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

i. i have to sleep so this is garbage and short, sorrymasen

[lockedon]

[ What the fuck. Here he is, just trying to mind his own business while his entire body threatens to consume itself after being force fed something he can't even begin to guess the origins of, and some guy just up and decides to sit right next to him?

The gall.

His head turns an inch, already thin eyes narrowing further as he stares at the stranger who's chosen to invade his (admittedly self-proclaimed) personal space. Not a face he's familiar with, beyond the cursory flicker of recognition that comes with having all been confined in the same area for the past two weeks. One of the quieter ones if he recalls correctly, and it's that fact that stays his tongue and softens his tone from annoyed to merely tired. ]

What.

[ The waters are very rough and choppy around these parts, for the record. ]

excuse u... u serve me something delicious and call it garbage? how very dare

[inutilis]

[ Abel full well understands that not everyone is amenable to company right now; there are some who prefer seclusion and solitude when in pain or discomfort, and there are those who might want a distraction from the misery. suppose he won't find out unless he tries, right?

there is weariness in the stranger's voice when he replies, but... that Abel got any reply at all is something, and he'll take it. his smile is soft as he looks over his companion, trying to gauge how he's holding up. ]

I have to say... I didn't have 'ingest some extremely gross wiggly liquid and then get stuck in a cave forever' on my bingo card for what this 'ritual' was going to be, personally... You, sir? Maybe you had some kind of prophetic foresight? ...No?

[ an attempt at conversation -- at something approaching lightness; it's all he can offer. disquieting as all of this is, Abel has a feeling that dwelling on how distinctly horrible it is won't do them any favors. ]

one man's garbage is another man's delicious meal i suppose.....

[lockedon]

[ To that, he has a simple reply, said succinctly as he closes his eyes for a brief moment. ]

I don't like bingo.

[ Never liked bingo, never liked casinos, never liked anything reliant on pure chance rather than skill. But everything up until now has been at the whims of fate, any useful skills he might have been able to use all nullified by the guards and their whips standing perimeter. Which leaves him here, seated on the cold ground, trying resolutely to ignore the nausea coiling in his stomach as he engages in idle conversation with a complete stranger—though he supposes they're all united here in their mutual suffering. ]

And if I had any sort of foresight, I wouldn't be here.

[ What a rude rude man....but once again, there's not much of a bite to his words, tiredness overtaking his usual cynicism. Even his ears are drooping forward, the most visible sign of his physical (lack of) well-being. ]

i am nOT EATING GARBAGE

[inutilis]

Ah, but what if you had seen it coming, full well knowing there was nothing you could do? Some sort of prophet? Mm.

[ Rude Man's rudeness is rolling right off of him like water from a duck's back; either Abel is truly oblivious or it genuinely doesn't irk him in the least, because he's motoring right along. (is this distracting...? is it pulling the attention away to the unpleasant nausea and chills and existential dread?? Abel hopes so.) ]

That would be terribly tragic, wouldn't it? [ clicking his tongue in a 'tsk tsk', so sad, ] Imagine seeing this entire thing coming and knowing your fate was sealed...? Well, since neither of us are prophets, I suppose we ought to count our blessings, right? I suppose it's a reminder things could always be worse! Silver linings!

[ ... ]

Or we could just be trapped down here playing bingo on top of everything else. See? Always could be worse.

don't be weak :/

[lockedon]

[ How does this man have the incredible talent to truly make things worse simply by existing—and then by opening his mouth to describe scenarios straight out of his worse nightmares? Actually, no, his nightmares don't usually include bingo boards and sweet old grannies, but now that the picture has been painted, he really can't fathom any sort of pleasant situation where he's being forced to play bingo while wanting to puke his guts out.

Talks of prophets and silver linings aside, Eustace does have a VIQ (Very Important Question) of his own, which he asks as soon as dear Father Abel stops talking. ]

Do you always talk this much?

[ This man could fill the entire cavern with his babble. ]

first of all it ISN'T GARBAGE and secondly, sh........ shut up,

[inutilis]

[ ah, yes, a VIQ? of course, Abel is attentively tilting his head to take in his dear new friend's inquiry, sensing its Importance. veritably.

and after a brief pause, rubbing his chin just the appropriate amount to make it appear as though he's given it the due consideration it deserves, Abel answers with great energy: ]

Oh, absolutely~! You know, Miss Esther usually says something like, "Father, do you know the expression 'talking someone ears off?!'" and make this extremely irritated expression-- her face gets so red, sir, you really ought to see it, it's something truly exceptional-- [ he's gesturing?? there are a lot of Gestures happening, ] Which, honestly, I find quite rude if you were to ask my personal opinion... I mean, there's nothing wrong with enjoying a good conversation, sir, right?! I mean, I figured you'd agree with me. I just had this sense you were a man who appreciates a good conversation~!

[ because Rude Man has been so talkative........ and receptive... to talky,

🤔 ]

[lockedon]

[ There are so many Gestures happening? And also so many Words?? Please hold while his eyes kind of just....glaze over, an automatic defense system activating in response to the excess of information he didn't ask for. (Well, he kind of did ask for it, but the point remains.)

At some point, his ears tune back in to the sound of...not silence, because there are simply too many of them scattered in this makeshift prison, but an absence of immediate chatter. Carefully, he slides his gaze over to a Very Earnest Face.

Is this guy serious? Surely he can't be serious?? ]

All I wanted was some peace and quiet...

[ The words are muttered under his breath and drowned out near immediately by a sigh. He opens his mouth to speak again—only to be immediately betrayed by his body as a sharp pulse of nausea spikes through him.

Hang on, give him a sec while he coughs and tries not to gag. ]

[inutilis]

--precisely~!! You've nailed it on the head precisely, my friend! A good bit of peace and quiet is all any of us ever asked for, right? And a kind soul to whittle away the hours wi-- ah... A-are you... alright?

[ okay, so the endless deluge FINALLY seems to find itself stalling as concern steals over the priest's face... h-hey, buddy, are you good-- ]

...Water? Would you like some water, sir? Take a deep breath, okay...?

[lockedon]

[ Does he look fine??? Don't answer that, he will take it upon himself to force out an answer of his own. ]

I'm fine.

[ This would sound a lot more convincing if he weren't trying to force the words out through gritted teeth, and if there weren't a few drops of oozing black liquid hitting the ground beneath him. Another reminder of the poison circulating through his system, ever present even as his coughing finally recedes. ]

It'll pass.

[ Will it though?? Even he sounds unsure of himself, the statement lacking his usual conviction. ]

[inutilis]

[ Eustace might be muscling through on sheer willpower, but... Abel realizes it is miserable despite it. so he hesitates just a moment before finding his feet with a soft, not-quite-audible mumble before trotting off.

...

....

his return is marked by the unceremonious jut of a (dented) cup filled with water, the priest holding out a swathe of dampened fabric in the other hand; it's piece of his sleeve, for the record, ripped off for goo-mopping purposes. ]

Here; please take a few slow sips, alright...? Don't overdo it. I know putting anything inside you might not seem tempting right now, but... the dehydration will make it much worse. --I promise, I'll stop yammering on if you humor me, okay?

[lockedon]

[ —Ah, there the man goes, no doubt repulsed enough by both his reticence and his coughing fit to want to find someplace else to sit. It's for the best, Eustace thinks, a tendril of tired acceptance floating through him as he wipes off the worst of the lingering inkiness from his mouth. They all have their own demons to face, and there's no point trying to cajole some cantankerous stranger when there are better uses of time or energy.

Or so he thinks, so it's something of a surprise when light footfalls make their return and there's a small cup being held out to him, water sloshing about inside. Eustace looks at the cup, uncomprehending, and then up up up into the familiar face of Mr. Talks-too-much, who (shockingly) isn't talking nearly as much this time around.

He blinks, a small pinch forming between his brows. ]

Why?

[ Specifically, why come back for him? ]

[inutilis]

[ ...this is becoming a sadly frequent occurrence, isn't it?

it is one word: why? but it has something in Abel's face falling before he can quite manage to catch it; what he does manage only pulls at the corners of his lips in a smile that looks more bereaved than anything. ]

Because I can, and... because you deserve far better than this.

[ it is so little-- a cup of water when one's throat is dry and body suffering. the fact such a gesture is worth any thought at all... is so intensely sad that Abel's chest feels tight with it. ]

[lockedon]

[ This is where a nice normal grateful man would take the proferred cup and murmur a word of thanks before wiping off the worst of the mess. But Eustace is, tragically, a far cry from normal, rebelling against social norms that most others would accept without question.

He closes his eyes again, making no immediate move to reach for the cup. ]

Everyone here deserves far better than this.

[ Especially this man, kindhearted enough to reach out to a complete stranger despite his own suffering. It reminds him of a girl dressed in white and her flying red companion, and for a moment he feels a pang of longing for a place he's not sure he'll ever see again.

Of course, if he sits around wallowing he'll definitely never see that place again. Better to do what he can now while he can, which means finally (finally!!) reaching out for that cup. ]

Thanks.

[ A whole word of gratitude, wow!!! ]

[inutilis]

You're very right, sir... they do.

[ and to hear Eustace say it puts something a bit more sincere, a bit warmer, in that smile on his face. he is glad to be in the company of someone with a like mind, even if his animal-eared friend here is a man of few (and sometimes prickly) words.

that warmth only grows when the cup is taken, and though the gratitude wasn't necessary? well, it's clear to see Abel is pleased from the way his eyes have lit up, too. ]

It isn't much, is it... But if you're thirsty enough, I bet it will taste like heaven~! Ah, ha.

[ it's funny bc he's a priest haha, heaven, haha...........



okay ]

[lockedon]

[ hey siri, how do i eject prince from my life


Eustace is thirsty actually (and hungry and cold to boot) but he takes what he's offered with surprising grace, movements controlled as he drinks from the dented cup, making sure to swish some of the water around to remove the foul taste of the ichor lingering in his mouth.

There's still an inch or two of water remaining in the cup when he finishes, which he offers back to Abel. ]

Have you had enough water?

[ Look, it does mean they might have to indirectly kiss if Abel finishes off this cup, but all things considered it really could be a lot worse. They could be dead. Or playing bingo. ]

[inutilis]

[ w... wow, indirect kissies..... 😳 Eustace, he knew you cared??

Abel definitely looks a bit surprised by the offer, but-- after a graceless moment of dumbfounded stupor, he's gently accepting the cup back to sip with a dip of his head in gratitude. is this first base, ]

They don't provide all too much in the way of extra, do they...?

[ there is hardly enough to go around, and that is clearly intentional. are their captors intending to breed discord and resentment among them...? so far, it hasn't been working much in their favor if that's the case. tensions are high, but... somehow, the lot of them have managed to prevent things from boiling over.

yet. ]

I can't help but think that keeping us in this low burning state of suffering is all a part of the game they're playing. Making it more tempting to give them what they're asking for, even... even if I can't even be sure what that might be, truthfully.

[ 'succumb, and the pain will stop.' Abel knows he isn't alone in hearing that unspoken message. ]

[lockedon]

[ With his throat no longer clogged with disgusting black sludge and dear Father Abel decidedly less annoying than before, Eustace finds himself able to think with a clearer mind.

It's a conclusion Eustace has also come to, though all things considered it would take an idiot with less than a single braincell not to put two and two together. (But considering how many of those exact idiots he knows, maybe he's asking for a bit much.) Even if this particular induction isn't one he's personally familiar with, he's witnessed - and used - enough other unscrupulous measures to get the general gist of things. Either their captors want information (unlikely) or they want some sort of conversion. ]

Loyalty, most likely. [ Though in a less noble, more twisted way if he had to take his guess. ] Anything to get us to break and join their side. Why keep us alive otherwise?

[ He's no expert on gods or religion but he's pretty sure that sacrifices as a whole aren't meant to be served up in such a grimy, battered state. And why pelt potential sacrifices with a singular unending message to give in? ]

[inutilis]

Allegiance, hm.

[ Abel repeats the prospect with a quiet hum of consternation, but... it doesn't matter, does it? whatever their illustrious hosts want of them, the priest is of not of the mind to give it to them. and he hopes -- prays -- that Eustace is of a like mind in that. ]

You know... in my experience, if one wanted to earn, say... loyalty? I find there are much better ways to earn it. Like, say-- a nice candlelit dinner? Maybe some flowers? --Delicatessen chocolates are always a wonderful choice! Someone really ought to let whoever's in charge of all this know.

[lockedon]

[ not me internally sweating as i read that bracket text.....

But of course, Eustace has no idea of the thoughts running through Abel's head (nor would he care about disappointing a man he's only just met), so it's with a healthy dose of doubt that he listens to Abel illustrate his own preferred methods of coercion.

In a perfect world, that's how things would work. But the world is rarely perfect in his experience. Actually, he's a little envious that this guy can just rattle off something as pleasant as flowers and chocolates so easily. Must be nice, to be him. ]

Is that the method you usually use? Chocolate?

[ Oddly enough, he can imagine it all too well. ]

[inutilis]

[ h-haha... it's because Eustace is going to be such a good and like-minded friend, right? right? you're sweating bc they're bro's and they're going to be SUCH a good duo when Eustace resists the Kenoma and they escape together??? haha??? RIGHT?????????/

...but that's for later, here and now we have those two brotherly bros having a conversation about chocolates while trying not to vomit in the Suffer Cave, just another Tuesday tbh, ]

Who, me? [ Abel points to himself. for emphasis ] Ah? No, no, I'm afraid I can't afford such a thing on my pittance of a wage... I know a priest must vow himself into poverty, but for goodness' sake-- I assure you, the Vatican takes it entirely too far, sir~!! To think, my tongue might never know the joy of those fancy chocolates you see in those boxes that come with the gold-layered tissue dressings, ah... have you had fancy chocolates? Hm, it's hard to tell if you're an impoverished soul as well, sir, but something about you just...

[ ......just,

what, you might ask?

... ]

[lockedon]

[ :')

Once again, there's a lot going on here, and a lot he could say in reply. I don't like chocolate would be the most directly responsive, though probably also the most blasphemous (because who doesn't like chocolate). What the hell is a Vatican might also be a good choice, if not for the swearing.

But unfortunately, Abel's deliberate phrasing leaves a lot to be desired and Eustace is (as of right now) not a patient man. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he stares at Abel, unsure if he should be offended or not. ]

Just what?

[ Out with it, man. ]

[inutilis]

...Just-- paints a specific sort of image, I suppose? You know the kind. Like...

[ there's no way he's not doing this on purpose at this point. a man would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to notice the Look Abel is receiving right now, but... either the priest is impressively oblivious or he just genuinely doesn't care?? kill him?? go ahead u won't,

he flails his hands a bit in Gestures. what these Gestures indicate is entirely up to interpretation, because they're broad and sweeping and not helpful in the least. ]

--You know?! Goodness, please don't make me spell it out, Mr-- o-oh. Um, we haven't actually been introduced, have we? Manners... ah, my manners! So very sorry~!

[ he thrusts his hand out rather abruptly!!!!!!! good boy give Paw? Eustace, give Paw. Paw? boy? do you know Paw? c'mon!! who's a good boy... ]

[lockedon]

[ Tragically for all parties involved, Eustace's list of tricks learned include hunt, bite, kill, and most definitely do not include P A W. He stares at Abel's offered hand as though it's covered in sores and radioactive sludge instead of just a few days of grime, and then promptly ignores it.

Manners? What manners. He hasn't had to use his manners since he was ten. Why bother with manners when you can punch a man in the throat instead? ]

You haven't had problems spelling out anything else. [ From the bingo boards to the delicatessen chocolates. ] Why is this one so hard?

[ Whatever this is. ]

[inutilis]

[ ah. ...ah. well, it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, right? there there, Eustace, never fear. it's not too late for you yet.... they'll make a Good Boy out of you..... 🥺 he'll get his Good Boy treat and everything....

...wow, look at Abel staring at his hand,

and then Eustace,

..........and then his hand, before just vigorously shaking the air as if he were trading handshakes with his dear animal-eared friend anyway. ]

Father Abel Nightroad, sir, at your service~! A true pleasure, a true pleasure... so very nice to meet your formal acquaintance~!

[ he will just tactically ignore that question if Eustace is ignoring PAW, okay? all's fair... ]

[lockedon]

[ Eustace's look of disdain morphs into mild confusion as Abel just carries on like he didn't just get brutally rejected by a filthy dogman. Is this man okay? This man is definitely not okay, right? No sane person would just shake the air like this??

Naturally, that leads him to his next, very obvious question. ]

Were you dropped on your head as a child?

[ :(

Hope Father Abel keeps his expectations exceedingly low, aka underground. ]