EVENT #18: EMERGENCE - IC EVENT LOG

[abraxasmods]

Event #18 - Emergence

OOC Plotting Post ⦁ Pre-Event Info ⦁ Setting Descriptions

Whether voluntary or by force, you find yourself transported to the Singularity's crater. There probably aren't many resistors - officials have taken great pains to convince you to come voluntarily, reserving force as a last resort - but it's clear that everyone is required for this to work. It takes multiple mages to stabilize the portal, but you make it there in one piece. If you cooperate, you'll be asked to walk towards the ancient relic. If you resisted, you might be forced to do so while restrained. Regardless, a heavy fog soon descends around the area, obscuring you and your vision.

If you have thoughts of turning back, it's too late: for some of you, the second you step across the threshold, a force pulls at your chest and absorbs your psyche at once. For others, a mystical call beckons you to walk a little further before the same effect takes hold. And for a rare few, the call brings you to the Singularity itself, where you're compelled to touch it - and are subsequently swallowed up like the others.

The Horizon doesn't greet you like you might expect. Instead, something far stranger awaits.

Please communicate with your fellow players as needed! We also recommend discussing with us if you plan on a major environmental upheaval. As a rule of thumb, you should avoid changes to the landscape that will significantly alter the established map.

We've also posted comment sections for WORLDBUILDING and HANDWAVED submissions. Instructions can be found at the respective links.

Year 20,879

When you open your eyes, it feels like you've only blinked. If your body has transformed or you're someplace that shouldn't exist, it doesn't strike you as odd. You were always here. Everything around you was always here, and your physical alterations and new abilities - while perhaps not originally there - have been a part of you for a long, long time.

The world of Abraxas isn't completely foreign. Familiar territories remain, as well as the familiar faces of those with long lifespans. But a lot has changed in 800 years, too, especially where the Gods are concerned. Alongside the Old Gods of the Ancient Pantheon and the Cardinal Gods of the New Order, a third class of deities formed from you and your fellow Summoned: the Ecesis Gods of the Iterum Pantheon.

Politics, People, & Gods

Abraxas's political landscape remains complex, with continued tensions over land, worship, resources, and power. Nonetheless, since the Free Cities is no longer intent on destroying the Singularity, conflict over the ancient relic has lessened. All territories agree that the Godlands - and the Singularity - belong to the Gods themselves.

Beliefs and Gods

The active presence of the Summoned confirms the existence of the Gods. As a result, most Abraxans turn to the Summoned and other Gods for aid or protection. Extreme reverence exists in certain areas, especially on the Isle of the Lost and in parts of Solvunn. In other places, though, the Gods are merely acknowledged as a facet of life - a force that helps or hinders depending on temperament and should be respected, much like the sea. The Gods play a crucial role, sure, but so do the rain and stars. This is particularly true in the Feywilds, the Nether, and the Free Cities.

Small pockets of non-believers actively denounce the Gods. They claim the Summoned should be wiped from the world and the Singularity destroyed to prevent future invasions. Labeled dangerous heretics by Thorne and Solvunn, and "regressives" by the Free Cities - whose scientists and philosophers liken such thinking to be as foolish as declaring the sun unworthy or the earth to be flat - these people are shunned from society. In Solvunn, the consequences are more severe: heretics are exiled to the Barren, where they are subsumed by the desert, the Maw, or whichever Gods may punish them.

At the other end, some sects revere the Godlands so much that they believe feeding themselves to the relic will enhance Abraxas' good fortune for generations to come. Such cults are quite rare, but there are reports of mortals throwing themselves into the Singularity's crater and disintegrating as a gesture of their devotion to the divine.

International Relations

Due to the combined change in their priorities, Thorne and the Free Cities are less at odds. The Free Cities believes in protecting the Singularity; Thorne no longer seeks to control it. Nonetheless, mistrust flares on occasion.

While things are peaceful during these three months and have been for a few decades, Abraxas hasn't found a cure for war in the Gods. Conflict has broken out in the past and will again. Eyes are on the Nether as it grows in power, and who knows how long Thorne will be content with its losses? Will they convince the Velan Republic to reunite and turn against the Free Cities? For now, though, the territories have found their stride and appear more interested in progress than fighting.

Magic & The Singularity

Magic is relatively unchanged and is a vital part of Abraxan life. The small kingdom of Thorne continues to practice Academic Magic. Meanwhile, Wild Magic plays the same important role in the Velan Republic (formally Nott). Meanwhile, the Free Cities has developed New Magic further. The goal of decoupling magic from technology is less of a focus. Instead, researchers are eager to find new ways to fuse magic and innovation, including aspects of the Gods. Portable shrines, for example, are popular with traveling merchants.

High Magic no longer exists as a specific school of magic now that offerings, pacts, and requests to the Gods are a part of everyday life across Abraxas. Solvunn has returned to its roots, using the ancient Academic Magic practiced by the Lunae for standard tasks while turning to the Gods for greater blessings.

The Singularity has been relatively stable for the past two or three centuries. While occasional disturbances rumble, for the most part, the presence of the Summoned has strengthened it, alleviating its displeasure and ensuring that Abraxas - and possibly the universe itself - continues to exist. Indeed, academic writings from Thorne and the Free Cities across time suggest that the Singularity's devouring of the world has considerably slowed. It is now as much of a threat as the eventual collapse of the sun, something that is bound to occur but not for eons.

Of course, this could quickly change if the Summoned or any other Gods provoke the Singularity by rejecting its connection or denying its magic...so all should take care not to upset the nature of things.

Old World, New World

The map of Abraxas has undergone some notable shifts, although many names and places are the same.

Setting descriptions are HERE for your reference.

Mechapolis, the Witchwood, and the Barren/the Maw contain prompts related to the event itself. Information about those areas can be found under "Exploring the Land" in the section The World as the Divine (Month 1-2).

Month 1-2: Submersion

What do you last remember? Well, that depends. You might recall most things perfectly clearly. You might have new memories that don't feel new at all. Or, you might only remember the most recent year or two. Regardless, there is something missing: an important face, a handful of key events...maybe you don't remember having ever lived anywhere except Abraxas. You might find this unsettling, or you might accept it as just the way things are.

You've transcended those old memories, anyhow. You feel a little distant from the person you were centuries ago, and you most likely look different, too. Perhaps you've sprouted giant wings, become a formless void, or you're now a shapeshifter with no permanent appearance. You've gained a substantial amount of power and influence, the type that people of this world attribute to the Gods.

The first half is a more sandbox-like environment designed for scenarios that emphasize CR and personal character moments. Active conflict between the emergent reality and the world will not arise until the second half.

The World as the Divine

The mortals have bestowed you with a title and possibly a new alias. Do you know your mortal name anymore? Some of you might've taken on a new identity, or you might have held very tightly onto who you were. Regardless, your abilities have grown. Your new powers and appearance are as unique as your dominion, influenced by your interests, subconscious desires, or personal relationships.

While in your full God form, you'll move through the world unperceived. Only when you're sought by a mortal - followers, believers, cultists - can you consciously make your complete divine presence known. To be seen freely by all, you'll have to take on a less overwhelming shape to the mortal gaze. Those who have met the Old Gods or Cardinal Gods in the past finally understand why they seldom reveal their true selves, often arriving in hazy visions or speaking through animals.

Exploring the Land

◎ The Witchwood

As the Summoned continued to ascend, their power began to coalesce, creating a new ecosystem never seen before. The dense woods, originally a temperate climate, warmed and grew into a thriving jungle. The air is humid and heavy with magic, the sky locked into an eternal sunset. Reds and oranges filter through the thick canopy. Birdcall and animal cries echo throughout the jungle. Trees and rocks seemingly move at night, meaning the Witchwood is impossible to map. Foolhardy souls who venture too deep are rarely seen again - unless divine intervention prevents a tragic fate from befalling them. Perhaps one of those intervening Gods is you?

The most dangerous beasts in the Witchwood are the demigod spawns. Creatures born from the Summoned, demigods are powerful enough to affect the world around them should they ever leave the magic-encased forest. See Impact & Consequences for more details on the demigods and how, as the Summoned, you can help maintain Abraxas' ecosystem.

◎ Mechapolis

Heartwood Syndrome persisted in Fomalhaut long after the quarantined population died out. The port city stood as a monument to loss for nearly a century until about 200 years in when the Summoned gained notable influence as Gods. This resulted in a slow but steady acceptance of the Singularity's power as a positive force for potential advancement. New Magic boomed, leading to increased sophistication in technology and the refinement of automatons.

Originally designed to clear and guard Fomalhaut, they were eventually used to rebuild it. Fomalhaut became known as the City of Machines and was renamed Mechapolis. Although humans are barred from entering for safety, the automatons gather soil and air samples for study and perform fishing duties. The clockworks require routine maintenance and must return to a hub city or outpost for recalibration. Clockwork birds are used to communicate with Mechapolis. They can broadcast through the Free Cities's primitive "radio" towers.

You can enhance clockwork performance, boosting the towers or providing additional energy to the automatons. Scientists often have "rituals" when performing maintenance or experiments to earn the Gods' favor, hoping this will prevent their inventions from breaking down.

◎ The Barren/The Badlands

Once contested territory between Thorne and the Free Cities, the Badlands was split into two by a large ravine shortly after Thorne retreated to Hayle. With neither side able to breach the gap, Solvunn naturally laid claim to the western half while the Free Cities retained its eastern half. On the eastern side, the chasm swallowed several well-known bandit camps and the presence of a new entity further drove them away. Bandits now occupy the mountains northeast of Aquila. Due to the entity's threat, the Free Cities increased its military presence in the Badlands to keep careless or foolish travelers from straying too far.

Meanwhile, Solvunn has named its portion of the wasteland the Barren and sought the Gods' assistance to form an enchanted forest. Those who enter are lost forever. Meant for more than just protection, the forest and the Barren serve as a place of exile. Heretics are taken into the woods and left to wander towards the Barren's harsh desert. There, they will face the elements, be devoured by the waiting Maw...or encounter a God.

As a God, you can lead the exiles to their salvation or doom, but choose carefully: the Maw is hungry and must be fed. These exiles want you dead. They don't care for you, and should their lack of faith spread, they might revive attempts to destroy the Singularity - and with it, your home. Is it so wrong to leave them to their fate? On the other hand, saving them might convert them by demonstrating your kindness.

◎ The Maw

The Maw lurks beneath the chasm dividing the Badlands. Named for its gaping jaws, the Maw waits at the widest part of a jagged canyon, mouth open and salivating in the desert heat. Rows and rows of teeth as tall as a man spiral downward into a bloodshot throat. When sated, it retreats deep into the gully, barely visible aside from the shine of a tooth. When hungry, it draws closer to the surface. Hot and heavy winds often carry the putrid scent of its half-digested meals.

Solvunn is not the only territory that uses the Maw. The Free Cities will occasionally march criminals and bandits in that direction, as well, tossing them into the gaping mouth, although this method of execution is much rarer. Desperate exiles from Solvunn will try to cross the chasm despite the danger. None ever make it - at least, not without divine intervention.

Horizon, "Death," and Dormancy

Your domain in the Horizon is no longer constrained by size. How it's changed depends on you. The more detached from your mortality, the more likely it'll have surrealist elements: bizarre statues, physics-defying architecture, odd visual or psychological effects. The Horizon feels like home to all Gods, although you ought to take care not to heed its call beyond reason. Shutting yourself off from the physical world can result in unintended consequences...but completely refusing to enter the Horizon will do the same.

Additionally, Gods are beyond true death, but that doesn't mean you can act with impunity. Engaging in an exhaustive battle with other Gods can weaken you into dormancy. In this state, you will enter an ethereal void inside the Singularity. As you heal, you'll slowly be able to return to your Horizon domain and then the physical world once more. Depending on the extent of the damage, this process could take anywhere from months to decades. For instance, losing your head could take a few months, total dismemberment might take a year, and being vaporized into atoms can take a few decades.

Mortals cannot achieve this level of damage, even if they seemingly "succeed" in striking true. Only a God can weaken another God into dormancy. If a mortal removes your head, you can merely pick it up and put it back on.

Impact & Consequences

In the early years of your ascension, you might've wondered why the existing Gods seemingly intervened so little. Why did they not demonstrate their powers more blatantly over the thousands of years? Is it apathy? A desire to watch rather than act? As you come into your abilities, you realize that the Singularity and the universe are significantly more delicate than you thought. You begin to understand why the Gods have behaved the way they do.

Of course, whether you care to keep the world (and yourself) in balance is another story, but to be sure, some of the other Gods and the Summoned do - and you may have to defend your choices.

The equilibrium mechanic is described in OOC terms HERE. The Singularity and a character's ascension will not inherently sway them one way or the other. Any temptations will result from individual personality and development.

Instability Effects

To maintain the universe's equilibrium, you need to be cautious of when and how you interfere when using your status to alter the state of the world. Conversely, you'll also need to take care not to withdraw entirely. Several Gods have undergone periods of instability, though others haven't. Which category you fall under is up to you. It depends on who you are, your experiences, and your desires.

◎ Should you refuse to ACKNOWLEDGE your Godhood or enter the Horizon, you'll find yourself losing time. You may forget how you got from one place to another, or names you knew yesterday slip your mind. Lapses in memory or time can be temporary or permanent, but one thing they are is certainly confusing. With magic building inside you and nowhere for it to go, your power will begin to spill over, causing the Singularity to exhibit bursts of power that spawn demigods in the Witchwood.

◎ Should you give into the temptation to OVERINDULGE your Godhood or retreat to the Horizon for excessive periods, you'll lose more of yourself and your history. You may make decisions that feel unlike you, forget larger chunks of old memories, or struggle to distinguish what's real. Unrestrained use of magic will cause you to absorb yet more power, causing the Singularity to lose power in brief spurts, which can spawn demigods in the Witchwood.

These effects can be halted or even reversed in some cases. You might need someone's help to bring you back or convince you there's another way, or maybe you're the one seeking others out to assist. What you do soon understand is that your ability to manage your powers and stabilize your connection to the Horizon directly affects the Singularity and Abraxas...something that may have been true the moment you were summoned.

Demigod Spawns

Under the red haze of the Witchwood, monstrous creatures known as demigods or spawns emerge from crimson waterfalls and claw their out through the mossy soil. Born out of instabilities caused by careless actions from all Gods, they're usually contained to the Witchwood. For the most part, the older Gods - and the Summoned, if they choose - keep the demigods from leaving. However, now and again, one or two might escape, damaging towns, destroying villages, or causing ecological destruction in ways that are similar to natural disasters.

Demigods are not sentient. How they look can vary, but their appearances are often corrupted and disturbing: twisted animals, amorphous blobs, or alien-like parasites. They may resemble a monster you recognize from home.

Defeating one is possible but a challenge even for the Gods. Most crucially, you cannot kill your own spawn. Another God must deliver the killing blow, so working together is imperative. Should too many demigod spawns be allowed to invade the Witchwood, they will overwhelm and disrupt the Singularity further. Culling them is the only way to maintain stability.

You can submit demigod spawns you create to the WORLDBUILDING section if you want. Similar to using character powers, just keep the scale of destruction at a reasonable level.

Hearing Echoes

Echoes are a form of prayer that resonates through your connection with the Singularity. Solvunn has dedicated a monument to where the "First Echo" was heard, though the accuracy of this is debatable. Like the Network, you can hear an Echo regardless of where you are and can shut them out with concentration. However, your ties to Godhood may compel you to listen every so often. Mortals can entreat you through more formal methods (rituals, offerings, seasonal ceremonies) or in a moment of duress or desperation. They may seek you specifically or call to any God who will listen.

You can answer or ignore these cries for help as you like, but your choices carry consequences. Answer too many too eagerly, and your increased interference in mortal lives can upset the world's equilibrium - and the Singularity. Ignore your impact on the world, and your refusal to accept your ascension will equally destabilize the land as prayers go unheard.

Interacting with Other Gods

The Old Gods and the Cardinal Gods are an equal part of this world. For the most part, you coexist peacefully, though personal pacts and tensions can play a role. Each of you is aware of the impact of your actions on the Singularity: extreme displays of power are reserved for substantial transgressions, considering the price it carries.

Further, the older Gods have also walked the earth for centuries before you came. To them, you're still young, and rising against one of them won't end well for you. Nonetheless, many older Gods are more interested in giving advice or guiding you, ensuring the health of the Singularity and the universe so as not to doom all of you - Gods and mortals alike - to the void.

You can REQUEST AN INTERACTION with a God. Interactions will be brief but informative.

You will not be able to request a specific God. For logistical reasons, we have curated the list of Gods available ahead of time. However, we'll do our best to pick one from the pool that suits the purpose of your request.

Month 3: Awakening

Over the past 2 months, you've existed in the emergent reality without question. As you enter the third month, however, everything you've known over the past many centuries begins to shift. You might decide to investigate further, wondering if there's more out there that you aren't seeing. Alternatively, you might choose to ignore it, believing that your awakening is damaging the world and your life.

Catalysts

A catalyst can occur at any time through any circumstance. Do you see a familiar face you've forgotten in the eyes of a stranger? Do you recall a moment in your past while watching the mortals? Has a friend approached you specifically to try and remind you of the things you've forgotten?

With each memory returned you'll gain another piece of yourself. Depending on how much you've lost and how hard you'll cling to this reality, the effect may be clarifying or it might cause you distress and confusion. You might begin to encounter temporal cracks: buildings or areas that normally don't exist will flicker in and out of existence, or your reflection will briefly show an image of you from before your transformations took hold.

If you allow yourself to doubt your abilities or divinity, you might have trouble controlling your powers. If you've made alterations to your Horizon domain, it might start to revert to its original design.

These cracks are difficult to ignore, but if you bury your head, you can make them disappear - briefly, at least.

Shattered Skies

The effects go beyond the individual. As more of you and your fellow Gods reawaken, the sky also begins to form cracks that spread like broken glass. Through the fractures, you glimpse flashes of lightning and a swirling fog. The fissures only grow larger.

Soon, you realize you can see the Singularity itself, reflected upside-down in the crater. Disconcerting though it is, it may serve as proof that something is very wrong. Of course, you can also refuse to acknowledge this disturbance, closing your eyes to the crumbling sky. Doing so will let you remain unaware to the very end, but your friends who are seeking the truth might find your denial distressing.

The sky won't hold, though. Eventually, it does shatter completely - and you awaken abruptly, your body and others scattered several feet away from the Singularity's crater as if you were physically thrown out. The fog begins to dissipate. The lightning has stopped, the unrelenting storms fading across Abraxas. Whatever you went through, it seems to have done exactly what the territories hoped: stabilize the Singularity.

Characters will be returned home afterward. They will be thanked for their assistance regardless of if they cooperated.

Resistors will not face any consequences, as long as they don't cause excessive trouble upon their return. Officials will issue an apology for the heavy-handed action, stating that they saw no other way to keep the world safe. With the portals and weather returning to normal, it does seem to have worked...even if characters may not find the method agreeable.

---

Comments

[thearchangel]

He laughs. It is as it always is, that light, breathy sort of sound. "I shouldn't need that reminder anymore, huh?"

Maybe not. But his hands lead sometimes. Muscle memory leads. He can't help it sometimes, even after all these years. All these centuries. Logically, he knows he can't hurt her, he won't hurt her. Illogically... he wants to treat her as something precious.

The one thing that went right

It echoes so sharply, so brightly, in his mind, he goes still for a long moment. Only coming back to himself at the touch of her hand under the blindfold. A shake of his head, and he bends it to kiss her. Firmly. Like she wanted.

So what if there's still no lips in this body? He's figured it out. He's had centuries to do it.

[earthborn]

True to form, Shepard responds as she's always done, wrapping her arms around, leaning into his grasp like a flower opening to the sun. And yes, she's a bit more... liquid of an armful, than she once might have been, but there's something helpless about that; it's not particularly voluntary. What can a woman do, but melt, for a man like this? Even goddesses have limits.

"Hmmm... I don't mind, if this is what it gets me," She murmurs, not pulling back, heat rolling off her in waves, the grass growing ever greener underneath them. She fancies she can even hear the drive core kick up a notch, sleeping in Normandy's bulk as it is, "Besides, I'll always be here to remind you."

[thearchangel]

If it bothers him, the way she feels now, he hasn't said. He won't ever say. This is Shepard. The reason the galaxy still moves. The reason he's still alive, frankly. Though... sometimes now, when he thinks about that, he can't say he knows why. He doesn't know why this feels so... why these moments feel like the center of the universe. A stabilizing force.

Grey smoke feather and hot liquid stone. He doesn't want to pull away.

"Yeah... always." It's a breath, it's a prayer and a hope all in one. "Because it'd be an awfully empty world without you."

[earthborn]

She lingers in the moment, heavy and lissome, then pulls back only reluctantly. Hands trail down shoulders, wing-joints, arms and wrists, and then she grins, equal parts mischief and invitation.

"C'mon, then. Show me what you got," And then she's off. Birds use their wings, downbeat and effort making the transition from dirt to sky, but Shepard's never been so banal. She goes off like a rocket, like a shooting star, flame flickering blue-white at the edges where the wind tears at it and fans it to new heat, new heights.

She's laughing all the way up, completely unrepentant, completely free. Catch her if you can!

[thearchangel]

"Hey-!"

Like that ever stopped her. Like shouting after her would actually do any good. Except maybe make her laugh at his audacity. Despite the centuries, despite the ages of practice, changing has never come naturally to him. Never come easily to him. It takes heartbeats longer, it's not as quick and painless as it is with her.

But once he's up, he's up, and hot on her tail.

[earthborn]

Flinging herself around at great speed has been Shepard's natural talent for a long time, longer even than she's been doing it wreathed in fire. The pheonix blooms out from her, streaking behind in plumed tails and the trailed edges of wings, spreading with a strange, impossible weightiness. Something this heavy, this large, ought not to be able to get airborne, and even if it could, should not to be able to turn and twist in the air so acrobatically. But she does, falling back and flirting under his wings to send gusts of hot air and send Archangel off-kilter, spinning away to avoid the playful retribution...

...it's a good flight. She loves this, the freedom of it; she's going to thorne because she wants to, and because it's the right thing to do, not because of anything that tells her she has to. And if she hadn't? She could have gone anywhere else, and it would come to much the same.

Freedom, that's what she has here. Freedom, and him at her side. Who could want more?

[thearchangel]

He's hot on her tail. Her literal tail. The doges and rolls are always hard to follow - while something in the back of his head wants to compare it to driving, though he doesn't know why. It reminds him, slightly, of what Koby confessed, back in his Domain of the Horizon. But there's no room to think about it now. Not when he's diving at her, trying drive her down, toward the ground, though he knows he won't be able to.

Nothing has ever been able to bring her down.

Has it...?

The thought hits out of nowhere, and he falters in his flight, wavering slightly. But as always, he's quick to catch up. Quick to stay on her six.

Always.

[earthborn]

Sheis nothing loathe to take the lead. Below them, far below, the people of Cadens see them pass, twin shooting stars, and a smattering of wishes burst over them as they pass by. So it goes all the way to Thorne; the long, slow wingbeats cutting the air, the whispered wash of attention here and there as mortals look up and see the impossible made real...

Landing is less graceful. But then, going places has always been easy for Shepard. Arriving, on the other hand, has always, always been an act of violence.

[thearchangel]

She's fine, as far as he's concerned. Landing - it's like driving, he thinks again, before banishing the thought - it doesn't suit her, no. She's someone made to move forward, through every obstacle. Through all opposition.

This doesn't stop him from laughing as he comes in for his own landing, talons clicking on stone as his form shifts with hers. Quieter, less dramatic. But right behind her.

"You're getting better. I think."

[earthborn]

"Oh, laugh it up," She sneers, covering embarrassment with the joke, "You'll get yours. Just wait."

He probably won't, of course; for all her retaliatory tendencies, Shepard has never been good at holding a grudge. Least of all, with him.

All around them there are people looking in their direction. Of course, no one can see them, and the attention is fleeting. It's market-day, and everyone has places to be, but the wind of their passage had been a strange gust on an otherwise sunny afternoon. Shepard gestures with her chin— c'mon, and starts off into the crowd. Soon enough they find it; an unassuming little building, the administrative center for this region's tax-collectors. There's a man in a janitor's uniform assiduously whitewashing the wall, carefully painting a pristine square, careful to leave space around a single grubby-black handprint impressed into the plaster.

Shepard squints, stepping closer, like she's trying to remember something...

"...Well, well, well," holding up her own hand for comparison. The fingers were too long, the placement too high up, the palm too square and the impression itself too uniform. It's real char, and she doesn't know how they've pulled it off, but it isn't Shepard's hand, "Somebody's getting creative."

And what kind of fool would falsify a godsmark?

[thearchangel]

"Promises, Shepard... promises."

He knows she won't hold a grudge with him. Not anything serious, anyway. Something silly, playful - that's possible. But not a serious grudge. And maybe he does take too much of an advantage. If she minded, though, she'd tell him.

As always, he is at her heel. Looming over her in the crowd that doesn't see them. "Looming" in that even like this, even in these bodies, he's still taller than she is by a wide margin. Helps him to see where exactly they're doing. And to see the handprint.

The poor janitor shivers, like a cold wind has just blustered into his back, like something crawled down the back of his neck. He looks around, trying to pinpoint what it is, before scuttling off for a quick break. Garrus feels his features relax back into neutrality. Too much, maybe - that wasn't the guy's fault, but it gets his ire up anyway, seeing someone try to pull a fast one on Shepard.

He drags a talon down the mark. Looking over the residue on his fingers. "I think it's chiseled and filled with charcoal."

But who would dare?

[earthborn]

"Very creative," Shepard says, no more impressed than Archangel is. She tracks the Janitor as he ducks inside the building he'd just been freshening up; satisfying, as always, to watch him work, "Let's go."

The building is, at first glance, ordinary. It's plain, but clean, with black-painted counters and potted plants and secretarial staff that seems attentive without being overbearing. There's a security officer on the wall nearest the door, sword in hand, stiffly at attention despite the hour and the lack of need— even his buttons are polished to a mirror-shine, and this is clearly a post he has great pride in. Everything else seems calm, businesslike, unexciting... It is a tax office, after all.

"You want to take the lead? Somebody in here's deliberately trying not to get my attention. That's about as far as I can tell."

[thearchangel]

"Right behind you."

There's a low growl to his voice. His feathering starts to blur to grey, darkening, as the sound echoes in the tones and vibrations of his words. He doesn't like this. Something here grates on his plating.

The security officer gets a once-over. Before he turns his attention to the rest of the room, tracking, searching. He doesn't see anything immediately threatening. Not an immediate problem. Maybe that's what puts him on edge.

"Sure. I'll see if they know how long that's been out there..." And he flows, then. From himself to a much more inconspicuous form. Sauntering casually over to the desk to strike up a conversation.

[earthborn]

The woman behind the desk startles, called to action by the abrupt appearance of someone she hadn't seen coming. The excuses come quick, and so too does the offer of paperwork, assistance, does he need a pen?

Shepard turns to watch, admiring. Oh, he's handsome in any form, but there's something visceral, almost novel, about seeing him like this. He doesn't bother to look human, most of the time... It's captivating. Distracting... Which is why she doesn't notice the security guard moving until his shortsword is all the way through her back and out her chest. He screams, at first with the furious, impulsive rage of the moment, and then in pain as the blade rapidly heats by contact with a god's internals, and cooks the skin off his hand by consequence.

"Oh," Shepard looks down at it, startled more than pained; the tip of the blade protrudes a full handspan beyond her body, glowing cherry-red and getting hotter, an upwell of golden magma where it meets her skin. Logically, she knows there's nothing terribly dangerous about this; she is fire, inside and out, and there's nothing a mortal blade can do to her. It doesn't even hurt, really, "...Shit."

The less logical part remembers when lungs and heart occupied that space, and turns her voice harsh and pained. For a minute she can't do anything but reach up to grasp it, the steel turning soft, indenting slowly under her fingers. The shrill shriek of the secretary and the sound of doors opening all along the hallway let her know that whatever else is happening, she's now very visible, sword and all.

She turns, offended, to look at the man. He's still clutching his hand by the wrist, palm charred black and smoking, "...What the hell?"

[thearchangel]

The scream starts.

His head whips around, human shape falling away like shedding beads of water, the illusion shattering and in its place, the Archangel. Black in plumage and red in fury. The eyes along his collar blaze so bright cobalt they're nearly painful to look at. The logical part of him knows, full well, something so simple as a blade will just piss her off. It won't do any real damage.

That doesn't matter.

He is as visible as she is. And he is moving to snatch the unfortunate man. To grab his face in talon tipped hands, mandible flared wide and sharp off his jaw. The teeth of a predatory creature on full view of the wounded guardsman. He is stammering, in agony and in shock, and there is no pity.

"I agree," he snarls. His voice is all echo. Vibration felt through the air and the floor. "What. The. Hell."

His blindfold shifts. Slowly beginning to peel back from his eyes. Gifted with clarity, he's learned, over the centuries, how it can be a weapon as well as a tool. There was a reason the human-dreamed version of archangels hid their faces, why they told their wards to not be afraid. And unless Shepard objects, he will inflict the full force of that agonizingly clear gaze on this unfortunate man.

To pull the truth out of his victim with the weight of a godly gaze.

[earthborn]

"I-I-I-I..." The man is inconsolable, caught between explanation, defiance, begging for forgiveness or his life, and the pain of his hand. Garrus' eyes bear down on him, a pin pierced through an insect, twitching, and he stares back wide-open with helplessness.

The end of the sword splatters and hisses against the floor as it finishes liquidating, followed by a soft clunk as the haft-end does the same, dropping off her back in a more cohesive lump. Shepard puts her hand on Garrus' back instead, leaning over where his wings are cupped around his prey, hunching like a falcon over its kill.

And the memory of it unfolds in blue smoke, trailing from the man's gaping mouth like a pantomime of a holo, suspended above his head. Coming to the office each day for work, and being noticed by the new manager. Shaking his hand. Watching him work. Being noticed every day, and growing closer...

...and the crime itself, sneaking out to mark the exterior of the building, a monument more to love than any godly approval. There's a soft gasp from behind her, and Shepard cocks her head far enough to look. A handsome-looking man in a pale, trim suit is watching the show, stricken, and behind him a cluster of pale-faced scholars peer at the goings-on from around corners and under desks. As if any of it could protect them. Someone murmurs quietly, Oh no...

Shepard slides her fingers into his feathers, coal-black and coal-red.

"Don't kill him," she says, quietly, and there would have been a time when she'd have cheerfully let the man die, or done it herself, "He's right about his boss, even if he's stupid enough to try and play god. Otherwise..."

...Time changes everything, eventually. Besides, it really is surprising how vicious a punishment can gets, and still be survivable.

"What do you say to letting the punishment fit the crime?"

[thearchangel]

"Justice be done."

It's a snarl, it's a command, and the clarity, the truth, rips out of the man. He doesn't bother making it gentle. Suggesting it come out. A half-lidded glance instead of a piercing stare. Garrus himself doesn't pay it much mind, not now, when he knows Shepard can see it too. If he were working alone, he'd have looked, but as it stands, she has his back, and he can focus entirely on pulling out what they need.

He could have let it continue. Let every single truth rip free, leave the man blinded by the truth, by the painful clarity of what he's done. But Shepard says no. Shepard stays his hand. His mask, the blindfold, slides into place, cutting off the Archangel's gaze. He even closes his eyes, letting the man fall whimpering to the floor, so that when he turns to Shepard, none of the onlookers are accidentally caught.

The secretaries are just earning a paycheck, the janitor just doing a job.

"We should," he agrees. His voice taking a more even, neutral tone. Bars of white fleck the edges of his feathers, easing the smoke out of their tips. "Justice should be done, after all."

[earthborn]

She lets her hand slide along Archangel's shoulder as her turns, up to cup his face. They're at work, sure, but these small fry don't matter. Not compared to way he'd pounced, the rage in his voice, and she knew too the need to see that she was alright. Nobody threatened either of they two without arousing the other to battle, everybody knew that.

Or, if they didn't, they soon learned.

"Easy," she says, gentle soothing, but also an acknowledgement. Looking down, at their feet, is a whimpering mess. Shepard bends down and holds out her hand— he flinches back.

"Do you want to do this the easy way or Archangel's way. Because if you're going to be a coward, I'll let him kill you. I doubt he's forgiven you, just yet."

Trembling, eyes bloodshot and wild, tears streaming down his face, the man sent a trembling plea upwards— to no avail. Still shaking, he put out his hand, still charred black, offering it—

"The other one."

Raise your hand, whether to harm a god or to take their power, and what do you get for it? Justice says an eye for an eye, a hand for a hand. He offers his good hand now, shaking, and then choked on the scream as she took it. Shepard has always had a firm handshake, but now her touch maims with fire, smoke and char until he'll never hold a weapon again. He falls back, unconscious, before Shepard lets go. Then she stands, puts that same hand on Archangel's shoulder, simple touch, as much to reassure herself as anyone else.

"I want that mark outside gone before sunrise," She says. Their audience is a room of silent eyes, stiff and still and tense, cornered prey. Forget morning, they'll have it done before sundown. And then, Shepard steps forward, puts her hand onto the desk, and presses down. The wood steams up, paint curling, and the Secretary utters an unwilling squeak of fear...

...But the mark her hand leaves behind is indelible, glowing still even as she steps away. She might disapprove of the underling, but his loyalty had been honestly earned. She turns back, to face Archangel, and cocks her head as if to say; we done here?

[thearchangel]

He reigns it in. Pulls it all back. Composure slides into his frame as easily as her hand rests on his shoulder. Feathers flicker between white and grey and black, mottled, solid. Smoking. His head scans the room, everything firmly, safely covered. No one falls to the pressure, though they flinch.

That's the part he hates, sometimes. The people they're meant to protect, afraid. It's necessary, argues the other part of him. They have to, or else nothing gets done.

His gaze turns back to the wreck of a man. I doubt he's forgiven you - no, he sure hasn't. It might not actually have hurt Shepard, but it's the principle of the damn thing, isn't it? He folds his arms, not moving. As unflappable as any statue. Though his mandibles flare off his jaw, just for more effect. More teeth.

Then she's done here. The air smells of woodsmoke and burned flesh. His only acknowledgement is to nod. They're done. He's ready to put this office behind him. Behind both of them. Leave behind the odd stab of fear he could be losing her again.

Though what that means, he's not quite sure.