aionlogs | EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

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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

[ Rituals and pageantry weren’t the sort of thing Silco had ever found himself keen to indulge in – as sparse as it had been, before his arrival here. It was easy, when the entire line descended down the sharp staircase, to identify what one would call a “ritual site” when it came into view. It started to come together – at least a bit – with the first slice against his flesh -- blood was involved in these things, right? Even more so, when something burned and slithered, a path all it’s own against his skin. Gritted teeth, a soft hiss, but no other reaction. He barely even blinked, with the eye that could. A second realization, seeing who was closest to him (and the fact that they'd woken up in the same room,) when he was shoved into place by the soldiers -- who hadn't forgotten his resistance. He looked…small, in his robes, that now dingy-white robe, that felt and looked all wrong. Although there was a want to flee, he didn’t attempt it. It’s easy to see what would happen, and this wouldn’t be the right moment to seize the upper hand, if needed.

It’s not long, to question what’s happening, before that sick liquid appears, and it’s like choking, when it slithers in his mouth, his throat. Worse than anything he’d had, even in the poisoned rivers in Zaun. There was no escaping it either, with the Achamite trying to stroke, and soothe him. As if he didn’t know how to survive when being drowned. He could still breathe through his nose, hissing breaths, as it started to slither into him – he shoved bodily, a shoulder at the knees of whoever it was trying to touch him, a violent, hateful look crossed a scarred face. Gritted teeth, he swallowed, if only to get them to stop their attempts to make him feel good about whatever they gave him. Early as he swallowed it, it felt like an eternity before they left, finally leaving him be.

It isn’t fear on his face, when this Aion released the darkness, slithering and dissolving one of the attendants. She died, her remains spread out, but Silco didn’t care what happened to the remains – even if he should – no it was with hunger he kept his eyes on the figure who could reduce a human to ash with barely a thought. ]

⏵ Down With The (Kenoma) Sickness (cw: drowning, eye trauma)

₁ gatherer
[ Almost immediately after the ceremony, after that burning, piercing sensation had started and finished, Silco had started to move. Being underground was nothing new for him, and even though this was no mine, he had instincts that were hard-wired, beyond the years of cushy living running an empire underground. He remembered hard living in the mines, coming up from nothing, a smuggling operation – things he wouldn’t dwell on, couldn’t. He gathered what he could – quick fingers nimble and automatic. Enough for him, maybe a little more. Fire would be valuable, but he sneers at the thought. Let those who can’t stand without scramble for those scraps. It’s easy, to sneak, to grab. There isn’t much to go around, but perhaps this will be useful. Bartered for water, for firewood. Food was small, and easily taken, the others were not. It’s possible, he may find something supposedly unattended, and reach for it – is it yours? He doesn’t look like much, and it’s quite likely you could take him in a fistfight.

Or is it that you saw he had more? Eventually, by day two, Silco has a small recess, where he’s set himself up at. He doesn’t have… much, but certainly more than an under-nourished looking man in his mid-forties should have. Perhaps enough for two people total, but that’s more than enough to last a while. He’s starved before, he knows how long he has. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to look bashful about it. He, in fact, looks proud, if you catch his mis-matched gaze. If you’re hungry, he probably won’t take pity, but he could take favors. ]

₂ symptoms

[ It was quick, when his eye started to throb again. Silco would say it’s time that he needed an injection, but it’s likely more psycho-somatic than anything else – not that he knows that. Not very long, in the grand scheme of this cold, lonely existence that they’ve all been subjected to thus far. It caught him off guard, how much it hurt – a shock like being dunked in cold water, that throbbing, pulsing – like his eye was infected all over again.

It’s involuntary, the way he doubled over, gasping, either from pain or from the inability to breathe. His fingers clutch at his neck, trying to scramble at his neck, trying to peel invisible fingers away. The voice whispering in his ear is so familiar, just like that day all those years ago. Just give in, let it all fade away. It can stop, that pain, can’t it? All that one has to do is just simply let yourself fade away –

Violent and red – it’s not voluntary, the projection outward – a lashing out. Stab – A knife buried, satisfying and sick in flesh, his fingers tight squeezing the handle and it’s so satisfying. Stab – Stab. Violent bursts that cut through the occasional chills – like he’s being dunked and drowned in a river, before another violent outburst. Fingers involuntarily wipe away streams of black oozing from his mouth, his ears, nose, and eyes, a slick sensation, dripping, before it dissipates almost without him realizing it’s gone. ]

⏵Acceptance is either the 5th step or the 1st

₁ surfaced

[ It’s almost ironic, that by asking Silco to just give in, it was simply a delay of the inevitable. The world had never been good enough. He’d tried to change it, bit by bit, but what world would be fit? People betrayed, they backstabbed, there was nobody who could be trusted. The violent emotions swirled enough – and it’s only a matter of very little time, before it’s accepted, that darkness. The repeated spikes of violence, of the need to simply lash out, and the darkness settled, bit by bit – like cresting and breaking through after a fever, the haze lifted.

It spoke to him, those words, he felt. Hadn’t he said the same thing? Time, and time again, Zaun would need to be reborn – and if Zaun was gone, what world was left? None but which could be crafted, honed. His fingers had built one undercity up. Why could he not do so again, remade in the image he’d already planned for Zaun? And if he had to burn a universe to do so? There were worse prices he could pay.

Clean clothes, soap, food? That’s what was waiting? Creature comforts, all. However, Silco – skinny though he was – hardly was the sort that would say no to food. You didn’t grow up with nothing, without learning to never turn your nose up at hot food. Particularly after the time spent with so little. You may find him by the fire, if you’ve also accepted the Kenoma. Perhaps wandering. It’s not long, that he settles in, “regaining strength”. Silco was not a particularly strong man, but he couldn’t stay still. This was…boring enough, that he had a mind to just hurry up the process, eager to stop stalling. ]

₂ cogent

[ Underground was where Silco was comfortable. Too much time in the sun up top left him feeling raw and exposed, where here, he could walk in the shadowy spaces, find the places that others dwelt. His gait was more confident, more sure, with the stone under his shoes – yes, shoes, a pleasure he never thought was a large deal, yet here it was. He breathed in, smelled the…rot, the disgusting displeasure.

It smelled sick down here, and weak. There were still so many – convulsing, confused, sick masses. Did Silco care? Of course not, he didn’t know these people, didn’t care that they were suffering. That they were weak. But they cared, didn’t they? That it hurt, that their bodies were so in flux.

It’s on a stone, nearby, that he finally piped up, slowly picking the dirt out of his fingernails, a multi-toned gaze appraising whoever comes by. Dressed in the new clothing and shoes, it’s not much better than the white robes, but it’s real clothing. He’s still somewhat dwarfed by the folds, but it’s an incredible improvement to the sullied white robes they’d all been wearing previously. When he spoke up, it was almost too smug. ]

Really, quite unpleasant, isn’t it?

⏵Wildcard!

[ You want to do something else? Feel free to hmu on Plurk at

hundreds or in the game discord! ]

[Kim has been walking the perimeter of the cave in a half daze, just to keep himself moving. It helps with the cold a bit, but with his thoughts more. Taking deliberate steps and creating a mental map of the space, even without his sight, acts as white noise over the whispers of all his failures scraping at his brain stem. The ritual space is relatively level, so he hasn't tripped over much, other than his fellow survivors writhing on the ground.

The helplessness in knowing there's nothing he can do for them only amplifies the whispers into jeers. When one comes from outside of his skull, Kim almost jumps in surprise, his hand instinctively diving for a shoulder holster that isn't there. After a moment, the voice registers, though the shape it comes from has changed color.

Lines crossed, indeed.]

This is a waste of your time, isn't it?

[His words are even frostier than the air in the cave. Silco wouldn't be the first to try and goad him over the edge, but after their conversation on the cart, he was sure it would piss him off far more. Still, his voice is more rattled than before, his posture hunched, and he's completely blind to the malformed buds protruding from his shoulder blades and against the back of his robes.]

[ He looked weak, is how he looked to Silco. The man was not opposed to seizing the opportunity when it stumbled in front of him, especially when it was someone who'd been so thoroughly disgusted by speaking with him. That was enough motivation for him to speak up.

After all, the fact that he couldn't just make this man listen to him was enough of a reason to needle him more. Silco was used to being the one who pulled every string in Zaun, he knew who went where, when they left, and whether they had a mother at home to kiss goodbye. He knew who had kids, who liked their kids, and who was the one he could strong-arm into doing things because of said kids. He liked having that forty years of knowledge of the undercity, every nook and cranny his to own. Here, he doesn't have that, and he couldn't expect to be listened to.

The fact that Kim stopped, even with the clear distaste was a power trip that Silco already missed. He smiled, his scar slightly twisted on his face with the effort. ]

Perhaps, and yet... [ It's lofty, his tone. Like he knows that Kim won't give in, but it's worth the effort. Is it actually? He doesn't think so, but it's worth it to him, to dig his heel in. A cruelty that he can hardly help. ] I'm here. For you. To help you out.

I'm a giving man, you see. Seeing you struggle hardly fills me with joy.

[ Actually, it did, after their last conversation. ]

[With all his disparaging of charity on the cart, the man's about face looks transparent, at best. He's done this dance before, a hundred times, thanks to partners more willing to butter up scumbags. Scumbags in rumor only, of course.]

You want a favor.

[Kim cuts right to the point. Put those who've had a slip in scruples into an ethical corner, then move in for the kill-- he's almost intrigued at how this man plans on buying him out.]

A favor?

[ Silco laughed, a soft scoff, as he held a hand to his chest. He had something to lord over Kim now, a certainty of position. A knowledge that he was like the mysterious "Aion" that led the ritual. He didn't know how much -- they'd hardly explained anything, but he knew there were similarities enough that he could feel... confident. Like there was something he had that this man didn't. ]

No, no. You have me all wrong. I'm here to do a favor for you, you see. [ And him. ]

After all, you have clearly thus far refused to accept a truth that you can feel, in your bones by now.

A truth.

[Kim echoes, squinting. Silco is still nothing but a blur to him, but ever since the ritual, Kim has noticed something heavy hanging around those who'd surrendered into the Aion's fold. It was as if whatever took root in them through the vials and the remains of that acolyte had begun to surround them, and it was unclear if it was to protect or to suffocate them.

He looks down at his own hands, also darker. Kim can't see the dagger points his fingers have become, but he'd surmised them after waking up from a nightmare by the fire, his grip on his bedroll having shredded it open in several places.]

And what would that be. [He doesn't bother summoning the energy to make it sound like a question.]

Hm, perhaps you're not as perceptive as I thought you would be.

[ He said, his tone blunt. Silco, after all, had been similar, in that he'd resisted over that first period. A voice telling him to give in had spiked the spite and ire of someone who refused to give in. Just like that night when he'd been so much younger, when he'd heard a similar whisper in the back of his head, telling him to just give in. He'd said no then, and fought tooth and nail to survive.

He'd done the same, briefly, this time. But it was different. This wasn't giving into fading into irrelevance. This wasn't giving into simply dying. It was accepting. Knowing that one could change it all, and that had been something Silco had been doing since he'd been a scrappy, angry boy. The difference was that now he would be changing something on such a grander scale. ]

That our worlds are gone, and merely stardust? We can start with that hard truth if you'd like. Hardly the best way to start, but necessary, and denying it doesn't really allow us to move on, does it?

silco ⑊ league of legends: arcane ⑊ visionary

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