EVENT #20: ADVENT - IC EVENT LOG

[abraxasmods]

Event #20 - Advent

OOC Event Log ⦁ The Gods ⦁ NPCs

The Badlands has remained contested territory between Thorne and the Free Cities for many years. During a mediation two years ago, a resolution was attempted but fell apart. The Badlands is valued for being the direct route toward the Singularity...meaning it was only a matter of time before conflict broke out over it.

Early in AUGUST, Thorne and the Free Cities begin to march on the Badlands. The clash is bloody and violent, taking place exclusively on the ground. Although the Free Cities military has its share of firearms, such things are still rare and expensive. Most of the fighting, as expected, makes use of horses, swords, arrows, and - of course - magic.

The territories won't call upon Summoned like yourselves. You are meant for something more important. If you insist on joining the fight, they may approve depending on who you are and what you plan to do. Soon, however, a powerful force emerges, one far bigger than just another clash of swords.

This event draws on a previous event involving the Heralds of War. Knowledge of this past event is not necessary, but you may review the information for added context if you wish!

The consequences of Solvunn's choice in Event #18 occur at the end of the event. The result of this act will be further detailed in the Wrap-Up.

Overture

The return of the Heralds might stir familiarity within some of you. You may recall how they whispered in your ears, planted visions of death, or corrupted the Horizon. This time, although their coming spreads across the land, you as the Summoned are remarkably resistant to the Gods' influences. Newer arrivals might be more susceptible, but those of you who have been here for months or years won't find yourselves afflicted much, if at all...until you start to make your choices.

As the Summoned, certain actions may open you up to vulnerabilities. Everything you do carries a weight. If you experienced the emergent reality, you'll likely have learned that lesson. You're not fully one of the Gods yet, but your connection to the Singularity means the magic that flows through you contains both a great capacity to help others and a cost that comes with it which you must consider.

A Taste of Blood

It begins sometime in mid-August, around the 16th onward. Not everyone will experience it at the same time. You might even believe you're spared until days afterward when you're visited by an unusually vivid dream.

The dream starts the same for everyone: you are going somewhere, anywhere, walking to your bedroom, or enjoying a stroll on the beach. You might be driving down a familiar neighborhood. Wherever you're headed, you find that the world around you shifts. Thin red veins spiderweb across nearby surfaces. As you press on, they become engorged with blood until they form a fleshy tunnel. A light at the end beckons you. You can turn around if you want, but aren't you curious?

If you proceed, you eventually come upon a beating human heart with your Arcana painted in gold. A swarm of large mosquitos quickly encase the heart, sucking it dry. As their abdomens become fat with blood, more and more join the swarm until it becomes a whirlwind of insects that gradually take on a large humanoid shape: bright red with blood with horns bent upwards like a lopsided crescent moon.

This is Zorne of Last Blood, the eldest of the Heralds of War.

The veins are pulled in by the insects, connecting one to the next and holding them in place like latticework of sinew. No longer obscured, the world that surrounds you is bleak and gray. A large sword materializes in Zorne's hand. Holding it aloft, he measures your resolve.

◎ If you have spilled blood, the blade begins to drip with it. The steel beneath glows hot, then begins to harden.
◎ If you have not spilled blood, the blade turns brittle, eventually falling to dust.

Zorne accepts you regardless. He sits down on his simple stone throne, laying the sword against the armrest. His eyes are thinly veiled sockets in a skull made of insects, downcast towards where you stand below his form. A thin layer of red skin stretches across his mouth with every word he speaks.

"The path...has been chosen. The snake has found its tail. Each new age rises from the ashes of its grave. It is...as it always has been."

Zorne holds the sword up again. Behind his throne, you glimpse the rays of a rising sun.

"A sword hardens in the fire. In the darkened hearts of mortals. Destruction heralds purification from madness.

All things end before they begin. Mortals, Gods, the smallest insect. And when it ends...we will be there. I will be there. And you...little godling...must find your place in that end."

The sun reaches its apex. It is blazing and fierce, as though it might soon swallow you in its fury - and then it does.

Do you feel at peace from its cleansing fire? Strengthened by it? Or is it purely unimaginable pain and fear that consumes you?

Zorne's sword measures the blood on your character's hands as perceived by them. A character who took only one important life to save the world may see as much blood on that sword as another who killed many to do the same.

Making Your Choices

Whether you believe Zorne or not, you must still do something, even if that something is nothing. As things unfold before your very eyes, you can decide whether you will aid the Heralds for what you may believe is the greater good, help the individuals you can't deny, or decline any involvement at all.

General Effects

Each territory will have a set of circumstances brought forth by a combination of human actions and the Heralds. Those who experienced the afflictions in the past may recognize that the Heralds never implanted or controled your thoughts. Instead, they showed you visions, whispered in your ear, or coaxed you to indulge the darker impulses that live inside you.

The same effect will take hold of the regular citizens now, whose dispositions play a large role in what the Heralds can influence and how much. This is made most obvious by the fact that children are the least impacted. The younger and the fewer their worries, the less vulnerable they are. Of those who are afflicted, the effect might manifest in ways that are more fitting of a child: dreams of a beloved pet dying, bullying a sibling, or giving in to the desire to steal a toy. Adults who are naturally and genuinely carefree may also fail to be affected by Koth's despair or Adlewyrd's poisonous thoughts.

Vulnerabilities

Your status as the Summoned affords you some protection. The longer you've been in Abraxas, the less open you will be to influence. However, depending on what you do, this might change.

◎ If you choose to counter a Herald's influences, you may inadvertently absorb the affliction's effects or experience a "bleedover" from the person you're helping. The more you do this, the more severe the impact will become. You might also be concerned by the new ability you're exhibiting when countering an affliction. Though the ability is small, you feel its power coursing through you. When you try to call on it outside of aiding others, however, nothing comes. It seems this ability only manifests when interacting with an afflicted individual.

◎ If you choose to enhance a Herald's influences, you may inadvertently absorb their abilities as yours and thus, in turn, spread them toward individuals who are nearby. This could occur deliberately or accidentally, depending on how much you desire to act as an extension of the Herald in your chosen territory.

◎ If you choose to ignore a Herald's influences, you'll receive no effects either way...but you might find it difficult to disregard what's going on around you.

For an OOC explanation of the mechanics regarding being a countering, enhancing, or neutral force, please review the Deciding Your Actions section on the OOC Plotting Post.

Patchwork Horizon

Luckily, the Horizon isn't intent on trapping any of you this time. Its instabilities instead manifest in your own domains. It might revert back to a previous state or older elements might resurface that you thought you got rid of. Or, it may take on transformations from a future version - the domain that you had as a God in the emergent reality. The more you've made yourself vulnerable, the more unstable your experience in the Horizon will become.

Further, these instabilities aren't limited to your domains. Effects from other domains might overwrite yours, or perhaps pieces of your domain are showing up in another's.

◎ For some, it might just be a minor inconvenience. Perhaps your flowers have transplanted onto somebody else's yard across the Horizon or your pet keeps teleporting around to everyone's domains except yours.

◎ For others, the effect might be more troubling. You could find private letters surfacing in a stranger's desk or you might open your closet to find another's buried skeletons.

Anything that ends up in someone else's domain will be missing in yours. Rather than a duplication, the effect is more like a jigsaw or a patchwork quilt. You can put it right, of course, with some concentration - but it's best done with a partner, especially someone who knows your domain well enough to help you reform it.

Setting a domain right will also repair any vulnerabilities its owner might've exposed themselves to, so it's a good idea to try and assist each other. Of course, if your concentration's off, attempts to fix a domain might actually make things worse, so be careful!

Arrival

The sections below will contain more specific prompts to help players jumpstart threads, but you may use the broad descriptions of each Herald's impact here to inspire your own ideas and scenarios.

The First Shadow

The arrival of the Heralds of War is subtle. For many citizens, they might not realize that there is a force exerted throughout the world. Indeed, how much of what happens can be attributed to the Heralds, and how much is simply human nature? That's a question even the Heralds can't and won't answer. They are only here to carry out the same task they have done since the dawn of time, each time a war brews.

Koth, the Kingdome of Thorne

Koth of Festering Lands brings with her death and rot. This affects vegetation, wildlife, livestock, the already dead...and the soul itself. She does not bring literal death to living people - she only brings it to the things around them and within them.

◎ Missing Warship
In Borrel, a naval warship on its way home to resupply goes missing. Led by an experienced captain and with no fighting taking place at sea (surely, even the Free Cities can't sail that quickly toward the western coast), the mysterious disappearance has many concerned. Unfortunately, some mages who attempt a common tracking spell report visions of bloated corpses sunk to the bottom while others dream of drowning, an effect so real they must be shaken awake. Many mages refuse to try the spell again, leaving it in your hands instead.

Each tracking spell can only vaguely locate an individual or a part of the ship, so multiple attempts are necessary. If you're not skilled in magic, you can take a more active role and board a rescue ship off the coast of Borrel. This ship will venture out based on the coordinates according to the spell...but take care: the sailors with you are prone to similar visions of drowning when they look into the blackened depths below. Others claim they see the faces of the dead in the ocean's surface. All of this leads to high tensions amongst the men and women on board.

It'll be possible to rescue a few sailors, but others may be lost entirely. The ship itself appears to have broken into pieces. Survivors report a grotesque undead leviathan that cannot be harmed or killed, though it's difficult to tell if this is true or another hallucination.

◎ Dukewood Lumber Mills
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the lumber mill in the woods by Nott has since returned to normal. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when the trees begin to rot. Workers report a horrible smell that comes from the trees themselves, and that the normally clear sap has turned into a putrid black-blood substance.

To make matters worse, the rotting stores of food and now the dying trees are putting the workers and locals around Nott under great stress. Thoughts of despair are amplified by both the situation and Koth, leading to higher rates of drinking, which in turn has increased the amount of accidents at the mill, including mismanaged safety protocols and mishandled equipment.

Lumber is of great value during wartime, especially for the construction of naval ships, outposts, and weapons, so Castle Thorne is determined to help restore the trees, as well as calm the workers. You can help with everything from checking equipment to ensure they're safe, searching for any missing mill workers, providing first aid where necessary, or confronting beasts that might've been disturbed by all the commotion.

If you happen to fall under Koth's sway, you might also see the dead when looking into the waters as you rescue the other sailors. The bodies might reflect something you fear or they may be a reminder of a death that's already passed. You could also sink into despair or experience haunting dreams as you try to help another recover from their hopelessness.

Adlewyrd, the Free Cities

Adlewyrd of Poisoned Tongues brings with them words that poison the heart and mind. This affects thoughts and emotions, a slow and subtle influence that spreads.

◎ Untold Secrets
In Libertas, where underground networks thrive, sudden slips of the tongue, rising tempers, and impulsive actions have caused the black market to collapse into disarray. Between power struggles, accusations of betrayals, and missing transactions, the violence has spilled into the open.

Preoccupied with the battle, the number of guards and soldiers keeping order is reduced. Venturing into Libertas can be dangerous and those who live there, including artists and orphans, are struggling to go about their day-to-day without disruption. You can help calm tempers or break up fights...or maybe, if you're a bit more vulnerable to the influences yourself, you might become drawn into the chaos yourself.

Because of the limited number of hands, the Summoned are allowed to make an arrest, but you must bring the culprit to a guard outpost for formal processing. Taking matters into your own hands too severely can lead to scrutiny. Given the circumstances, however, a bit of non-fatal violence will be overlooked, especially if it takes place in the darker corners of Libertas.

You don't have to enforce the law, though. In Libertas, this enforcement is rather loose, anyway. Instead, you can mediate as a neutral party, take advantage to make a deal of your own, or simply offer your services to fill in any gaps that might've occurred in these networks. This could involve more illicit activities like transporting underground goods or something more above-board like searching for a missing person. Just be sure you don't draw too much attention if you're acting outside the law.

◎ The Red Path
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the scenic Red Path leading between Cadens and Libertas has since been restored. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when conflicting reports cause an accident involving merchant wagons carrying silk, spices, and wine. Some claim the merchants are spies while others insist they were bandits in disguise.

Regardless, the accident leads to several fatalities and disturbs a monster nest: that of the dangerous Copper Spine Wyvern. It also draws swarms of hungry Kaskadura, the latter of which are lured by the corpses. While not normally aggressive towards the healthy and living, the Kaskadura seem to be in a frenzy and will bite just about anyone they see - and there's a lot of them, gathering over the area like a black cloud.

To make matters worse, a clerical error has slowed down the cleanup and identification process. If you're not inclined to fight monsters or locate missing bodies, you can help at Portam Hall to manually match names to surviving family members, as well as locate said family members to deliver the somber news. As for Portam Hall, the main hub of government activity might not be under threat from beasts, but isn't calm, either. Gossip, secrets, and missing paperwork plague the various departments and offices.

If you happen to fall under Adlewyrd's sway, you might read too deeply into an innocent comment or mishear a remark that raises your ire, leading you to snap wrongly at a friend or attack an innocent. You might also give into lurking temptations that surface as you try to help others overcome their dark desires.

Sannleikr, the Solvunn Commune

Sannleikr of Many Faces brings with him deception of the soul. This affects faces and minds, causing appearances to become distorted, untrustworthy, or altogether unrecognizable.

◎ Lost Herders
In the Secondary Settlement, a woman named Eydis has lost her prized herding dogs and her flock of sheep. They left one morning as usual to herd the sheep out to graze and never returned. She worries that rumors of livestock sprouting teeth are true and will harm her dogs. She isn't the only one, either. Several other sheep and goat herders have claimed their dogs and flocks have gone missing, too.

The dogs themselves have scattered across Solvunn. There are roughly a dozen dogs and several flocks that failed to return home. Should you run into any livestock, it would appear the rumors are indeed true: the normally fluffy sheep have grown wicked claws or horns while the goats bear their sharp fangs. Despite their fearsome appearance, however, they are not aggressive except when frightened. Keep them calm when herding them lest you provoke them to bite or claw.

As for the dogs, some might be wounded while others will growl at you. They don't recognize familiar toys or faces and will attempt to run away or behave apprehensively. You can use any abilities or techniques you have on hand to try and bring them home. After all, the Solvunn woods are dangerous, and there are many creatures within those dense trees that will strike.

◎ Living Statues
Previously a site of a dangerous rift, the Feintak Ritual Site, located just outside the Primary Settlement, has since returned to normal. Unfortunately, that ends quickly when confused citizens of the Commune begin to wander toward the area at night in search of their "missing" loved ones.

Unable to recognize familiar faces, some begin to see those faces imposed upon the statues at the site instead. You can find children playing with their "mother" or an elderly widow spending time with a "relative." While this would be disturbing enough on its own, the sacred area contains an ancient magic that, should any missteps occur, could be released into the world and spell disaster.

The Council has asked the Summoned to help bring home the lost folk of the Feintak site. They must be guided gently, as any negative energy could be absorbed by the dark power that lives in the earth and the statues. Victims of the affliction might become frightened of you or fail to recognize you even if you've been neighbors for months or years, making your task more difficult.

If you happen to fall under Sannleikr's sway, you might also begin to see faces in the statues at Feintak and forget the real figures around you. The faces might be friendly or they could be adversarial - an enemy or a source of shame. You may also see a twisted reflection of yourself in the mirror, representing something you've been trying to hide from.

The Final Coming

Zorne first spoke to you in your dreams, but his presence is noticeably absent for the first few days. Then, one week later, after one of the most fierce and bloody battles in the Badlands in recent history, a red sun rises over Abraxas. The morning's dawn is cast in a red glow across the territories.

If you met Zorne in your dream, you may recognize this very sun. You remember feeling its heat over your skin and the emotions it stirred in you, whichever they might've been.

By noon, the blood-red hue will fade...but Zorne's coming has only begun.

The Last Affliction

Unrestricted, Zorne's influence travels across the land and joins forces with his siblings.

◎ The Badlands

Forces from the Free Cities introduce a new prototype to the war: a semi-automonous suit of armor armed with a piece of technology derived from something that came through the rifts: a unique firearm that launches explosive discs imbued with New Magic.

The weapon's destructive capabilities wreck havoc on both people and the environment...inadvertently setting loose yet another creature of the rift - the swamp-like creature that researchers had been studying in the Badlands before the war broke out. Its giant mouth is lined with numerous teeth. Its breath can paralyze, blind, poison, and weaken anyone caught in it.

The morbol will move toward the borders of each territory throughout the event, so the Summoned in all locations can encounter it when arriving at the front lines to deliver medicine, supplies, or news. Zorne's influence appears to prevent it from dying. When killed, it respawns in another location - sometimes miles away.

◎ Forging the Soul

Zorne's influence can affect those who are already under the effect of one of the other three Heralds. A shopkeeper angry about a misspoken rumor might begin to have disturbing and violent dreams of confronting the offending gossiper. A soldier who sees his death at the hands of another may start to feel the urge to kill first before his turn comes.

Aggressive wildlife will begin to invade city borders. While most are stopped or killed before they enter a major city, one or two predators might slip through. Trade routes are disrupted. Nearly all caravans are halted except the most critical transports. Hunters and farmers begin to report disturbing sights of deer scavenging on corpses or butterflies biting as mosquitos do.

You, too, may experience similar dreams or desires if you've allowed yourself to become too vulnerable or exposed to the Heralds. The more you entertain such thoughts or let your guard down, the harder they become to ignore. As you move through your days, surrounded by turmoil and conflict, you may have to ask yourself if you're as above it all as you first thought.

And what about your friends? Your neighbors? After all, you might associate frequently with the other Summoned, but you've made connections with the native population, too. Perhaps the kindly innkeeper is now treating you with a suspicion she didn't used to exhibit. Maybe you hear that the baker across the street, who once offered you free sweet rolls, has been gravely injured by his own son.

As Zorne said, this is about forging peace through madness - or so the Heralds believe. Maybe, in the pandemonium and bloodshed around you, you begin to understand something important about yourself, your friends, or the world.

Beyond the Heralds

It's tough to deny that even without the Heralds, this conflict would be ongoing regardless. Neither Thorne nor the Free Cities has demonstrated any desire for peace. Solvunn seems to be considering their role, as well. Despite the war, life must continue for Abraxans: parents have mouths to feed, farmers have fields to sow, and professors continue to lecture and hold classes while they're able.

As the Summoned, you can engage in any of these elements. You can agree to take notes for a fellow student who's suffered an unfortunate attack after being mistaken for someone else. You could babysit for households who need an extra hand while their partner has been sent to fight. You can pack medicine, offer healing abilities, or bring supplies to units stationed by the Badlands.

You can also take on acts of diplomacy. This is not restricted to communicating with the leaders of your territory. Both Nocwich and the Nether have a relationship with the Summoned, which is something you can utilize. You might have to begin by sending a letter instead of meeting them directly, but if you're determined to find a peaceful solution, it's worth trying.

Individualized actions are entirely possible! We will discuss it on a case-by-case basis. You can SUBMIT YOUR REQUEST by replying to the comment with the form.

Please have a concrete goal in mind and try to keep your requests concise. We will do our best to accommodate everyone, but we may have to ask that you hold the request for after the event or ask you to revise it, depending on what you've submitted.

Departure

When the Heralds withdraw, it's quiet and as difficult to notice as their arrival. Did they vanish near the end of one of the battles? Did they leave days ago, the seeds they sowed flourishing without further intervention?

For the Summoned, it may be a bit easier to tell. Steadily, as the month comes to a close, the Horizon begins to stabilize once more. If you have been countering the Heralds, you find your ability no longer triggers, even if there remain those around you who behave as though they are still being influenced. You suppose it's fair to remember that the Heralds don't need to exert their powers for people to behave as they do.

The battle in the Badlands continues to wage...but on AUGUST 30, Thorne's troops receive abrupt orders to return home. It appears that, while the kingdom's forces were occupied on land, her naval warships were dealt a serious blow, handing a sudden victory to the Free Cities - but not by who you might predict.

The Hands of Solvunn

Solvunn has often refused to pledge for one side or another. The Council maintains that they are devoted to protecting their commune and their way of life, nothing more. They certainly have no army or weapons to speak of. Their disinterest in the Badlands conflict is expected, and neither Thorne nor the Free Cities consider it unusual that Solvunn has remained isolated.

What you might've wondered, however, is this: why have the Heralds visited Solvunn twice now when they spare genuinely neutral lands like Nocwich and the Nether?

A Guiding Light

After Thorne's retreat, news begins to travel. It moves through Solvunn and Thorne first, eventually reaching the Free Cities. Multiple stories surface about the sea in Borrel, not about the storm wall or Koth, but something else - a mysterious lighthouse and a thick fog that's obscured the waters for days.

Survivors of one destroyed warship, The Queen's Secret, return telling tale of a light that beckoned them during a heavy storm. But the lighthouse keepers in the western sea swear they saw no ships come their way. The ship itself seems to have crashed into a massive sea stack that should've been easily avoidable. What lighthouse could have drawn them near?

Over the next few days, this happens again and again. Sailors looking out from shore confirm that they can indeed see the flickering beam of a lighthouse. It stands proudly in a spot where no lighthouse was ever built.

Then, on the final day, the lighthouse moves.

Blessings Granted

Citizens gather seaside despite sailors and guards ashore attempting to send them home. They watch as a naval officer and his men are sent to investigate. As the lighthouse grows brighter, its hypnotic pulse begins to pull others forward. Fishermen and noblemen set sail on their own civilian ships. Sailors of the Royal Navy break rank and order, as if under a powerful compulsion, and set forth in Thorne's prized warships. One by one, ships big and small pull out of the harbor in the dead of night.

Witnesses report strange limbs emerging from the base of the lighthouse. The limbs do not strike or attack. Rather, they open up like a waiting embrace. They gently accept each vessel that sails towards the light. Then they enfold the ship and pull it down into the depths. To onlookers, it's a silent but horrifying affair. Each ship disappears until only bits of wreckage are washed ashore the following morning.

A surprising number survive by abandoning ship, though some captains choose to go down with their vessel. Having made a crippling dent in Thorne's Royal Navy, the lighthouse vanishes. Back on shore in the Tertiary Settlement, the storm wall finally vanishes.

The incident above will lead a few changes in Solvunn and to the borders of the Badlands. We'll detail those changes in the Wrap-Up!

---

Comments

[princeofruin]

[There it is again. How often shall he be met with scathing sarcasm in response to his genuine inquiries? Perhaps he is merely unused to it because Terence was genuine to a fault, and no dragoon or citizen alike would dare use such a tone with the prince.

While he finds such ease in his conversations now relieving, it is worrying how often pain is hidden underneath humour. A coping mechanism that originates in every world, it seems.

Were he not so aware of himself, he may have taken Cassian's face in his hands to attempt to wipe away such dark circles with his thumbs and the warmth of light -- but he is aware, almost painfully so, because the space between them feels somewhat forced.] The aura of darkness that dogs your heels. [He means it almost literally; it has been a long war against the dark he has fought, and he feels it moving across Thorne as if it means to swallow all of them up. Odin is not needed to wield that force when it is so easily borne in the hearts of men.] I ask because I have experienced the same. I only meant to offer camaraderie, not to pry.

[diametrically]

[ Cassian didn't intend to have it come across in such a way. His propensity to pretend away his feelings isn't going away any time soon, even in the face of someone who is clearly extending concern when they don't have to. There were more important issues than him and his very obvious injuries that betrayed something else entirely.

All the same, Dion's concern wears away at his raw edges and he lets out a somewhat apologetic breath aimed at the path ahead of them. Looking at the man feels like a difficult task when it feels like he's been unwittingly rude. ]

You aren't prying. It just doesn't feel worth explaining when everyone else seems to be going through similar things.

[ There's a hesitation at the end there as he debates internally about whether to share something with a man that was, is, strangely intimate and unfamiliar to him all at once. ]

I've been seeing visions of people I know. They were alive when I left my galaxy but now [ His voice falters again, weighed down with guilt and worry. ] I'm not certain.

[princeofruin]

Talking does not feel worth it?

[The question is genuine; Dion feels he's going about this all wrong, but he isn't sure how he should be approaching it. This is not his specialty. If he is honest, Terence at times made him feel coddled; the prince's ills and pains always came first, no matter what. But not because he was the prince, at least where Terence was concerned... but because he would give his body and heart to anyone he loved, if he could.

When he receives further answer, he is quiet as they walk. A pace he lets Cassian set for them. When he left his galaxy. As if the thought of one planet was not overwhelming enough, even if he knows himself how strangely small a world can be from high enough.

He puts a hand on Cassian's arm. One truth deserves another.] I see my own death. The one I fell to, before I came here... and I am always pulling people down with me. [Is that meant to aid in his darkness? Dion isn't sure, to be fair. It feels like an unburdening of himself, and the worst moment to choose for it.] See? They were not similar at all. [Not that that makes anything simpler.] But as hard to accept as it is... they are only visions, nothing more. Ones intended to break us.

[He knows well that he died alone, after all.]

[diametrically]

[ Well. Dion had him there. He can't help but let out another airy breath that could be the echo of a laugh at his own expense and bull-headed stupidity. ]

I'm not much of a talker.

[ Not unless he has to be. He prefers to listen, to observe, to act when the time came for it. It's how he stayed alive. Or in situations like these listening is how he could provide comfort when words or physical touch might be otherwise difficult for him. But that isn't true either is it? Cassian would deny being anything like the man Terrence was; from the moment he had arrived here he had told himself that he would stay walled off in order to survive. But then he had found himself constantly torn between prioritizing his own survival and being self-destructive if it would mean taking care of those around him.

Maybe, in that sense, they were similar.

Dion's touch sends sparks of warmth up his arm and he comes to a stop, the gravity of Dion's admission like a lead weight that brings silence in its wake. It doesn't matter that the visions he had seen had also included reliving his death as a god over and over again that had left him with a sense of foreboding. His own demise, real or not, is something he could care less about. All his attention is focused on the man before him.

His expression gives away his concern, hardening back to a Herald who had cared so deeply for a god that he would take the weight of all his despair without any hesitation. ]

What do you mean before you fell?

[princeofruin]

You seem quite capable of doing plenty when you're attempting to stay out of trouble.

[And that is not a memory fueled by being a god, either; that one is personal, and all the more real for it. In the moment, he remembers being quite pressed about the whole situation. Now, it's so laughably prosaic in comparison to lifetimes of godhood, and nightmares, and war. What he would not give to go back to contemplating his life as he scoops out the wax from a candleholder.

That Cassian stops completely signals to him he may have said too much. Not because he wishes to unburden himself when his -- when Cassian is already suffering enough -- but because after so much imagined time, it feels nearly lifetimes away. He does not wish to avoid the question, either.] I am alive now because the Singularity has deemed it so. In my own world, I am already dead. [He looks ahead of them as he says it, thinking not of everything else he had left behind. It is different than being struck down without warning or meaning. Dion never intended to return from Origin.] These visions have contorted my memory of it in ways that are... disturbing.

[diametrically]

Time and a place.

[ Dion calling him out earns him a higher quirk of his lips, however brief and fleeting, making him look more like the man he'd had to clean candlesticks with all those months ago. As soon as it comes, it's gone again however all of his attention laser focused on Dion and the truth that had unexpectedly kicked off feelings he had been purposefully stifling and ignoring.

Their time together as gods had been so steeped in affection and warmth that Cassian had had no choice but to close himself off to them. The moments they'd shared hadn't been earned. In his mind, there is no obligation for Dion to feel like he had to check up on him when he wasn't the god that their shared dream made him out to be. Dion didn't know anything about him save for his penchant for trouble just like Cassian didn't really know him.

Reason dictates one thing. But his bleeding heart feels another. ]

How? [ There's a brief pause where he catches himself, realizing how sharp and demanding that sounds. ] Do you want to talk about it?

[princeofruin]

[A shame. He enjoyed even the smallest moment of amusement, if only for the way it lit his face.

How did he die, or how is the memory being manipulated? To the first point, Dion does not believe it matters. He is dead regardless, and he cannot imagine anyone should care to ask. So he moves on to the second point.]

I did not intend for this conversation to turn to myself. [Whether this was intentional on Cassian's part, he... well, he doubts it. Only that he decided the exact wrong moment to finally speak of himself, when they know so little of each other. Of the people they are, not the gods.] I am not against speaking about it, if you will share your experience in turn.

[Because that, truly, is what interests him. Not to compare notes, that is to say, but for... the connection.] Let us put up your vehicle first.

[diametrically]

I don't see it that way.

[ So much of him is controlled and intentional down to how he presented himself to those around him. But the change of subject hadn't been intentional. This was purely a reaction out of concern.

While he didn't like it, he'd had to come to terms with the fact that Abraxas, its people, and by extension the Singularity would do whatever the hell they wanted for the lack of a better phrase. Even the most powerful magic users he knew couldn't do anything to stop these things from happening to them. But what he can do, what was in his capacity to do despite what he said and sometimes claimed otherwise, is care.

He nods, agreeing to what Dion says. The work area where they keep the bike is near. After putting it back in his place he pauses looking over the damage before gazing down to his scrapped up hands. After a moment he glances back up to Dion. ]

...Could I ask you to help me bandage them?

[ He probably shouldn't be working on a bike with open wounds. ]

[princeofruin]

[A grim amusement comes to Dion's lips. That, he does not doubt. Cassian has a way about him... sharp. He's attuned to the people around him. It may be exactly why his power as a god manifested the way it did. It is not a skill Dion is close to obtaining himself. In some ways... he is even further walled off from others than most.

Time appears to be helping. But not quickly enough.

Dion waits while the bicycle is replaced, holding his hands under Cassian's to turn them over.

This seems more than the callouses from riding, but. Perhaps he shall learn where from. Dion does not pause to collect his words as is normally his way, quietly responding:] You can ask me for anything, Cassian. [He nods.] My room, if it suits you. The man I share it with is prone to small hand injuries. We keep a supply of bandages.

[Dion indulged himself, when he forgot to file the claws down and would wake with parts of his body flayed open.]

[diametrically]

[ Asking for things is not an easy thing for him to do. It has never been, and he can't foresee a future where it becomes easier for him either. Even the simple act of asking for assistance with his hands leaves him with a faint sense of discomfort. And yet in the same breath, hearing Dion says that kicks up more of the feelings that his god self had developed for him from the dust that he'd thought best to leave them in.

For all the control that have slipped through his fingers to his visions, he at least still has enough sense to wrangle his feelings back into place. ]

You might want to be careful when you say something like that to me. Everyone at home knew better. [ The vague warning is paired with a roguish charm; the very kind that he turned on people in Ferrix who always looked out for him despite how much of a disaster he was. ] I'm glad I ran into the right person then. 

[ He purposely chooses not to mention the fact that he carries a small first aid kit on him too. Dion's offer brings more comfort than his own patch job could ever bring. It's a remnant of a thought that he knows doesn't really belong to him, but maybe he wants to hold onto that in some way, shape or form.

They must look a strange sight. Two men, one tall and striking while the other is haggard and worse for wear trailing just behind him back to his room. It's only once they're there and inside that Cassian shifts. ]

Where do you want me?

[princeofruin]

[Unfortunate for him that Dion has spent a life that hardly comes with meeting devilish rogues often; he does not catch the intended tone of the words. He only looks at Cassian with some surprise, wondering out loud:] Careful? Do I have some reason to fear you?

[He hardly imagines so. Experience only lends that Cassian's intentions may be to use him, to take advantage... but that is hardly anything new.

It would be relieving, in some ways. There is no ambiguity when someone simply wants to use him. And to be used, to have a use -- it is the same as being wanted.

Dion gestures to his own bed, where his dragon lays curled up as easy as a cat, sleeping. She opens a single eye, spots Cassian, recognizes him (as Dion does), and then goes back to sleep, tucking her head under a wing. As Cassian sits, he opens a box tucked neatly on a shelf, pulling out bandages, gauze, and a poultice he has procured from the healers, given after he finally verbalized his hesitation to use magical healers.

He does not offer Cassian the advice of going to them, either. Dion prefers the tactile over the magical, and he has had many chances to wrap a soldier's wounds.] Your hands, please.

[He kneels in front of him, box of supplies opened at his knees. The first step is cleaning with cooling cloths that spread a slightly chilly gel where blood flows from split skin. It shall dim the pain first.] Why did you allow it to get to this point?

[The answer is matter-of-fact. It takes some effort if he's not constantly tumbling from the bicycle, and Cassian does not strike him as a particularly clumsy man. Gloves and lotions would alleviate most of this; this speaks to someone who did not bother with either.]

[diametrically]

[ The thought of using Dion is the farthest thing from his mind and that's not just because of the dragon on his bed. It would be a lie to say that he's used people in the past though. For their bodies, their connections, for his own gains. Right now however, Cassian can't imagine a scenario where he'd use Dion for any of those things.

As for the dragon, well, Cassian can't help but raise an eyebrow in silent question recalling his own interaction with Hiemka in the horizon not that long ago. Now every creature he saw was going to have him wonder if they were just some Summoned who had practiced turning into some creature in the domain enough that they had mastered it here. 

Instead of sating his curiosity he seats himself down on the bed. To say that it's relief he feels when he sees the items Dion pulls from the box would be too strong of a feeling to have at seeing mundane items. With everything that had been going on however it would be al ie to say that he doesn't appreciate the normalcy of this particular moment. Maybe comforting is a better word, especially when the cooling sensation begins to take effect. It's like bacta gel. Or at least it reminds him of it. ] 

Are they that bad? [ It appears the levity hasn't left quite yet. But he sobers up a moment later, answering the question honestly. ] It didn't seem worth it to do more than clean them. I don't think I realized how bad they were until now. 

[ He had rough hands thanks to growing up on Kenari and then on Ferrix where everyone worked hard in the salvage yard at some point in their lives. The callouses he'd developed only served to help him with the swordsmanship and archery he was picking up here. But the reality is he had scrubbed them raw like some sort of mad man after Zorne had appeared in their dreams. By the time the blood he had perceived on his palms had disappeared he'd physically drawn some in the process. Falling to the ground earlier hadn't helped matters either. ]

[princeofruin]

[Truthfully, no. All the digits are accounted for, and he has seen far worse. He's seen men without hands; he has lost his own paws as Bahamut, sliced by Odin's sword. It is not the state as much as the allowance of it.

Dion concentrates fully on his work, his gloves remaining on so he does not show Cassian his true hands, nor injure these hands further with his claws. He cut them this morning, but it should be no surprise if they had grown back once again.

With the salve applied, Dion washes the rest of the dried blood and dirt from them with a wet cloth. Like Cassian, he finds satisfaction in the tactile; to this day he has not attempted to learn further magicks beyond that which are only basic, elementary skills. It is only now he regrets healing is not one of them.

He lays a bandage over the worst of the palm, wrapping gauze around as he had watched Terence do many a time before. It is not bad. It is that he let it happen in the first place.

Dion breathes in, lets out a small sigh.] Are you punishing yourself for something?

[He asks, because he has done it to himself. Trained with his lance until his hands were raw. And with the dream... with all of the blood on his hands, perhaps there are other reasons, too. Perhaps things like godling, the call for the end, the war... it is enough to make a man mad.]

[diametrically]

[ With how close they are, with what Dion is doing for him, it doesn't escape him that Dion has chosen to keep his gloves on. Wearing gloves to patch someone up isn't strange in and of itself of course, but he knows that the visit to the crater had left him with some sort of physical change. To think that others had undergone similar changes wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination and the possibility that something similar had occurred to Dion crosses his mind.

Something to ask later, perhaps. Or maybe not at all. They weren't lovers anymore. And if Dion were wearing the gloves he likely had his reasons. ]

No.

[ The answer isn't so much of an avoidant truth to Dion as it is a lie to himself but he knows how it sounds. A beat later he corrects himself. ]

Maybe subconsciously.

[ It's clear to anyone who had known him, or at least some version of him, that he was weighing out his answer in his mind. But it isn't because he feels the need to continue to hide things from Dion but rather he suddenly finds himself conflicted on how exactly he wants Dion to see him. It hadn't been a problem before the dream. In fact, it's entirely possible he could have cared less what Dion thought of him. ]

I don't care what the gods think of us. But it makes me think about what people at home, the people I care about, think of me and what I've done. And what I may do.

[princeofruin]

[He releases his breath through his nose. What he suspected. Not because he knows Cassian well enough to guess... he simply suspects that they are more alike than they are different.

Perhaps that is unfair of him to think. He has no grounds to think so, really.

He wraps the hand firmly as he listens, quiet while he awaits Cassian's full answer, if he is willing to give it. And it seems he is.

So he may be correct in his assumptions, at least in some part.] If you mean as a god, then you have not done them yet. [He tucks the end of the bandage in, releasing his friend's hand. He packs up the kit as he continues,] There is plenty of time to change who we are, who we shall become. I know in my case, I cannot live with the idea I become that... thing. So I shall work to ensure I do not.

[He stands, and takes a seat on the bed beside him.] I have done things at my home that I shall never stop regretting. But I have been told by people who may know much better than I with such matters that there is a life beyond regret. That what we choose to do, now, is what will matter in time.

[diametrically]

[ Hearing Dion refer to himself in such a negative light has a part of Cassian bristling in protest. So many parts of that god life were lost to a haze of stardust and darkness no thanks to how self-sacrificing he had been but he could still remember the parts where he roamed Abraxas both alone and with others vividly. Not once had the Herald ever thought Dion to be a thing. And while it's entirely possible that that could be influencing him, Cassian can't say that he shares the same sentiment.

Instead of saying so however he bites back his response, eyes following Dion from his place in front of him to the bed beside him. His now bandaged hand still stings some from what Dion had cleaned it with but it brings about an awareness that hadn't been there before when his mind was still clogged with sleepless haze. ]

It's good advice. I understand why the Herald gave away so much of himself. It was to causes he believed in. So if that was influenced by me, then in that respect I don't regret it. But...

[ But he thinks about all the ignorance he'd lived with for so many years of his life. How he had thought that the little acts of defiance he did was enough against the Empire and had run from the fight when those around him hadn't. How selfish he'd been. For a brief moment his eyes flit down towards his hand. ]

I know what it feels like to need to do better. To want to do better.

[princeofruin]

[If you ask him, it is that the Herald was a bleeding heart, in the best sense of the term. And that part did come from Cassian. He cannot say for sure what, entirely, it stems from... only that he has a feeling.

The people they became as gods were exacerbation of pieces of them that already existed. Traits that expanded from experience, or love, or in his case... from fear, and ultimately from loss.

That is why the prospect is so terrifying. Because Dion knows he could become that god. There are pieces of him that wish to.

Dion lays a hand over his, careful of the bandage.] As do I. There is nothing stopping you, is there?

[diametrically]

[ A bleeding heart is not how he'd choose to describe himself. Even in a community like Ferrix where everyone looked after one another, being a bleeding heart against the backdrop of a galaxy run by the Empire was a bad idea. Bleeding hearts didn't survive. It was a thought that had followed him here. But it turns out he was doing a very poor job of staunching his bleeding heart.

Truthfully though there were parts of him too that still yearned for the warmth that being the Herald had brought him. As much as he'd hungered, he'd known happiness. Safety. Stability.

Those feeling rises to the surface at Dion's touch. Without thinking Cassian's fingers twitch, as if curling into that warmth and they stay like that. He lets out a breath of amusement. ]

Well when you put it like that, saying anything but no sounds stupid.

[ Dion's gloves may hide the appearance of his hands, but that doesn't stop Cassian from wondering again why he's wearing them. ]

Did something happen to your hands? Or are they cold?

[princeofruin]

[Since it is not cast off, Dion keeps his hand there. It feels... not entirely natural. Something he once did in a dream, perhaps -- a dream where his memories of bloodied men's faces, the last touch of life of a hand in his, would be evaporated like mist in Cassian's presence.

It is not the same now. But he is not there for relief of his own inadequacies. He is here because...

Well. He wishes to be.]

You could never sound that to me. [Not about this. Nothing stopping him does not mean it's easy. Nothing worth being done has ever been easy. Is that not the case?

His hand jerks away from Cassian's the moment notice is brought to him. Instead, the curve in his own lap, a horrified flush painting his cheeks. Only cold, he wishes to say. Move on from it. It does not matter.

But... this could be his chance to make them something more than acquaintances. Something more than men who suffered punishment together.]

They were... altered. When I woke up from the dream. [With a deep breath, he removes one of Jill's glove, laying it over his leg. And there is his hand: five-fingered, as it should be, but everything below the wrist covered in Bahamut's dark scales, ending in bulbous fingertips equipped with talons.] I prefer not to look at them.

[diametrically]

[ Cassian's ego wasn't so large that he believed himself to be impervious to sounding stupid or doing stupid things. Maarva's parenting had quickly weeded a lot of that behaviour out of him, but he wasn't infallible. The things that he'd thought were right at the time ended up turning out to be stupid in hindsight and frankly, laughable now. But he isn't about to start recounting all his stupid, teenage hijinks to Dion for multiple reasons one of them being that they're embarrassing.

Dion jerking his hand away from him is more important than that.

Concern flits to his face, his brow wrinkling ready to apologize for asking in the first place. It's not his place to press nor is there a reason for him to aside from his own curiosity. In fact, if Dion had admitted that it was just the cold Cassian probably would have left it there. Instead his gaze turns down towards Dion's lap to watch as he removes his glove revealing the hand - or claw - that it had been concealing.

Even if remnants of the Herald's affection for Bahamut hadn't been there, living a life in a galaxy full of beings had made him immune to things like claws. He doesn't stare in disgust. Instead he slowly extends his hands out again for them. Touch, even something as simple as this, is still Dion's choice. ]

A lot of people and beings in my galaxy would consider these strong. And I understand why you'd want to hide them, [ Dion's own shame aside, the locals might not be so open to the sight of them and might not think that staring is rude or would cause Dion discomfort. ] but you don't have to with me.

[princeofruin]

[He has not felt so unravelled in so long, there is a part of him that only can freeze under the scrutiny. Dion has spent as many nights as he has days thinking of what Terence would say to them, as well. They are a part of you, my lord. But he was not his lord any longer. He would not ever be again.

Cassian's hand is an offering, and he recognizes it as such. And though there is great turmoil in his chest -- perhaps more than the moment deserves -- he lays his hand in Cassian's, claws curled towards his palm so as not to hurt him. He recalls, quite clearly, what damage these did to Ramuh's shoulder when he did not mean to.

Unravelled. Naked, even. He had no such privilege as Bahamut, as the prince. He was not afforded such luxuries except alone with his second in command, behind closed doors. Doors thy would stay behind.]

Thank you. [Strong. It's the choice of word that mollifies his worries most of all. Not because Dion worries for his strength, nor for the lack of it; only that it is an interesting choice. Strong, not dangerous. Not lethal, or fierce.] I'm afraid my body has not felt truly like mine in some time, so that I --

[He pauses again, and now his smile is apologetic.] I truly do apologize. I meant -- I meant only to be here as you needed, but you have given me much more instead. I do not wish you to spend your night in my... emotional self-indulgences.

[It is only he once had an open ear for all his misgivings, his questions, his second-guesses. He is still so lacking in trust, but he is trying. He is trying not to be that god.]

[diametrically]

[ Cassian can't help but wonder what Dion means by his body not feeling like his own. He gets the feeling that when he says that it refers to more than just the shared dream, reminding him again of how little he actually knows about him and the life that he'd had before arriving here.

But isn't that what this tentative restart is about? Getting to know one another better? Learning more about who they were, not as gods, but as who they are now? They're both trying in that sense. Trying to trust, trying to be less guarded.

Whereas Dion's smile turns apologetic, Cassian's expression remains steadfast as his fingers curl around the sides of his hand reassuringly. ]

I'm not the only one dealing with the dreams from Zorne.

[ Nor is he the only one who's had to endure the things that this place has thrown at them time and time again. Cassian's other bandaged hand that lies in his lap flexes some, the rough feeling of fabric scraping lightly against his cuts. ]

I can choose how I want to spend my night. You bandaged my hands. Let me help you with whatever you need.

[princeofruin]

[He is trying. Great Greagor knows he is trying. It is only that he has so little experience with this, with starting anew, with being himself consciously. His efforts were always to being what he was expected to be, what he wished to be: the perfect son. The one who earned his father's approval, who did everything in his power, bled every drop of his blood, for his people.

Now he has neither, and even after seasons here, of living beyond the life he intended to, he still does not fully know what he is doing with the time. If it is nothing more than a waste, a continuance of suffering.

The difference is that he does deserve these dreams. He is still guilty of the blood he spilled.]

I'm afraid anyone with even the mildest of experience could have done the same. [However, despite his words, he seems charmed by Cassian's words. Brightened by them, even. He is not the only one making efforts here.] Would you... like to stay? For nothing but company. It is already late.

[He thought he should offer, as the hours turn darker. Of course his own place is not far away, but --

Well. He is trying to be true to his desires, as well.]

[diametrically]

[ That it was getting late doesn't even occur to Cassian. In fact, he seems surprised by it as his eyes glance towards the large windows before back towards Dion. Had this taken place before their collective dream, Cassian likely would have been inclined to find an excuse so that he could return to his room; his word, despite the genuineness behind it had always come with a condition that he felt comfortable.

Staying the night, however innocent Dion's offer was, feels vulnerable in some way not just for Dion, but for Cassian as well. He had never been good at staying. The restlessness and displacement that ran through his veins hadn't lessened with time. It occurs to him in that moment that he doesn't want to disappoint the man before him. Not after everything he had done. But it's more than just wanting to try and change his old habits.

Even now when there are perfectly valid ones that he could conjure up (he can't promise how quiet of a temporary roommate he could be with the recurring nightmares; he has a kitten to look after that had likely destroyed his room by now), he finds himself unable, or maybe perhaps unwilling, to speak them into existence. Truthfully, the thought of being alone right now leaves the weariness and chill in his bones all the more apparent. And the lingering warmth of Dion's hand? That feels as good of a reason as any to stay. ] 

I wouldn't mind. It would save me a walk down the hall. But - your roommates won't mind? 

[ Here he motions towards the other bed that, while sparse, has clearly seen signs of life and then of course to the slumbering dragon. ]