. ( said with a carefree, genial smile. a vote of confidence from a demon (albeit one cut from a very different cloth) had to be worth something, right?

matt explains, and this time makoto can't actually catch himself before he laughs; his hand moves to cover his mouth as he does so. it's not at the other young man's expense — it's more in irony, in the acknowledgment of somewhat-shared experience so bizarre when applied across inter-dimensional circumstances. ) My apologies, ( he replies as the laughter subsides, his genial smile now ruefully tinged, ) I was just thinking that it's something we share, after a fashion. Though for me it was more along the lines of... "Make yourself entertaining, or else."

( it hadn't been the deal he'd agreed to, but it ended up being the one he was trapped in regardless. his own damn fault for trusting in the goodwill of a demon.

he breathes out a pensive sigh. ) So maybe these disparate types of demons are not so different after all.

[semicharmed]

[ M's amusement is kind of nice. So much of what's happened since Matt arrived in this world has been grim, stressful, immiserating, and/or tortuous; it feels good to see somebody smile. And the reaction soothes some of Matt's jitters over sharing a story so intimate, so thorny, even in this piecemeal way. M's acting like it's not a big deal, and that makes him feel a little less freakish.

That said, Matt isn't expecting the laugh. Nor what comes after. His eyes widen briefly in surprise, before his expression settles into one of concern. Understanding, of a sort. What Matt doesn't know feels like a yawning void, one that stretches wider by the word, but he does know a thing or two about being kept around because he's entertaining (or else). And the demon hasn't been his only teacher.

He has more questions; he always does. So you called a demon too? What plane of existence DO you come from? But he's not entirely sure how to form them, and definitely isn't confident that now's the moment to ask. ]

It's an interesting pattern, [ he agrees, rueful. ] Two isn't a great sample size, but given the rarity of demons in general, it does kinda paint a picture.

[ So how would they define "demon," under this paradigm? Something that lives for entertainment, the messier the better? ]

But, ah ... I'm sorry. I mean, yours sounds worse than my whole deal, I haven't heard from the demon I called in years. [ In the firelight, Matt's gaze falls to his hand, where a fresh scar slashes across his palm: a diamond atop an eye. ] I'm not sure it still exists.

[affal]

( the typical response he might expect from showing any sort of amusement to the traumas and troubles of one's past is offense, so he is pleasantly surprised to see that matt takes it in stride — fairly well, even. then again, there's something understandable in that as well. sometimes it takes the outside perspective of someone else to help contextualize the tribulations of one's life, to make them seem smaller or at least less onerous to shoulder and move on with because they have the same size, shape, and weight as the burdens that others carry throughout theirs as well.

waiting for a "good" time to ask questions is a luxury that one often cannot afford. when it comes to who and what he is, there's little makoto has to hide — for him, it had been living in hell among demons who live according to a very different moral (or lack thereof) prerogative that had opened his eyes to that.

which is why he chuckles, ) Two? ( and then eyes matt knowingly as he speaks to the "rarity" of demons while sitting alongside one, one who had lived among and attended to their kind for the last few years of his life. )

Not to say that I could speak to any authority on the demons that one might have dealt with where you come from. But... quick to offense, possessive, eager to enforce perceived hierarchies... In my experience, most demons fall under that sort of description.

( he emits a single laugh, though it's one with a slightly cruel edge — it leads into his reply, ) Ah, well, that might only be because you aren't yet sure what you're in for. ( at this point he generally knows the extents of J's designs for him (or, at least, he thinks he does). by the rules and laws of what he is, he's trapped beneath his thumb — so long as J exists and can call his name, so will makoto, and by J's immense strength there's little he could do to stand against him. )

If it exists by any of the laws that myself or other demons did — it does. And it's possible that it always will.

[semicharmed]

... Three, [ Matt admits. ] Or more, I guess, depending on your social circle, but I was thinking of the, [ his smile turns sheepish, as he realizes how fine-grained his initial thought was, ] "people who summoned demons and their relationship to those demons" case study.

[ He turns over M's suggested demonic attributes. Quick to offense certainly fits the bill for the demon who gave Matt his scar. Maybe enforcing hierarchies, if one imagines the demon thinks it's of a higher order than Matt is. As for possessive ...

Matt doesn't know. But he does feel a chill when M makes that pronouncement. It feels terribly, indelibly true. ]

Well, I will ... keep that in mind. Keep an eye out. Or, I don't know, stay away from certain planes of reality. [ Matt's visibly flustered, but he tries to keep a handle on it. For a moment, he looks up, considering the darkening sky. Then he calls the fluttering cloth back into his lap--singed at the edges, but otherwise intact. And, tremoring but genuine, he smiles M's way. ] Thanks. I mean, for--

Like I said. I've never talked about this.

[affal]

( makoto's smile is aggressively genial. ) That would be many more than three.

( though if he means those that summoned demons, then, yes, though it leaves out another rather important subset of related data. )

And that's not even taking into account all of the humans that summoned me.

( he says it and continues on as if it was not much of note; as if the tragedies and trials and traumas of their lives hadn't filled his palms as the gold dust their souls had reduced into after he'd fulfilled their contracts and collected them. after he had collected his father's own soul, he had thrown himself into the work to avoid thinking of what had happened, of J, of the turmoil his life had immediately fallen back into the moment he'd returned to his master's side. he'd lost count of how many souls he'd even collected.

the fine veneer of his almost belligerent amiability sands down into something a little more nuanced and empathetic as the slightly-singed cloth flutters back down into matt's hands; he continues, and makoto nods in reply. ) Of course. And don't be worried. I will be the soul of discretion.

After all... ( he pauses a moment, looking thoughtful, before returning his pale gaze back to matt with a smaller, more genuine and personable smile, ) this is a bit of a first for me as well. Knowing someone who did the same thing that I did, that is.

( well, apart from all of the people he'd formed contracts with, but that had been business and all... )

[semicharmed]

[ Well, that chill isn't going anywhere.

It's not that Matt can't tell there's something that lies behind Makoto's smile. He's been prey often enough to remember the feeling. It's more that he'd rather believe there's nothing behind it, and he's shaky enough in his ability to read faces that self-doubt is easy to come by. He doesn't consciously register the shift in M's expression, but he responds in kind: set of his shoulders easing, corners of his mouth lifting in an answering smile. ]

Oh ... well. At least we're even. And maybe there's a reason we're both here--that the two of us have both been called like this. [ A willingness to make irrevocably bad decisions in your teenage years? Matt shrugs gently. ] Either way: nice to be working with you, M.

[affal]

( so it's not that matt doesn't have an ingrained of self-preservation, he just refuses to listen to it whenever it's violently ringing the warning bells. how tragic... for him. unfortunately, that's just the type of person that a demon like makoto would have a field day with. )

Well, there's a thought. ( and his tone indicates that he thinks it's not a particularly pleasant one. he isn't convinced that they have been brought here by any other mode of selection other than random chance (not yet, anyway), but if there was a pattern like that... he would have to worry that they had been either brought here or chosen based on a former pattern of weakness in their formative years.

he likes to think he is a very different breed of beast nowadays, and in many ways he is. but he's not yet to the point where he thought he'd make different decisions than the ones that have led him right here. so perhaps there's a grain of truth in that line of thinking after all.

regardless! ) Likewise, Matt. I'm sure it will be an absolute pleasure. ( he stands in a fluid motion, and after a leathery flutter, the draconic wings fold to the point of completely disappearing into the small of his back. as nice as it was to stretch them, they're such a pain to walk around with all the time. how does J put up with it? he gives matt a smile. ) For now, however, I'll leave you to your practice. Until next time. ( and off he goes. )