aionlogs | EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

Entry tags:

EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Sometimes miracles come in the form of visions from on high, from the healing of the sick and the wounded, from the raising of the dead; sometimes they come in the form of an angel in the wilderness awakening something within you, something primal and shaking and shameless, something within you that knows no fear in the face of true holiness and all the terrible adoration that it inspires.

No, this isn't the first time this has happened to him, though the recollection is dim and vague at the sight of the dissipation happening directly in front of him. There's a familiarity to all of this that he isn't sure he likes, but is entirely sure that he understands.

I am with you. I am with you.]

I. Feed My Flock.

[While Paul still takes the food that's offered to him, just on principle, that doesn't mean he's doing anything to consume it; rather, he's finding those that are having a particularly bad time with dealing with all of this and giving whatever he has to them. Sometimes it's wordless - he isn't exactly having the easiest time himself right now - but usually there's something vague murmured to the person he's offering it to.

He doesn't usually stay in one spot long - there's something about this whole situation that's making him both unable and unwilling to remain too still, something digging at the back of his mind that won't leave him alone - but trying to take care of the others ensures that he has to sometimes; it's then that things are likely a little more apparent. The dark, oppressive aura of guilt that pulses off of him in waves, something that doesn't lend itself well to words but rather comes in the form of quiet images and words and sounds that seem to cling to your skin, soaking in like saltwater. An elderly woman with thinning white hair and glasses the thickness of shot glasses, sitting on her bed looking blankly out the window without seeing anything. A little girl drowning. A woman with short hair running medical tests. A young man with close-cropped hair actively bleeding out on the floor. The strict-faced schoolteacher feeding a dog. The prevailing sense that none of it matters, if any of it ever mattered. The notion that feeling that none of it mattered is irredeemable.

Images and thoughts that aren't your own, but you're aware of now. Do with them what you will.

Or just take the damn food. He'd appreciate it if you did that.]

II. Be Not Afraid.

[The inability to remain still comes with two exceptions: attempting to keep everyone more or less fed and in one piece, and times of prayer.

He finds himself centering more and more on that spot he occupied in the ritual circle, sinking to his knees and crossing himself more than once before settling into what can best be described as deep prayer; it's easier to stick to the words he's had memorized since he was a young child, platitudes to the Holy Mother and the Blessed Trinity as a whole, though some part of him doesn't expect anything to answer.

Until eventually, inexplicably, something does.

It's on a particularly low night, weakness consuming his body and black liquid seeping from his eyes - it's then that he hears it, not in words but in the way that one hears the voice of God. It's something that echoes in the depths of your soul, something that speaks through shivers and sheer trembling relief from terror and pain and the guilt-wracked guilt; it resonates with him finally, as whatever obstinance he may have held in his heart begins to melt away, and it honestly doesn't take long before the actual words set in.

And when they fade, so too does the misery, so too does the suffering; he doesn't have much time for the woman, though he acknowledges her words quietly and vaguely, and instead he returns to the surface just long enough to obtain clothing before returning back down.

Again, he settles next to whomever seems to need it, whomever is having a time of it; even if he's shoved or told to leave, he'll visibly refuse, and instead will remain where he is, running a hand through the hair of those receptive to it - or just too busy curled up on the floor to rebuff him a second time.]

It's all right; I'm with you.

[His words are low, calm in tone. The sort of thing accustomed to the comforting of others.]

The worst will pass. Your misery and your anguish and your suffering will pass; your pain will become your strength. But you have to allow it to. You have to make that choice, and you have to follow it through.

It's difficult now, but I'm with you.

Edited 2022-03-05 04:44 (UTC)

[ At this point, Matt's curled on his side by the Visionary's throne, eyes closed and smudged with black. There's a shard of crystal on the left side of his throat, sludge oozing gently from its edges.

By now, he's run out of gods. Aphrodite, Hecate, Selene; Kali, Agni, Ganesh the remover of obstacles, Hanuman, Kama; Nephthys who comforts the dead, Bastet, Osiris. Maybe this is what Matt gets for being such a spiritual dilettante instead of just picking a team. Or maybe the gods of his world got snuffed out along with the rest of it.

His lips are moving, but the words are inaudible, only occasional syllables wisping enough weight to be heard: Par toi je change l'or en fer et le paradis en enfer; dans le suaire des nuages ...

Gradually, something penetrates the fog: a touch. Fingers in his hair. And after that, someone speaking in soothing tones. Matt's too disoriented to catch all of it, but pain will become your strength lands like a life preserver. Matt's eyes blink open. ]

... Uh. Hi, [ he says, with a wobbly smile--a ghost of his usual sheepish looks. Matt means to say something like, Thank you for noticing I'm going through it, or I really appreciate the kind words, but as soon as he meets this person's gaze, he finds all the anguish spilling out. ]

I just, um ... I can't reach anything? [ He's too scrambled to start anywhere but in the middle, with the most urgent point. ] I'm used to ... ever since I was a kid, I could reach out and I'd feel something there, like--life, and gravity, and strings, and--

And now I can't. So I don't know, what to ...

[And he'll listen to that anguish, and it seems he understands - because honestly, he does, the sense of faith that usually resides in a place that can only be described as his soul having been drastically shaken since this whole ordeal came to pass; as much as he understands, however, he seems to have found that sense of strength again, that way of feeling tethered to something again, or at least he's found something that lets him remain calm throughout all of the pain he's currently surrounded by.]

It feels as though you've lost whatever anchored you before. You're so used to feeling it that the idea of it being gone... You can't fathom that.

I know. I've been feeling the same way.

[ Sitting up made Matt's head swim the last time he tried it. So he compromises by squirming onto a slightly more amenable position on the floor, one where he can regard his merciful new acquaintance a bit more easily. As he speaks, Matt's lips twitch in wan wonder. ]

Are you reading my mind?

[ It's the kind of thing that happens in this cavern, apparently. Not to mention all the people who could do it back home. But never mind, Matt actually has a much more important question, one that nearly makes his voice crack on its way out. ]

What did you do about it?

[He's more than willing to allow that, withdrawing his hand from Matt's hair to allow him to shift position; he settles back a bit, though he doesn't seem inclined to be going anywhere.]

It may seem pointless to keep one's faith in the midst of all this, but I've been doing what I can to keep my own. Otherwise...

[Mm. Otherwise.]

You can feel it, can't you? It isn't a connection in the same way you might be used to, but you can feel it - not externally, but inside of you. Waiting for you to find it, waiting for your heart to accept it. It runs through you. It will be your guidance, if you allow it.

[ As soon as the contact is gone, Matt misses it so sharply it feels like pain. He's a lonely person in many ways, but back home, he could always count on touch to tether him to others. How long has it been since anyone touched him in kindness--weeks, a month? All this time is blurring into a sludge.

He tries to focus. ]

Internally, I feel ... like shit.

[ That's rueful, more an apology than a refutation. Matt turns the rest of the words over in his mind, ginger as if they were objects in his hands. "Not the way he might be used to, but it runs through him." It makes Matt think of space, and the stars; he's used to thinking of space as void, as nothing, as something that needs matter to give it meaning. But there can't be stars without space. There can't be matter without its absence.

He wants to protest: It's poison. They forced it on us. But if that's true, how does that explain this man's steadiness? He looks healthier than Matt's felt in days, and he sounds--

Certain.

Matt frowns. ]

Is it ... death? The guide?

Father Paul Hill | Midnight Mass | Martyr

be not afraid (eek!!)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

flock

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

be not afraid

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

be not afraid

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

ii

no subject

no subject

no subject