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

koriel xii (dextera) • baroque • lover

[passio]

I. communion/transformation

[ this is a baroque.

that’s all dextera can think, while the kenoma sickness burns through his blood as if trying to expel everything that makes him, himself. the knowledge that it’s wrong is what keeps him from succumbing to it immediately, even if those familiar calls to despair and the aion’s promises have a place in his heart. this, whatever this is, wants him to distort.

the scar on his hip proves as much. it throbs, aching as if it’s newly made, and every day it twists and spreads to cover more of the side of his body with a blackness like tendrils of ink, peeking up past the collar of his robe to his neck and beneath the frayed hem to his dirty, bruised knees. his hand seems to stay constantly knotted in the fabric sitting just over his hip, whenever he isn’t using it for something else.

he doesn’t look as bothered by it as he should, instead placidly dragging himself anywhere he needs to go in order to stay out of the way of others. what he lacks in affect, however, is more than made up for by the psychic projections screaming from his mind.

with fellow lovers, this manifests as a hallucination that he eventually can’t resist. whether they’ve accepted the kenoma or are still trying to fight it off as he is, he breaks somewhere halfway through the week and throws himself at their feet. there’s one fleeting word to be heard through the unstable communion: brother!

with all other legacies, he manages to keep himself outwardly collected. he looks a bit like a dying animal, but few people look much better than he does, and he doesn’t have the self awareness to really be conscious of it. but his emotions and the ceaseless cacophony in his mind are nonetheless thrown out to the world: a guilt that could crush someone under its weight, a sin that cannot be forgiven, memories of dying dozens of times.

his private thoughts have never been truly private. ]

II. resistance, offering

[ dextera has died of starvation plenty of times. he’s died of cold, too. even though he knows his physical limits should have been reached by now, he hasn’t died from either in this cavern. that doesn’t mean he wants to put other people through what he’s experienced. even though his stomach growls, he realizes that he’s hardier than most and the uneven distribution of supplies means he should be the one to take the fall.

when he does get a portion of the tempting stew served by the soldiers, he draws a shaky breath… and offers it to someone else instead, anyone who looks smaller, weaker, or simply human. ]

III. resistance, consuming

[ when he gets the chance, in order to fill his stomach, he goes for the scraps he can finagle instead. bones from the soldiers’ animal kills, intestines if he can get them, strange creatures crawling on the walls or cracks in the cavern—he squirrels it away in his robes and finds a private place to eat those instead.

the bones splinter between his teeth, and he grimaces as he turns his head and picks out shards with his fingers. he’s trying to be polite and keep out of the way of others so they don’t have to see his shame or the various ichors and mess dripping down his chin, but there’s only so much secrecy allowed in this place. not to mention, his robes are horribly stained. still, like with his stew, he’ll share if someone really wants to partake. ]

IV. wildcard

( surprise me! i’ll also be tagging around, but if there’s something you’d like to plot, or if you want a unique starter, or whatever, feel free to contact me here or at pavaal!!! )

i feel like i'm legally obligated to pick bone-ding.........

[lockedon]

[ Unsurprisingly, the rations they're given isn't nearly enough. It's intentional, of course; if they were warm and full-bellied, it would be so much easier to resist whatever's crawling through their veins and poisoning their bodies. A fine line between amplifying their suffering without tipping them over to the brink of death.

There are some people fighting over scraps, and others lying on the ground as they slowly accept their fate. Then there's this guy, tucked away in one corner, steadfastly working his way through a handful of—bones? Eustace blinks, caught off-guard by the white fragments littering the floor next to the young man. Factually speaking he knows there's nutritional value to be found in them, but practically speaking? It's still odd to see. ]

Do they taste good?

[ It's beyond stupid of a question to ask, but maybe he's a little delirious by this point after so many days of internal rebellion. ]

no bones about it…

[passio]

[ dextera jolts when he’s approached, even if it’s by a familiar face. or, well—they’re all familiar faces after this agonizing stretch of time together, but some are people dextera has at least interacted with and can therefore recognize as a tentative ally.

that’s why he’s a little slower about wiping himself off, first impressions already made, and why he guiltily averts his eyes. while there is, of course, the upsetting backdrop of emotions trying to suffocate every person in this cavern, it’s simple self-consciousness that makes him not want to look at eustace while he eats.

as for whether or not the bones taste good… ]

…

[ he withdraws a fragment from his mouth, flicks it away, and shakes his head. ]

[lockedon]

[ No, of course not. It was a foolish question to ask from the get-go. Better would have been to ask why he's eating bones all the way out here instead of the meager soup or half-stale rations being handed out. Or maybe not—that answer's clear enough as well, in a situation like this where there simply isn't enough of anything. Food, clothes, privacy... All in short supply so they'll be pressured to give in quicker to whatever it is that eats away at them.

He thinks a moment longer before pulling something - a small scrap of cloth - out of his sleeve before offering it up. ]

Here. For when you're done.

[ He doesn't really care about the liquid mess that stains Dextera's cheeks but he does think it'll be a little more comfortable if the other man doesn't have to wipe it off with his hands or sleeves. ]

[passio]

…?

[ dextera takes the scrap of cloth gratefully, not inclined to deny a gift when it doesn’t seem to be harming the person it’s from to give it, but he’s obviously surprised. confused, maybe. ]

…

[ it seems only polite to trade, and so after a moment of looking around at his array… dextera selects a sizeable bone that he hasn’t yet started gnawing on, and offers it out to eustace. he did just say that they don’t taste good, but they have some nutrition in them nonetheless. ]

i signed up for this and yet i'm still in tears

[lockedon]

[ ..................................?

He hadn't been angling for anything in return - hadn't expected anything in return at all - so the sudden appearance of a bone held out towards between two slender fingers is jarring, to say the least.

Blinking, he stares down at the bone before cautiously taking it. He is hungry and he's not impractical enough to waste food, unappetizing as it might be. ]

Thanks.

[ It comes out sounding more like a question than an affirmative, the words slow and hesitant. ]

Where did you get these from?

ii

[traversal]

[ this isn't the first time she's gone hungry for an evening or two; she's been in certain circumstances where finding something to eat is next to impossible, and she's always had a harder, tougher constitution than most people. this isn't new, and lumine thinks that the soldiers have noticed this as well despite her pale countenance and shaky movements, skipping her to give the provisions to someone else.

great. she supposes she can skip dinner for another night. not that it matters when she has a tendency to upchuck everything she's tried to put into her mouth lately.

which is why when she finds herself being offered a bowl of stew by someone who looks as if he's going to tip over faster than herself, she shakes her head and offers him a faint smile, tightening her arms around her knees. ]

Thanks, but you should eat it. [ perhaps if her brother were here, then she might have accepted it. but: ] We don't know when the next meal will come, after all ...

[passio]

[ not knowing is precisely why he wants to hand it over. the soldiers may have had mercy—though dextera doesn’t think it’s out of any kind of altruism—on him this time, but there’s no way of predicting who they’ll favor next. he’d rather not get used to this comfort. ]

…

[ the heat simply feels nice on his hands, and he continues to hold the bowl out as if he hasn’t given up on the offer. he shakes his head and urges her a second time. ]

[traversal]

[ someone as stubborn as her. challenge accepted.

but no, really. she's not entirely sure if this round of provisions would even willingly stay put in her stomach, which is why she'd rather he take and consume it instead of wasting it on her. but it's clear that he won't let up on offering it to her. what to do then ...

she doesn't push the bowl back towards him, instead cradling it in her own hands. the warmth does feel nice, especially when her fingers have been freezing from the cold. ]

How about we share, then? If I can't convince you to have it for yourself.

[passio]

[ this, he seems amenable to. considering that food for the sick seems to be in increasingly rare supply as people hand over their loyalty to the forces, he would simply feel wrong not at least sharing when he’s willing to stomach other, worse things.

so, after a pause, he nods. he might have suggested it himself if it had been possible, but he is privately relieved that he ended up offering it to someone with a kind streak anyway. ]

[traversal]

[ her smile widens a bit and she shifts to make space for him on the ground. it's not the most comfortable space to have a meal, but she's eaten in terrible places and even worse circumstances. without monsters or creatures attacking them, this is practically godsent in terms of having to eat in peace.

ah, but stew is a little difficult to share between two people ... ]

You can take a bite first. [ she gestures with the bowl. she doesn't think it comes with a spoon, anyway ... ] And then we can alternate eating from it.

[ and then maybe she can get away with letting him eat a majority of the portion. that's fine, right? ]

i

[galdorleod]

[ So much suffering. So much suffering is swarming around Howl that it should be overwhelming. It should be overwhelming, and normally, he'd be among those trying to make things better, trying to be a force of good.

But few of them register when his own mind is so preoccupied with himself. His despair is overwhelming. A burgeoned flood, built up over years and years, set free by the implosion of his own mental dam. His never-ending wailing is proof enough of his extreme misery, even for those who cannot pick up on the psychic blasts pulsing out from him. For the first night, he is inconsolable.

But, slowly, hours later, the rush of emotion starts to subside. He starts to sense the others around him for the first time. One of the first is immediately recognizable. The mute. The bird man. What pleasant company they had shared. How sad it is for it to have been yet another pointless moment in his pointless life.

Even so, the same inner spirit that kept him from immediately succumbing to the Kenoma makes him raise his head from his hands when he recognizes him. Howl blinks, his cheeks stained with black tears. He looks around, half gripped with disbelief, looking for Dextera. That just can't be him. ]

[passio]

[ dextera is far from unaware of howl’s misery. everyone in the cavern must know of it, with those early signs of despair. he nonetheless tolerates it—or rather, it blends in with the background noise of his memories, providing yet another voice to the overwhelming rush of derision and pain.

things don’t necessarily get better, but he’s able to string together conscious moments in the here and now, as long as he stays away from certain people who would do him harm or cause his vision to swim with hallucinations of another place and time. howl is far from one of those people; the time they shared in the camp was a precious moment for dextera, who has so few of those in his memory that each one is remarkable.

that is why he’s afraid to taint it, by seeing howl, or letting him be seen. with the sickness, it almost seems inevitable. as howl’s wide eyes, rimmed by the same darkness they all seem to be bleeding, land on him, dextera jerks away as if the mere look could hurt. ]

[galdorleod]

[ What's strange is not the flavor of the mute's despair itself. Many here are being tortured with guilt and self-loathing, one of whom is Howl. No, rather, it's the touch of death — not once, but over and over again. Seemingly countless deaths and all the preceded them. Are these... are these ghosts really that quiet man? The mute himself?

Strangely, the surprise and concern they invoke in Howl provide a respite from his misery. He sees him, already saw him, as much as the bird man may be trying to hide now.

With haggard coughs, Howl manages to rise to his feet for the first time in hours and shuffled towards the other. But the world spins around him soon after he starts moving. Staying still has kept him from feeling physically sick, but now that he's exerting himself, he's getting dizzy and lightheaded. ]

Little bird? [ He can't really tell where he's going, but he can feel himself getting closer. Another bout of coughing makes him stumble and stop. ] Where... Are you afraid of me?

[passio]

[ howl sounds so pained and pathetic. dextera sense of duty wars with the simple human desire to get away from the things that upset him. he isn’t frightened of howl, but the things howl carries with him in representation—a reminder of the suffering they’re all dealing with. ]

…

[despite this, though dextera turns his shoulder by way of a defense from howl’s approach, he doesn’t try to run away. even with his eyes fixed on a point to the side of them both, he shakes his head. everything about his body language says he is afraid, and yet, here he is with the insistence that he isn’t. ]

[galdorleod]

[ As clear as the body language is, it doesn't register in Howl's mind. Instead, he's wading through the thick muck of their commingling suffering, and trying his hardest not to topple in the process.

Which, he fails. The chamber around them feels like it's spinning. As the urge to dry heave starts to creep up, his toes catch on a stone, sending him tumbling face-down onto the floor. With frayed black hair fanned out around his head and his dirty robe is crumpled awkwardly over the contours of his body, Howl doesn't look like he'll be getting back up very quickly.

But he did manage to reach the mute. Howl collapsed within arm's reach of him, but his only movement now is shuddered breaths against the stone. Here, beside Dextera, he can feel every contour of his memories, every nuance to his past emotions. Somehow, it's... it's almost intoxicating. Death. Release. Howl had been dying, in a way, before he ended up in this world. And he'd been preparing for it. He'd found comfort in the knowledge that he would be gone soon. But he isn't gone, he's here instead, the only thing from his world to have not died. The irony is enraging. That comfort, now being denied to him, bestowed on everyone he'd been trying to save.

Howl would rather watch these memories instead of his own. They're so real that it's almost like Howl could pluck death from them if he tried hard enough and finally be done with all this. ]

i! (lovers)

[lifespanned]

[ Misa jumps when he suddenly throws himself at her feet— but really, what surprises her more is that loud word, that single word that's been forced into her mind. Brother, like he's addressing her herself. Drawn out of her own thoughts for a moment and into his, she kneels, placing a gentle hand on the center of his back. ]

Dextera! Oh no, please get up...

[ After saying that under her breath, she gently feels around for a heartbeat, because the way he fell did look a little suspicious. ]

[passio]

[ his heart is beating nice and sturdy, albeit as fast as a hummingbird’s. he’s alive but panicked, compelled by the sickness within him to make amends for what he did. it’s not the first time he’s had this nightmare, but unlike all the times before, he can’t distinguish reality from delusion.

misa might as well be that young boy in the white robes, her gentle voice not so different when it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. ]

Hahh…

[ he pushes himself up, and jerks his head to look at her. his gaze is unfocused, unable—or unwilling—to clearly look at her features.

he’s sorry. again and again, he tries to convey this through the bond unknowingly only afforded to their shared legacy. ]

[lifespanned]

[ The weight of that guilt and apology coming from him— it's overwhelming to her senses, as though she were feeling that remorseful herself. It's a strange, out-of-body experience, and in a circumstance less dire, she would've selfishly shoved him away already in attempt to break out of it. She's not someone who feels sorry, or feels regret like this - not anymore, anyway, so it's foreign, unnatural, unwanted.

But whatever's doing this to him, this sickness, it's her problem, too. They're in the same boat, so she can't just push him away. She scrabbles to take one of his hands in both of her own grimy ones, clasping desperately. ]

Um, it's me, Misa, from the ruins... remember? [ Misa tries that first, her voice quaking from fear. And yet, she still tries to meet his eyes, despite her own being welled with tears. ] You're scaring me...

[passio]

[ at first, the name is not one he recognizes. even as he stares directly at her face, he doesn’t seem to be seeing or hearing her for the physical presence she is in front of him.

but there’s a human warmth enveloping his hand. that is not something he knows from his brother, as much as he would like to pretend it is. nor is it something he knows from anybody he met before this world, and the acknowledgment that this is a relatively new experience brings some clarity to his vision.

he blinks, and immediately jerks away from misa’s tears. ]

—!

[lifespanned]

[ When he jerks away, she lets him go, not particularly wanting to be too close in case he like.... lashes out from surprise. When the sensation stops coming from him, she thinks that it must be over, or at least the connection must be temporarily interrupted. That's good enough of a reason for her to try talking again. ]

Do you get it now? Or are you still... [ She's looking over him very carefully for signs of recognition. ] You know? Thinking of your brother?

[ Maybe if she speaks the topic into the air, he'll be able to realize reality even more...? ]

ii

[salvageable]

[ Hunger isn't a foreign concept to Dokja. He's learned and adapted to going hungry, found ways to make it bearable even when it was at its most unbearable. Coupled with the sickness forced upon them, he's found that he has no appetite.

Besides, his empty stomach keeps him distracted from how much he feels like he's going to die.

So when Dextera offers the stew to him, Dokja doesn't take it to take it. Instead, he holds it carefully while he peers inside the bowl as if inspecting its contents. ]

What? Does it look weird?

[passio]

[ dextera thinks he’s done good, and then dokja asks an odd question for someone who has received a gift. with his thoughts moving like sludge, it takes a moment for dextera to realize that dokja must think he’s given it over for inspection rather than kindness. ]

…mm-mm.

[ he shakes his head, and gently bumps the heels of his palms against dokja’s fingers, encouraging him to eat. ]

[salvageable]

[ Ah, it registers now what it is Dextera had in mind when he'd handed over the bowl, but Dokja doesn't outwardly show that he understands. Instead, he continues acting puzzled as he stares down at the stew.

It's a bit cruel when the other man can't speak, but teasing is also just in Dokja's nature and it's almost instinctive in how quickly it appears, as if trying to distract from the gravity of their situation. ]

Do you think it's poisoned? I guess I should try it first before you eat it.

[passio]

Ah…

[ dextera can’t speak, but he can make soft sounds of protest, which is exactly what he does when dokja implies that he thinks dextera is using him as a poison tester. hook, line, and sinker—the look on his face is even a little funny, so genuinely worried that this is the impression he’s given.

he shakes his head rapidly, and… takes the bowl back. ]