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

[aquaveiled]

The bit of hesitance on her part has nothing to do with Estinien's presence--she's on edge, as they all are, trying to remind herself that the reason she can get through this...no, will get through this is because she is lucky enough to have friends with her. They too will weather this storm and they will all come out stronger for it. As always.

Right?

It's as if it registers a moment behind his actions, but once it does, Himeka is all too ready to bury herself into the bedroll right up beside him.

Meeting up with Estinien again after returning from the First, teaming up with him again to help free Tiamat and then his subsequent entry into the Scions were all reminders of why she had gotten on with him so well in the first place. Though their initial journeys throughout Coerthas and beyond were not the kindest at times, she had been glad to call him and ally...and now, a friend.

And she could definitely use a friend. Mayhaps he can too.

"I don't think even Ishgard felt this cold."

Himeka had always been cold during their little camping trip, even if she never complained about it. It was clear enough in how she stayed as close to the fire as possible and was keen to curl up with Alphinaud when he would allow it.

[coerthantorment]

He's worried for a moment that his gesture hasn't been well received - after all, it's not something the two of them have had to do before, even if he's always perceived her as being the cuddly sort. Thankfully, it seems any anticipation on his part was unnecessary. She clings to him beneath the cover, and he can feel himself begin to relax in turn.

At least, as much as he could hope for. It's a far cry better than the alternatives.

Carefully, he moves to put his arms around her, welcoming her closeness. It feels strange, doing something like this. It's not the sort of contact he employs frequently, but one he would offer to her in these trying times.

"Mayhap not," he admits. "Though... in the Temple Knights, 'twas not unheard of to employ similar tactics."

He's felt incredibly humorless since awakening in this world, so it feels almost novel to make something approaching a joke. A different sort of warmth.

[aquaveiled]

It's a blessed reprieve, to feel a sense of closeness and calm with someone she knows she can trust. Himeka gladly soaks up his presence for as long as her mind will allow her. One arm is folded and pressed between them, but the other she returns the gesture in kind by wrapping it around Estinien's torso.

"Is that how you and Aymeric met?" she asks, preferring the lighter topic. "Friendly bedfellows?"

[coerthantorment]

She'll feel his laugh more than she hears it, as close to his chest as she is. It's a silent shake more than anything, as his arms hold her a bit more closely.

"Well... I wasn't about to share body warmth with just anyone," he says, even though that definitely wasn't how they met. From Aymeric's reports, it took a frustratingly long time to get anywhere close to him. "He had to slay a dragon with me first."

So, no pressure.

[aquaveiled]

That...really is too fitting. It's Himeka's turn to chuckle, though hers is decidedly more audible. Her gaze settles on the view of his tunic so close to her face, but she's imagining a young Ser Aymeric slaying a dragon to impress his would-be friend.

"I see your standards haven't changed, then."

[coerthantorment]

"Aye," he says, realizing that she has a point. "I suppose I'll have to change my metrics, now."

...Because he isn't fighting dragons anymore, he reminds himself, but a less pleasant thought rises unbidden. He'll have to change his metrics because everything he knew before is gone. Both Ishgard and Midgardsomr's legacy, taken so suddenly-

No. He shivers, but tries not to let that pang of distress show. There's no point in acknowledging it, with how relentless it is. Every time there's a quiet moment. What he can't hide is the flinch that accompanies the small spines piercing his back getting just a bit longer.

[aquaveiled]

The shiver sobers the mood, as it should--there is little to be happy about. She's grateful for his presence, of course, but they are really just finding a small moment of respite in a living nightmare.

Reaching around, she moves her hand to his back and feels the pricks of spikes underneath his tunic.

That's...new.

"...Is it uncomfortable?"

[coerthantorment]

He can feel her fingers on his back and he goes silent for a while, not knowing what he should say about it. He's never been one to be avoidant of the truth, but he can't help but feel that heaping more upon her shoulders would be cruel.

"Aye... but nothing I'm not accustomed to," he says, after thinking it over. "'Tis been a gradual thing, I think."

He's not sure when it started exactly, but he's been feeling it more and more as the day's gone on. It started as just an ache in his shoulders, and it only seems to be getting worse... where it will end up, he doesn't know, and the thought of it scares him. Like the talons his fingers have been sharpening into, the lack of control reminds him of old wounds.

He doesn't say that, though, for fear of upsetting her needlessly. Of course, the ebb and flow of his anxious emotions are not quite as polite, especially with how closely they are entangled. In some ways, him wanting to hold it in only makes it louder.

[aquaveiled]

Curious...very curious. She supposes that anything should be possible at this point but other than leaking the sludge on a near constant basis from her head and around her shard, Himeka hasn't undergone anything similar to growing barbs from her spine. He takes it in stride all the same.

"Do they hurt?" So much of these last few days has been painfully both physically and mentally. Even if they do, there isn't much Himeka can do for him, unfortunately.

[coerthantorment]

It's not a point he wanted to dwell on, so instead of answering with words he instead makes a vaguely affirmative grunt while resting his chin against her hair. Blood slicks the spaces where the spikes and horns are beginning to protrude, wetting the white fabric of his clothing.

The pain he could tolerate - it's the uncertainty of where is going that has him on edge.

"It won't stop me from fighting," he adds eventually. He won't be useless, no matter how much it hurts.

[aquaveiled]

In truth, no one has held her like this in a long time. It's comforting and it's...it's just nice. Now of all times, when she feels as if she's teetering on the edge of a dark hole inside of herself.

Himeka shakes her head gently, closing her eyes.

"I wouldn't have ever second guessed that."

[coerthantorment]

For once, he chooses to simply accept that faith, taking what comfort in it that he can. More than that, he finds some relief in the way she manages to relax with him, feeling useful in a way he otherwise hasn't. If he can't provide her protection, he can at least provide her this.

It's enough peace of mind that he manages to close his won minds, the darkness behind his lids less frightening than it had been the last time he tried. Though it can be hard to tell in such a state of discomfort, he thinks he even manages to doze off, losing track of his own labored breathing long enough to rest. Instead, he listens to hers.

[aquaveiled]

She lets herself lean into that sense of security, of calmness as exhaustion finally takes her. A few minutes of true sleep can do wonders when sleep has been elusive or terrifying depending on the state of mind. And for a while, it is exactly what she needs.

Then it breaks.

She sees pestilence and plague all around her, and no matter how she hurries from one danger to the next, the trail of death and decay only grows. It grows and grows. The grass wilts beneath her feet with each step, as if it's Himeka sucking the living aether out of it--that spark of life, that which connects them all.

She screams. She screams and screams.

But only inside.

Himeka doesn't recall crawling away from Estinien and the bedroll, nor how long she tries to chase down the source of imagined woes about the room. But the longer she goes for, the more her movements become stilted and broken, like a doll snapping their limbs back into place. Until, all at once, she finally stops and freezes at an uncomfortable angle, kneels bent awkwardly and her head hanging forward as her mass of hair hangs forward to conceal her features. Her tail lays limp behind her.

[coerthantorment]

The fear he feels upon waking and finding her gone is disproportionate - in better times, he would never let panic grip him so trivially. Yet, in this moment, finding her gone feels as if it's a death sentence. Like if he loses hold of her now, he'll never find her again.

As the panic jolts through him, so does the pain in his back. It's worse, in his shoulders and his neck, and he finds himself struggling to even get up. Yet, the urgency of the moment pushes his comfort out of focus. He needs to find her.

"Himeka?"

No, no, he can't lose her, he can't-

Staggering, he scans the room for her, desperately trying to wipe the blood and ichor from his eyes. It's only on account of her usual silhouette that he manages to find her in the dark. His voice is hoarse.

"Himeka!"

He comes close but then hesitates. She isn't moving, and that's all he can internalize despite the absurdity of her positioning. He grasps her shoulder.

[aquaveiled]

She hears something far off--garbled, like the untuned transmissions to those radios back in Garlemald. There's a static in her brain that she can't shake. Small pulses of consciousness break through the heavy smoke that threatens to suffocate her and lock her down.

It's all over. It's all over.

It didn't work.

She entrusted it to y--

Something touches.

In an instant she comes to life, swirls around with a violent twist and screams, voice broken. The flash of her face beneath her mass of hair shows that her eyes and nose have been gushing the kenoma enough to slip down her neck into the neckline of her tunic, her usually bright pink irises now a dull gray.

[coerthantorment]

His reflexes tell him to leap, to get to safety - but his body is woefully unequipped to keep up with them. As he tries to put distance between himself and the threat of danger, his legs give out beneath him, slipping on the sludge that's been dripping down his legs and, apparently, from her face.

The indignity of having been startled into such a position is bad enough, but upon seeing her face, he can find little comfort. His emotions are too rattled, too out of control, for him to make sense of what he's seeing. Images of twisted mutants, of aether melting from people's bodies, flash to his mind - individual horrors that he was capable of keeping locked away, but only knowing that he could move beyond them.

Maybe they truly can't move beyond this. Maybe Himeka is already lost. Maybe they were doomed from the start to be twisted, just as he'd feared and seen happen so many times before. To Garleans, to civilians, to children...

Besides the yelp of pain he made as he fell, he can't bring himself to speak. For a moment, all he feels is fear - fear of having lost the one thing that would hold him together. It shows on his face as a look of uncharacteristic horror, his stoicism broken.

[aquaveiled]

She doesn't see Estinien, not right away. It's a monster--a silhouette in the fog that she knows she has to keep at bay. It's either a threat or someone she's failed, come back to take revenge. It's--

There's a moment when her eyes flash with recognition, some of the color returning to them as she fights to regain control of her mind.

She's frozen in place again, eyes wide as they peer through her hair. She tries to speak.

"...Est--....?"

[coerthantorment]

It's so similar, conceptually and physically - the idea of people succumbing to their despair and being twisted beyond recognition. Who is to say that isn't what will happen here? That it won't be something like dynamis, capable of tearing them apart body and soul. After all, they haven't seen the end result of fighting this. They haven't seen the end for the people accepting it into themselves either.

Immediately, his mind flashes issues of necessity. If she is turning, will he have to put her down, like they have so many others? Would it be a greater mercy to do it before her soul has been destroyed? The fact that he's thinking about it at all makes his head light, his heart heavy, his gut turning and sending him to the verge of being ill-

But then, she speaks. As if seizing a fragile foot hold in the cliff he's tumbling down, he scrambles forward, grasping her face in his hand - to keep her from slipping away from him forever.

"Himeka - please..."

He doesn't know what better he can do or say, all he has left is desperation.

[aquaveiled]

He's there, but he isn't. She fights with what she wants to see and what she must truly be seeing. Her eyes twitch, flitting back and forth across Estinien's face. There's recognition there. Barely there, but still there.

"Th-they..."

Her lips are chapped and caked with flakes of the kenoma. Her throat is surprisingly dry despite the inky black liquid.

"--they're all gone."

Another involuntary snap into a new pose, her bones rearranging as she tries to straighten.

"I--...couldn't--"

[coerthantorment]

It hits him harder than he'd want to admit. After all, when he'd said similar things, weeks ago at this point, she had been the one to say that she wouldn't accept their loss as truth without evidence. From that point onward, Estinien had taken that conviction as his own. Yet now...

Well, he shouldn't be surprised, since no one is having an easy time staying on target in this place. He certainly isn't, and the pounding in his chest makes that clear. Still, he currently had enough control to do at least one small thing. The same thing she had done for him.

"Until we find true proof of its destruction," he vows, softly, "I will not give up on Etheirys and her people. I will not stop trying to save them."

[aquaveiled]

"I will not give up on Etheirys and her people."

That strikes a chord with her--loud and deep. Every voice has been drowning out her own thoughts with failures and screams for help, other calls she is unable to answer. That it would be easier to give up because at least, then, they may go away if only for a while.

Her eyes are shaking, uncertain, but she repeats it over and over. A bit of color starts to come back to her scales.

"We...can still save her. Can...'t we?"

[coerthantorment]

It's an overwhelming relief, to see that bit of recognition and vindication. He has his own doubts, his own fears, but wasn't that what they learned? To lean on each other to fight the despair that would crush any one of them individually?

"Aye," he says softly. "And we must."

He moves closer, hoping to embrace her as he had while they slept. It's something he would struggle with in regular circumstances but here, when it's all he can offer, it comes as a matter of necessity. He hopes it will quell the spasms in her body, or at least that he can take her back to somewhere warmer.

[aquaveiled]

We must.

They have to. They...cannot give up now.

She doesn't resist his embrace. For a long moment she just stands there awkwardly before suddenly going limp against him. It's as if all her muscles give out at once, but one hand manages to grab onto his tunic.

[coerthantorment]

As she goes limp, he can almost feel some relief - her one hand still holds on, and it feels as if whatever forces were puppeting her have been cut. He takes the opportunity to scoop her up into his arms, holding her close as he heads back to where their bedding was. He'll have to remain awake for now, he determines. He won't risk losing her again.

Nesting among their bedrolls, he keeps her in his arms, holding her with almost possessive desperation for as long as she rests. He feels his senses grow more acute, more focused on the potential threats around them. He may not be able to save her from this, but for now he can keep watch.