EVENT #10: AFFLICTION - IC POST

[abraxasmods]

Event #10 - Affliction

go to the OOC event info & plotting post

---

With tensions heavy across Abraxas and all the destruction that's happened, it's no surprise that the dark shadows which sweep over the land go unnoticed...at first.

Winds initially stir in Solvunn, where the influence of the Old Gods remains the strongest. Slowly each Herald infects Thorne and the Free Cities, as well. The Summoned are the first to feel its effects and are the most heavily impacted.

Though no one will realize it until well afterwards, Nocwich remains unaffected. After all, the Summoned don't reside there.

NOTE: This event will deal with themes of death (people and animal) and horror imagery.

Emergence

It begins sometime in mid-October, around the 18th. Not everyone will experience it at the same time. You might even believe you're spared until days afterwards 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 eventually come upon a stone tablet engraved with your Arcana. Laid on the tablet are three objects:

◎ A dead moth trapped inside a wilted rose, symbolizing Koth of Festering Lands
◎ A teacup inside which sits a single nightshade berry, symbolizing Adlewyrd of Poisoned Tongues
◎ An ornate cracked hand mirror that contains no reflection, symbolizing Sannleikr of Many Faces

Make a choice. Something inside your soul will be drawn towards one of the objects. Maybe you spend hours in the dream deliberating, but sooner or later, you'll pick one of the items up. The moment you do, the other objects vanish and the chosen Herald appears before you. Where one might expect a god to seek subservience, the strange figure instead extends a friendly hand towards you - as though it's greeting you as an equal.

Whispered around you, you hear its name. Then it fades and with it the dream. You awaken.

Affliction

You go about your day as usual. That's when you realize something isn't right. Creatures and people around you behave strangely. You begin to sense that you are the cause.

Depending on your chosen Herald, you'll experience at least one of its afflictions. The effects might start small, then grow. They might rush you all at once. You can't shake what haunts you, though you can try. Spells, potions, and willpower can help keep the afflictions at bay but you won't ever be completely free.

As the afflictions seep into your mind, you start to find shadows of it following you: a dead moth here, a nightshade bloom there, a cracked mirror elsewhere. You may even wonder if it's following you in the first place. What if instead, you are the one leaving these signs behind?

Corruption

The first time you inflict your ability on someone else, you don't mean to. It might be a stranger, some unsuspecting soul, or it might be another Summoned. Regardless, the afflictions that ail you seem to spread through you into another. Someone falls down as if in the throes of an invisible death or secrets spill. You brush by someone and they're suddenly upset and confused.

The more this happens, intentionally or not, the better you feel. You may grow full of life and energy, gain a renewed strength of heart, or radiate a charm that turns heads and garners compliments. The afflictions haunting you could even start to fade or completely vanish. And if you use your newfound power deliberately? You'll feel better even faster for longer. Of course, these boons are temporary, lasting at most an hour or so. When the feeling wanes, you might miss having it.

You are not possessed. You can't control this power that spreads through you, but how you respond or behave is up to you. You could be attracted to the allure of power, enjoy the boons you are granted, or realize you can gain relief from your afflictions if you choose a victim. Not everyone will fall headfirst into the pull. Some are not easily swayed by power, some struggle to overcome their dark impulses, and others would rather endure their suffering than inflict it on someone else. But others still might succumb to temptation and turn on those around them with purpose: once, twice, multiple times. The choice you make is yours alone.

Blight

With the call of the Herald at your fingertips, the world around you twists. No one knows whether this stems from you and your newly imbued afflictions, or if the Heralds are exerting power on their own. It's for sure easier to think of what occurs as the influence of something monstrous beyond your control. No matter the cause, the earth is changed all the same.

Omens

The omens arrive shortly after the initial Summoned receive their dreams, but they don't come to every faction at once. SOLVUNN is first, being home to the Old Gods' shrines, before THORNE and the FREE CITIES follow only days afterwards. Depending on where you are, the omens will affect things a bit differently.

Solvunn

In Solvunn, the ground stirs. A desiccated hand breaks through the grass, a cloven hoof. Human or animal, they crawl forth, animated against their will. Some might attack, but most do not. At the same time, crops around the settlements begin to fail. Some chickens lay rotten eggs while cows produce spoiled milk. Any livestock that perishes overnight will surface in the mornings with empty eye sockets - pecked out by crows or gnawed on by rats. From a distance, the ocean can be seen bubbling as leviathans beneath thrash.

Worth noting is that many of the dead are concentrated around the shrines, especially the ones deep in the woods. They're too decayed to recognize, and some might not even move from the site, as though they are waiting for the earth to take them again...or as though they once chose to give up their life at this very spot.

Summoned can assist by helping to cast spells or place warding charms around shrines, farms, and gardens to protect crops and livestock. As a commune, the Solvunnites will share their resources as much as possible and would appreciate those who might lend a hand bringing supplies, herbs, and offerings to neighbors who are lacking. The Summoned can also brew a common herbal remedy to aid any animals who have fallen ill or to help purify the well water.

Free Cities

In Libertas, the dead buried under the rubble dig themselves out. More crawl forth from graves in Cadens' cemeteries. Beasts and bandits slain in the desert wilds rise, hungry or searching for the ones who killed them. At the same time, dead fish wash up onto the shores of Aquila while birds fall dead from their perch, dropping like flies from an unknown illness. Vultures and other scavengers begin to prey upon the eyes of the dead, leaving behind hollowed-out corpses.

Worth noting is that in the Badlands, a few very old and skeletal corpses rise with a metal plate or two screwed onto their bones, which are also oddly elongated. Only one or two make their way near the city. The army is quick to dispose of them before many can notice. They will not disclose any information about this and will claim these are just monsters like anything else.

Summoned can assist by going on patrol with the soldiers to put down any risen dead. Merchant caravans are also hiring escorts for their journeys. Additionally, they can help look through any received supplies and packages to make sure the food isn't rotting or worse, use a special dissolving compound to purify the waters, and donate staple food items to refugees and the less fortunate who can't afford the rising prices.

Thorne

In Thorne, the dead emerge only from the outskirts of the castle city. Thanks to information from one of their Summoned and their recent monitoring of the Singularity, Thorne was able to act swiftly and was able to ward any royal or otherwise significant burial sites. Graves and tombs of less importance, though, will not be protected in the same way. There are fewer encounters with eyeless corpses, though some animals might appear outside the castle in such a state. Normally extravagant dishes from the Castle's kitchens use simpler ingredients as they struggle to ration their food stores.

Worth noting is that a few unexpected corpses make their way up from deep under the castle in places beyond the dungeons. These are twisted and mangled, missing limbs, heads, fingers. The castle guards are quick to dispose of them before they get too far into the rest of the castle, but one or two may be spotted.

Summoned can assist by contributing to the wards around Castle Thorne and the city, using spells to put down the dead without mangling the corpse, and taking inventory of food stores. Further, in Nott the situation is more dire for anyone who is traveling there to continue assisting with repairs following the attack. Nott will welcome help with any problems caused by the omens. It'll be clear the kingdom has neglected the city somewhat. Thorne will claim the Castle takes priority, of course, due to King and Queen residing there along with the entire royal court.

Apprehensions

Across the factions, locals are beginning to catch on that something isn't right with you, the Summoned. No one will say it outright, but there's an air of caution and wariness around you where you go. Merchants might be quick to hand you your wares so you'll leave or locals give you a bit of space when they walk by. Chatty innkeepers are more reluctant to hold lengthy conversations.

Much of the time, it may not be conscious. The natives might simply sense something off that instinctually makes them want to put some distance between them and you. The only exception? If you've chosen Sannleikr of Many Faces, you'll continue to exude your charm towards people you encounter. At least for as long as you continue to inflict that ability you've been gifted.

Displacement

Everyone responds differently while in the Horizon. You might exert better willpower over your afflictions or you might feel its effects more strongly. It all depends on the individual and their mindset. Regardless, the Heralds are only one part of the equation. There's a much bigger disturbance going on.

It could happen as soon as you enter or it might be as you're stepping over the threshold into another's domain. Whatever the case, you are suddenly not where you're supposed to be. Instead, you're in one of two places depending: transported into a domain you never meant to go into or in a foreign setting altogether.

Visitation

Whether you're the one transported or someone teleports unexpectedly into your space, the Horizon becomes unpredictable for the next little while. Rooms normally locked to strangers, areas you yourself may not even realize exists - you and your fellow Summoned continue to pop in and out despite your intentions.

The effect isn't painful, just disorienting, like missing a step you didn't see or stumbling through a door into a too-bright room. The person whose domain you've inadvertently visited might sense an unwanted presence, whether they're inside the Horizon or not, or they may be completely oblivious. This will depend on the strength of their connection to the Singularity and the Horizon.

Not to worry. You won't be trapped or anything in these cases...unless the domain you land in happens to seal from the inside. You might stumble on secrets you weren't meant to find, though, locked away in someone else's mind.

Ensnared

The less fortunate will be pulled into a space that they've never encountered before. The bizarreness of it resembles the glitchy visions that flashed through a few months ago, but rather than an image flickering by, you are now inside the space itself.

Trapped between minutes to hours, you can't use the Horizon's creation magic as normal. Attempts will falter or go sideways: trying to fly out might cause you to tumble, tools and objects are broken or not quite right, wounds don't vanish or heal completely, etc. More significantly, you can't seem to send or receive messages through your connection. Anything that manages to come through will be garbled and distorted. It's as though the place you are in is just out of the reach of your control.

Luckily, you may not be alone. Someone else may have gotten lost alongside you. They might already be there when you stumble through or they might arrive after you do. They might even fade out sooner than you, unintentionally leaving you behind.

Eventually, you'll be released back into the Horizon proper, spat out in a random place in the Horizon. While you're stuck, though, you can try to survive, explore, sit and wait it out, or make friends with your fellow trapped partner. Each area has its challenges and quirks that you'll need to deal with.

Scenes to Explore

JUSTICE ◎
FULL IMAGE

High in the clouds, these snowy peaks are as cold as they look. Giant marble hands reach out, though their sheer scale means you might not recognize them as hands from up close. You can scale the mountain, but if you try to go down, the hands will flip the mountain, which sends you tumbling to the top again.

It's up to you whether you can be injured when you fall. Maybe the snow will feel like marshmallows, or you'll break a bone on the jagged rocks. No two experiences are the same. If you have a partner, they could end up faring better than you despite being in the same place.

Conjure some warm clothes or a log cabin even if you wish - they might not manifest perfectly, but it'll be better than nothing. At least the view's fairly nice...while the sun is up. A blizzard will come through by nightfall. With it arrives a strange hovering light that entices you or your friend to follow it into the frozen darkness. What draws you out depends on you. It could be a familiar voice, an image, or a simple compulsion. If you're lucky, the person with you is unaffected and can try to stop you. Or maybe you're the one desperately chasing after the other person?

---

THE CHARIOT ◎
FULL IMAGE

From a distance, it's hard to tell if they're shipping containers or houses stacked atop each other. A gooey mess covers the ground below. Oddly, the smell isn't as unpleasant as the goo looks. It smells like bubblegum or cotton candy, artificial and sweet. When you first fall in, you might land inside one of the homes, on top of the stacked structure, or the ground. You can try to reach anyone else who's there with you, but be careful: the ooze is spreading. Climb if you must or move from room to room. If you don't keep moving, you risk getting sucked into its sticky mass.

Each block of a home is different. Some are furnished, whereas others are empty or filled with strange knickknacks. Some might even have subconscious creations spawned by you. Keep ahead of the gloopy substance, and you'll be fine, probably. Or you can try to fight it back or block its path by sealing yourself in a room or otherwise, which can slow it down significantly. Mostly, you'll have to hope you fade out before the pink mass completely consumes the landscape.

---

THE WORLD ◎
FULL IMAGE

The hazy neon glow obscures a nothingness that seems to extend forever. In the middle of the wet ground are several stacked television sets with wires plugged into nothing. Inexplicably, there's also a cat. At first, it appears perfectly normal, but keen observers will notice that its behavior is on a loop where it will walk a certain path, pause at specific intervals to lick its paws, and meow at set points. It does not acknowledge any of its intruders. You can break its loop by picking it up, at which point it'll go limp as a ragdoll. As soon as you set it down, it'll resume its actions as before.

While you can see the same images as someone else on the screens, it's also possible you'll each see something different despite being in the room together. What you see is up to you. It could be an old fuzzy movie, home videos of your childhood, trivia questions you have to answer correctly, or even a memory or vision you wouldn't want to share. Words or faces taunting you could appear between staticky flickers, or maybe your very thoughts are projected onto the screens for anyone with you to read.

Break the televisions if you want, but given a few short minutes, they'll reform between one blink and the next. Looks like you'll have to keep watching until you're released.

---

THE FOOL ◎
FULL IMAGE

Sprawling and massive, you're unlikely to recognize at first that you're trapped in a labyrinth. Stone walls rise around you, and your surroundings are pitchblack. Manifest a torch or a flashlight if you can, though these will be prone to going out at inopportune times. Escaping over the walls will only send you into another section in the maze.

As you navigate the twisting corridors, you'll encounter any variety of trials and troubles: gaps in the ground, spiked traps, haunting whispers, monsters, decaying corpses. Some of these might've formed from your mind, others might've spawned from anyone else who's trapped with you.

If you aren't alone, do your best to locate your fellow Summoned. Voices do carry and echo over the walls, and there could be landmarks that help you find each other. Finding the exit, however, is another matter. Walk and climb all you want. A way out is impossible until the Horizon chooses to set you free.

Players can pick any scenario that interests them from the four choices above. Unlike the visions from before, characters can accidentally be trapped in as many of the scenes as you want, as many times as you want. Another option is that they can stay trapped in only one scene while a variety of characters fade in and out to join them, or some combination of the two. Choose what works best for your plans.

Each scene will once again carry an associated Arcana etched somewhere inside it, which can change from person to person or instance to instance. It might be on a wall, a table, or on the ground. Characters with a stronger connection to the Horizon are likely to be trapped for longer but the extent of this is your choice and it won't ever exceed a few hours. It's also your choice whether the afflictions continue to haunt them or not. If you want characters to deal with both problems while stuck together, you're welcome to!

Generally speaking, there are no restrictions other than that they won't be able to communicate with anyone outside the area, they can't escape it until the Horizon chooses to release them, and their creation magic will go wrong just enough that it'll make things tricky.

Comments

For Dean - NSFW Themes

[nadine_he_loves]

As the days pass, the affliction that's taken hold of Nadine only grows. It should be alarming, really. A few impulse buys and mildly kinky sex have graduated to closing the clinic for an afternoon despite having nothing else to do, to drinking multiple glasses of wine when the mood strikes, and of course there's what happened in the desert. But it feels good, in some terrible way.

She doesn't realize that all the time she spends with Jaskier is only making her own afflictions stronger. Both touched by the same force, they simply encourage one another's curse to deepen and strengthen, each urging the other to further indulgence and temptation.

Which is why Nadine finds herself where she is. Until now, whatever thoughts she'd had in this direction were fleeting, vague things. Despite the nature of her and Jaskier's relationship, she hasn't seriously considered taking many other lovers. In the entire year they've had something between them, she's slept with one other person once. A myriad of reasons and excuses keeps her from venturing too far from familiar beds. But she's noticed people. There is no shortage of attractive adults among the Summoned of Cadens. And over the last few days that noticing has turned to something more tangible. And specifically focused, the urge coming and going until it refused to leave her mind. Until it was spinning half-conceived fantasies and playing out memories of flexing muscles and that charming little smile.

She's a sucker for a boyish grin.

It was a good half an hour of arguing with herself, her practical sense pitted against that oh-so-compelling voice in her head urging her to just do it. Unsurprisingly, the little voice had won and she'd put on a new dress - black, off the shoulder, the bodice a snug corset and the skirt uneven falls of black lace that show a good deal of leg - and a bit of color to her lips and eyelids. As she prepares the impulse only grows stronger and her decision feels more right.

It still feels right as she finds herself outside of Dean's door after sunset, knocking firmly. She's relatively certain he's in. And likely to be alone. She has no backup plan for if he isn't, but the idea never entered her mind.

Only one thing filled her thoughts at the moment.

[gynvael]

Oh. Of course. Of course she isn't. He can't talk; he doesn't struggle with creation in the Horizon, but it's still concentration, still on rare occasions prone to going sour if he isn't careful. If his mind is too full of distractions.

He lets her try. Watches closely, focused on it in an effort to drown out the tightness in his chest. His blood boils hot in his veins. Not real but real enough. Is it this place? His own damn head? The door doesn't form near quick, and he can't even be angry at her for all the overwhelming agitation that wraps around his throat. If there's one thing he understands well, it's how the Horizon can turn on you.

Shit. He lays his hand inside the glowing outline as if he might be able to help it along. The rough stone wall under his palm smooths, but no real door takes shape.

"Try again." His voice is tight. An order, a demand, a need for this to work. If not a door—then what? Widen the damn room at least? That won't help. It isn't the size of it which bothers him.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt joins Nero in peering down. Endless blue sky and white clouds. Typical. Now what?

He looks back up at the mountains, the sun, the smooth marble. He does not yet quite make out the shape of hands, but he's beginning to—starting to put together that they aren't individual marble pillars, but part of a larger structure.

Wait. Flip? Is that why? Because he went down?

Well. ] Suppose we're going up.

[ Where else if down isn't an option? He starts forward. ]

You haven't felt this before in the Horizon?

[tobeclosetohim]

It probably says something that no one in the tiny box has time to remark on that Jo doesn't glare at him when he bites out those last two words, so tight they could pop, so demanding it might as well be the crack of a whip, no matter that she can hear that part, under it, shaking like glass ready to shatter.

"I'm still trying," Jo says through mostly gritted teeth. "I haven't stopped trying."

It's just sitting there like that. It doesn't look anything like what Jo's picturing except for its shape, and that shape is just the shape of any door anywhere. Even as Geralt gropes the wall for purchase or handle, nothing is firming up, and Jo has no clue where to pull anything else from to make this work any better. It's invisible dream mumbo-jumbo that gave her back her childhood house. (Well, and Dean mixed in that. But no time.)

"It's just not. Doing anything else." Jo lets go, a wave blowing back through her body. Unclenching her muscles, dropping her shoulders back down from how tight they'd pressed. "I can't make it do anything else." She doesn't like that idea already, but that crack of light shape on the walls stays like a glowing reminder of failure to needle at her. "Maybe it has to be both of us."

[gynvael]

She is. He knows she is because he can see it, and that's the problem. She's trying and it isn't happening. This is beyond having difficulty. Something is interfering—in the back of his mind, he realizes that. At the moment, there isn't space between all the shit running through his head for him to untangle the threads.

Even beyond this room, they still have the problem of the domain itself. If it is a domain.

He glances at her. That's not how the Horizon works. Except, that isn't quite accurate. The Horizon should work however they wish. He's done it: added a window to a wall that another made. He should be able to reform a door that she cannot finish.

His hand drops from the incomplete door. Sighs. "I can't."

No why follows. He can't.

[righteously]

( Well good news for you, Geralt — there's a god damn crapload of books here to fill your time. It'll probably result in Dean calling him a total dork, but considering the reason they exist here in the first place it's not gonna be much of a sick burn.

Of course the son of a bitch leaves Dean hanging on by the edge of his seat for a million years while he stands there silently, impassive, harder to read not because of anything he's doing but rather because of Dean's own underlying self-consciousness.

It is more. It is significant. If they're being honest here, it probably means more to Dean that Geralt takes it than it does to Geralt that he's offering in the first place.

This is one of those times he takes seriously enough to let the silence linger without trying to fill it.

The response he finally gets has his shoulders relaxing incrementally, a gentle flood of relief that follows recognition of a hunter-speak version of yes. )

Like a swarm of bees sawing a log.

( It rolls off of his tongue too quick to be a thing that's even remotely true. )

[tobeclosetohim]

"No. No-no," Jo says very close to the heels of his two words. "You can. You were lighting the torches, and you made that thing—" She gestures with her hand back in the air. "—in your hand earlier, whatever it was. When we first got here."

Yes. Jo can be extremely observant even when it's not apparent.

"Look, I know these are not the circumstances either of us would choose—" And god is that an understatement. "—but maybe if you talk about whatever this is, maybe you can help me make a better door out of whatever the hell this is." She raises a hand that hovers, making a circle, before her fingers pull back, gesturing to the whole of him. "So." Said with a beat, like she's giving him that one beat to take a breath. To follow her, without the chance to say no first.

But her voice doesn't demand, it coaxes,
something warm sparking in her chest,
"What is all of this?"

She'd never seen him so much as flinch at anything she'd said until that room.
And this. This was nothing like that. This was nothing she could label.

"Is it the space? Is it too small?" Jo groped, just taking her annoyance with a breath in out on her words, too. As much a release of her tension as just letting her voice fill the space, so maybe he would only focus on her and her questions. "Is it this horrendous smell that I swear has kicked up 2-3 more punishment notches since the door wouldn't form like someone decided they could turn children's cough syrup and, I don't even know, dirt?, into the bastard red headed stepchild of candle scents? Because I've got to tell you, I feel like it's trying to grow a colony on the back of my throat right now."

[gynvael]

The torches, he wants to say, are simple Witcher Signs. Removed from the Horizon. But she's not wrong. Nothing is truly removed from the Horizon while they're inside it. Creation doesn't feel right even before they spun between these walls, but that is not the reason he says I can't.

He doesn't want to speak of it. Not to anyone. And yet. Perhaps it's the gentle prodding, the first time she's asked instead of flinging the first bullshit that comes to her mind. Or maybe he's just fucking tired and it isn't that hard to wear him down at the moment. Even so, the silence stretches taut, spilling into minutes.

She must have linked it. The fetor of toxic brewed herbs and additives he never knew the name of. How it was there in his place, too. He doesn't bother to pretend it means nothing. It's been following him since they fell into this fucking...trap of a realm.

"I didn't dream it. That room. I lived it." In a manner of speaking. He didn't die in it, at least. "It's not meant to be there."

It's not meant to form here, either, but evidently it has. There are some aggressive downsides to existing in a space sprung from one's thoughts.

[tobeclosetohim]

Whatever Jo was expecting to have to talk him down from?
It's not the words that come out of his mouth.

Jo's mouth opened as though she'd been spring triggered on a loop, ready to take whatever he said and spin right back for him; however he needed to hear it put. But her mouth opens, semi-closes, opens. Her brow ruffles in it. Because. She couldn't've heard that right. But there's nothing at all to steal a scrap of sound from bouncing all over this tiny god-forsaken lockbox.

She doesn't even. That makes no. He can't. But. If he. The beds flash in her head again. The chains. Child-sized. He had to have been a child at some point, right? Did that. Was she. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. (A flash, again, of that sheer rage in her face.) She opens her mouth again, and it hesitates, trying to find the right words because you're shitting me, right? are not the words that will get her out of this room.

(It's not quite an invitation for round two,
but she doesn't need to be any closer to this wall than she is.)

And, even in her head, she knows they're a bright bit of poison for shielding herself, more than rebuffing against him, against that precarious crack with Dean Winchester's name on it wrapped around the whole of Geralt's existence. A contradiction in trust and confidence.

Jo pressed her lips together, tongue licking her bottom lip, before finally.

"That's -- it's -- a memory?"

[ofthesword]

What good's that gonna do?

[He crosses his arms, wrapped around his torso. He's not exactly immune to cold, but it's not gonna kill him, either. And this storm is gearing up, blisteringly cold.

Nero closes his eyes. Not that he's trying to ditch Geralt, but he'll get it. Except the cold doesn't end. The howling wind continues to howl. He opens his eyes back into long swathes of white.

And we can't leave.]

No. I'd remember. [Where the hell would he find this, anyway? It feels bigger than a single domain. But he's not the expert. He hardly spends time here.] But I can't leave. I'm not... you know. Waking up. [As he peers up towards further near the peak, there's something like a spark, like the sun flashing out from behind a cloud. A mirror catching light.]

Wait. [He spins, taking a few steps backwards towards Geralt.] Do you hear something?

[ofthesword]

Ugh. Don't point it out. [Nero huffs in a way that would be totally cool if he wasn't sort of annoyed by how obvious this all is. But he's playing it like it's a chore, even if absolutely no one asked him, least of all Thor. The way he figured it, even though he was supposedly a god, he didn't really. Expect anything out of it.

The moment they're out of the farmhouse, he tips his head up towards the sky. Yeah, Thor's not dead, but might as well be. He doesn't have any confidence they'll ever meet again.

But maybe it's fine. Maybe he's back with his girl.]

A little before Aloy's, uh, territory, I guess. Don't want her stumbling over it. [Because it would be totally embarrassing.] Or anyone else. [Basically he doesn't want it messed with. Or some other weird god to think it's for them. Who fuckin' knows?] I did gather some herbs, though. Guy I met said it'd help keep animals away.

[cointosser]

You like ruins! [He throws up his hands, then drops them.] I think.

[This week has been a strange one. Simply pieces of his life that feel jagged where they once were rounded. And surely, Alucard's anger should surprise him -- it is so rare he truly sees (or feels, as he can certainly feel the hair rise on his arms) anything beyond a mild irritation. And further more than he should see Alucard's strength, so easily forgotten when he isn't carrying a several-hundred-pound beam or pillar up by himself.

(Some part of him likes it.)]

Are you not fucking tired of being bullied about by the dead? I know that I am. I am tired of their grip on my life when they have already spent their own. They dog everyone I know like shadows. They could not even respect the work we put into this place. Why should I care for their anger when their indifference hurts just as much?

[Jaskier may only be able to crush leaves, but when he looks down at them, the thought is almost exhilarating -- if only for a moment.] Perhaps the dead will finally be righteous against those who deserve the anger. But I've yet to see a body in Libertas rise to trudge its broken way to Thorne.

[It is not only the first time he has even mentioned the lives lost in Libertas so directly to Alucard, but that he has spoken of them directly to anyone. A legion of dead, revenge the power of their reanimation, moving against the Queen. Why does the world never create something so beautifully convenient?]

[gynvael]

No. She would not expect it. Why would she? Geralt isn't looking at her, but that doesn't mean he can't see her out of the corner of his eye. They're stuffed tight inside the stone enclosure.

He knows. What she's thinking. About what she said to him before. Perhaps someone else might've found satisfaction in her inevitable regret, but he does not. There's a reason he's not ever defended nor explained himself. He shouldn't have to. He should not need to burrow into the deepest fissures of his memories to prove his existence not a monster.

But this is something else. It's been laid bare for him.

His gaze flicks to her. Stays on her for a second before he looks at the half-formed door. That is answer enough. Yes. A memory. A nightmare. What is the difference? Was saying it supposed to help? Seems as though it helped fuck all.

But he spoke it. It's out. So here they are. The smell is not stronger, but it's not dissipated, either. He stares at the pulsing glow. Forces himself to think. Perhaps a solid door is not the answer. If everything is cracking, decaying—

The outline fills, morphs. A door does form: splintered, the wood rotting, and he just. Shoves it, once, twice, with a burst of magic that shatters it open. He tumbles out. The stale underground air is the freshest breath he's taken in an age. His stomach lurches from the abrupt change; a rush of cold air wraps around the heat under his skin. He hits the ground on his knees, heaving bile that clings bitterly to the back of his throat.

[catholica]

What?

( the words are still sharp, cold, icy in a way that he's never been with her. he straightens, shoulders tense and he turns towards her, face a mask of angry exhaustion. )

What, Wanda? What wise words do you want to impart on me about this one? Huh?

[carmesi]

[as he straightens, wanda hunches over herself a bit, taking a step back, her hands pull together, fingers threading together in her usual display of nervous 'not-sure-what-to-do' reaction.]

I wasn't. I—

[is that how he sees it? 'wise words to impart onto him'? she bites down on her cheeks, lips a tight line.

the televisions switch channel.]

You're fine. You're fine. You're all going to be fine.

[it's as if it's trying to fill into their conversation, the memories that play out of wanda in westview, surrounded by its inhabitants, confronting her. wanda on the screen arguing a case she doesn't even sound certain about.]

I've kept you — safe, in here. You — you feel, you feel at peace.

We feel your pain. Your grief is poisoning us.

No. Stop.

Let us go, Wanda. Please.

[until the voices conflate into a chorus of pleas for mercy; until wanda erupts from the stress, screaming in distress, her chaos magic choking those around her, effectively shutting them up.]

If you won't let us go, just let us die.

[how often does she try and ends up literally and metaphorically squeezing the life out of those she wishes to help? how many times does she impart torment and just apologizes after? does— does matt feel like this?

her voice echoes at the same time as herself on the screens, the same words, the same tone:]

I'm sorry.

[she's always sorry.]

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo's brain is scrambling as the door shifts, rots, explodes forcefully enough to send debris every which way, making her throw her hands up over her face, but she can still hear it. Geralt's not even looking at that as he throws himself through it and down to the ground. Smacks that ground in a jumble on his knees, which might be the least together, solid and stoic, she's ever seen him, and then, his back is shuddering forcefully, and he's retching into the hard, cold earth.

A fact that sticks hard for a second, and her mental claws dig into that passing scrap of logic like a door in a tornado. The ground isn't the same either, making her look at everything around him. Barren dirt packed between those same walls and three pathways not far off, but nothing that looks like immediate danger, whatever the fuck that even might or might not look like now. But there are more pressing things, and she scrambles out the door.

It's more graceful than him, uses the bottom door ledge, twisting to hang from it, and doing a drop from there, rather than a free jump right out the door at the ground hard like a missile. Approaching him quietly, waiting for him to stop retching, awkwardly uncertain of moving forward and staying back both, Jo lets him get it out of his system. Until it's just the soft, low, grasping for air returning to being called for the outpour.

The smell is still there, but it's got more air to mix with out here.

Jo crouches down, nearby but not right by him. Conflicted wariness (her mind shouting that there are still horrible monsters that started out as innocent people; it doesn't change who they are now, why they have to be stopped), but it's all part of that whirlwind. It can't latch down. It comes, screaming, jerks away into the tumult just as fast.

"If it's not supposed to be there, why is it there?"
Because it's really, really vividly there.

She shouldn't ask. She shouldn't. She knows better. It's a goddamn door with a big red x flashing blinding. It's details she doesn't need, details that will only trip her up, tangle in that mess of her chest. "What happened there?"

When was she ever good at listening to anyone, even herself?

[catholica]

( now, that's...that's gross. matt's managed to put down one of the undead just in time for the head of another to roll up close to his feet. he can't see it but he can hear the slice of the blade and the chattering of teeth and he can't help the face he makes. )

Nice one.

( there's someone nearby, carrying a blade, who clearly knows what he's doing by footwork and blade work alone. there's plenty of people out here that are helping but a lot of it is brute strength and brawling.

this man — he knows what he's doing. )

[righteously]

Nadine's right — Dean's alone. For anyone who knows him well enough (not many do), it's a hefty red flag. Retreating into solitude is terrible for him, and he only does it when things are bad. If there's anybody on the planet that absolutely does not need any help feeling guilty or angry, it's Dean Winchester. So, yeah. They've been bad.

It isn't Jo's fault either, what she's been doing. That effect that radiates off of her is ambient, it's passive, she probably doesn't even realize it's her. Neither of them do. Nevertheless, it's effective at reinforcing the loneliness that's been eating him up in varying amounts since he was four years old. There has always been a hole inside him, and at times vacancy radiates an ache that eats him alive.

He used to try and fill that with sex. One-night stands at bars, more strangers than he can count, names he doesn't remember. At some point, his will and enthusiasm for that died. It felt hollow, waking up the next morning to somebody he knew he was never gonna see again.

But Nadine's not a stranger, is she? And she's not going anywhere any time soon. Maybe that's what makes the real difference.

He opens the door, hair still in damp spikes from his bath, expression grim like he fully intends to shoot down whoever it is that's come calling — except he didn't expect the person actually on the other side.

"Hey," he says, faintly surprised. A second later, he processes the rest of what he's seeing. The lips, the eyes, the dress — that impact is visible on his face, but even if it weren't, it escapes in the form of a taken aback, "Woah."

God damn, somebody's dressed to break some hearts tonight.

[righteously]

The mark is getting bad — or his affliction is getting bad, or maybe they're feeding into each other like a god damn feedback loop. Whatever the case, Dean hasn't exactly been what you might call emotionally stable. He's angry, violent, and he only has one outlet to satisfy it.

Fortunately for him (unfortunately to the world at large), the dead have risen in droves. He has a reason to be violent, he has justification, he has a near-endless supply.

(He has an excuse.)

He's covered in old blood. Absolutely filthy with it. His clothes, his face, his sword. Fighting his way through a cluster of them that have formed by a normally populated gate — there must be twenty or more here, and he's gone full autopilot. Tearing through sternums with steel, decapitating one after another.

He almost doesn't recognize the guy.

It's blue eyes that make his sword stop abruptly mid-swing on it's route to take off the thing's head. It's like looking at a nightmare made specifically for him, and there's a hoarseness in his voice when finally manages to speak.

"...Cas?"

[catholica]

( maybe somewhere, deep, deep down, he knows what he's doing isn't right. but, it can't be stopped. he can't be stopped. it feels like a poisonous root that blooms and blackens his blood. )

What did you do to them? Did you let them die?

( he walks over to a screen and peers at it like he might be able to see it and then he puts his hand through it again. )

You had the right idea.

[gynvael]

[ The last time Geralt landed in this spiralling maze, it had not been the most pleasant of excursions. He isn't thrilled when he walks into Jaskier's domain and tumbles back in here again.

Fuck. He sighs. Could he stay in one place? Perhaps. Wait for it to expel him. But he isn't certain if that will make things worse, and the truth is, his head is not in a place where he can sit still and empty it of thoughts. Part of him is afraid he might—

Create things. Unwittingly. To form around him. Like the last time.

So he walks. He thinks he might be alone; at least ten, fifteen minutes pass. Then a voice: familiar, just beyond the wall to the east. He stops. ]

Thancred. [ He raps on the wall, like it might carry through to the other side. Well. At least it's someone he won't mind being trapped with for a bit. There's a wry, ] You made it to dinner.

[ He's already looking up the length of the wall. Perhaps there's a way to scale it? From his end, if not Thancred's. ]

[dirtytrenchcoat]

The dead have risen and Castiel felt partially responsible, seeing death everywhere he went had taken its toll and in the maelstrom of sending the corpses back to their eternal rest, he completely misses the other hunters working alongside him. Normally, that wouldn't include Dean but this time it did.

Castiel is in the direct path of the blade, looking world-weary and tense. Even spattered with blood, Dean is unmistakable to him, and short of taking a knee, he lets his own blade slip from an assault position to something more restrained. "Dean. Hey."

The constant guilt and trepidation have left him scattered and disoriented. Committing all his focus toward penance and clearing the city of the dead he helped raise was a way to stave off those feelings.

[carmesi]

[the screens go back to static when one of them is broken. wanda takes a step to the side, shaking her head, because that's—

that's unfair.]

I let them go. In the end I let them go.

[because she did, even if it meant sacrificing everything—her perfect life in westview, being with vision, with tommy and billy, with her family.]

Do you really think I'd just let innocent people die?

[gynvael]

A breath, drawn sharp between his teeth. For a second, two, he forgets Jo is here, though distantly he's aware of her moving. His pulse thunders between his ears. He digs his nails into the rough ground until the pain reminds him where he is.

Fuck. Since when did he grow so quickly overwhelmed?

(Since a day or two ago, if he's being honest. Since he dreamed of fire, consuming, and a desiccated flower. And as he lifts his hand to wipe it across his mouth, a single wilted petal flutters, unnoticed, crumbling to dust.)

He pushes himself upright—not standing, but leaning against the cobwebbed wall behind him. His head tips back. He heard. What she's asking, he heard. There's just not an answer to give as for why. Not one that isn't obvious. As for what happened—

He wishes to touch on that even less.

"What does it matter to you?" His gaze slides towards her. Not angry, just tired. Exhausted. "So you can search for new reasons to justify your contempt?"

[cryptsleeper]

[He has really good hearing, okay?! It bothers him.]

That....yes. Both options seem pliable. However, the vines strangling us to death feels like an option regardless of staying put or moving forward.

[Alucard's eyes move around for a moment, searching for something to toss as an experiment. To the right of Altaïr's shoe, there's a rock. And it takes little effort to pick it up and throw it against the wall of ivy.

Nothing. Nothing at all.]

Inertia doesn't fill me with relief, I'll admit.