EVENT #10: AFFLICTION - IC POST

[abraxasmods]

Event #10 - Affliction

go to the OOC event info & plotting post

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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

[ofthesword]

[First time he think he's ever been caught. Like this, at least. Kind of nice to hear a little concern for once, instead of another dressing down by Nico. (Not that'd ever have her anywhere this close to a frost, but --)]

Oh. Hey. Hot hands. [He braces himself with a hand on Geralt's shoulder, waiting for him to wrench one of the icicles out once it's melted enough, but it sort of just. Keeps going. Until it's nothing but water running down his pants.

Cool. That's a great feeling.

Nero covers the holes in his chest with a hand, spitting blood into the snow.] Yeah. Not the worst thing I've gotten in me. Hey -- don't take that the wrong way.

[His arm on Geralt's shoulder points out his index finger. Maybe it's just because it's thoughtless. Maybe the Horizon just works when it fuckin' wants. But for the first time, Blue Rose starts to materialize in his hand --

And the final frost gives a screech as something very similiar happens to it: something goes straight through its torso, cracking ice, splattering more black blood. And as that thing dislodges itself, Nero can see over Gerlat's shoulder it's the antlers of a

-- A fucking elk.]

Oh, now you show up? I've been trying to call you for a week! Where the hell have you been?

[Yes, he's talking to the elk. Which flings blood off its antlers, regards him with a look that nearly borders pity, and runs off into the brewing snowstorm.]

Asshole. [He looks back at Geralt.] Looks like you'll live too, big man. [The holes under his stomach begin to knit together, skin and muscle healing.] Not bad with Queen. [He tips his head towards his sword.] And your first time with some real demons.

[gynvael]

[ The frost crunches as it rises behind them. He sees the gun form, is about to lean far away from the barrel—he's heard a rifle fire before; it isn't enormously pleasant to ears as sensitive as his—but then.

The fuck is—

Wait. He turns back to Nero, eyebrows raised. ]

Friend of yours? [ He watches the elk prance off with what he swears is an aura of self-satisfaction. The blizzard swallows it up. Blood stains the snow dark red, slicks his hands. Geralt sighs, pushing himself to his feet. The fight may have been brief, but the sun has still set in that time, sinking well below the nonexistent horizon. Night looms over the sky.

He hands Nero back his sword. ] Not an ounce of stealth.

[ Can hear that damn thing from a mile away. (It's got a certain charm, the sword. He'll not deny that.) ]

We need to find shelter. No reason to wander the dark.

[ofthesword]

Yeah. My elk. [He says, combined with a shrug, is about all the explanation Geralt seems to get for it. Nero checks the wounds, taking Red Queen and stabbing her into the snow while he waits.

His hand is bloodied when he takes it away, but the wounds are healed.

Still hurt like a bitch.]

Who said I needed stealth? This girl protects me just fine. [He gives his blade a pat, and as if acknowledgement, she disappears. Huh. Everyone seems to like doin' that lately once they've done their job.

A little annoying considering he's so used to Queen's weight on his back. Feels kind of naked without her, actually.]

Yeah, I guess so. 'Specially when I'm full of holes. Wind goes right through me! [He grins at Geralt, knowing he'll probably get another "shut up." And he's welcome, by the way. For the cool life-saving.] Guess we better keep goin' down. I'm not sure what's making those pop up here, but I'm willing to bet it's --

[He pauses. Squints into the dark again. He listens, waiting for another telltale crack of ice... but the wind's picking up, and as he turns around, up towards the peak, with the last vestiges of the sun still lighting it, the snow starts coming in harder.

Then: a light. But it feels like more than that. It's not the first time Nero's been in complete darkness. Surrounded by something much bigger than him. As the sun sinks and the snow swallows sound, it's like being there again. In that stupid fucking statue. Feeling the life sucked out of him, as solid as one of its hands squeezing around him. All he'd had in that darkness was a single spot of light.

Kyrie.]

Hey. [He starts walking past Geralt, forgetting about the disappearance of Red Queen, of the elk, of the frosts. There's just that light. Her.] Hey! Wait up!

[gynvael]

[ His elk. That's.

All right. Geralt accepts that without further comment. Nothing about Nero makes sense; he can acknowledge that the man can regrow an arm, sprout a tail, turn into a demon, and apparently summon an elk to ram enemies with its antlers.

He shakes his head and walks off. If it were anyone else, Geralt would have thanked them. It's Nero, so he doesn't. Not verbally. The understanding exists in the space where words are not spoken. It's not the point, that Nero would not have died. He still took a blow meant for Geralt. And that means something to him. Perhaps more so because—

Hm. It's difficult to explain. His thoughts are disrupted anyhow when Nero stops talking. Starts to walk in a completely opposite direction, faster and faster. ]

Nero— [ Geralt catches up, reaching for Nero's arm. He stares into the night, trying to make out what could be there. Nothing. No sound, no light, no shape. Just the blizzard and screaming winds. ] What is it?

[ofthesword]

[Anyone else, Nero would've ripped out of their grip or rounded on them to let him go. His heart quickens, and this deep tug rips at his middle for even hesitating. So tight, so sudden, it almost hurts.

Pretty much like the ice striking him through the chest.]

You don't see it? [He turns back on Geralt, frowning, but something suddenly desperate there, open.] She's --

[He turns back. That light is still there. Still pulling at him. And though it's sudden, out of nowhere, maybe it's the adrenaline pumping through him from the fight that has him not thinking twice about it.

Or he's just that fucked up. Nero misses her.

It's that simple sometimes. Nero's fingers curl into a fist, his arm growing tight under Geralt's hold.] It's the way out. It's gotta be.

[gynvael]

[ She? (The girl? That's the only she he's ever heard Nero speak of). Nero's heart begins to quicken, pounding in his ears.

Geralt tightens his grip. ]

No. [ His voice is firm. He hasn't any idea what Nero is seeing, but it is nothing good. ] This place hasn't got a way out. All it does is fuck with you.

[ That's how the damn labyrinth worked. He imagines this is more of the same. Monsters spawning from Nero'a memories. Now a flash of light he believes is worth following? Without question?

That's not an exit. That's a trap. ]

There's no light. It isn't real, Nero.

[ofthesword]

[The thing a little time does to him. He looks between Geralt's face -- hard, impassive, sees all the lines Credo once'd had when he was looking at him with that sick mixture of disappointment and pity. Back to the light. It's there. And he thinks -- he thinks he hears her, but he doesn't hear her. It's more like an echo.

He curses.

Any less time, he'd get Geralt to let go of him. There's no way even a guy as strong as him could hold Nero down when even Dante couldn't.

His free hand wipes his face, rubbing his eyes.] Again? How many times is this fuckin' place gonna do this to me? I just --

[He isn't pulling anymore, and though Geralt's grip is bruising, it's not what he's paying attention to.] I need to see her.

[gynvael]

[ When Nero doesn't pull any harder, Geralt loosens his grip. His expression softens. Yeah. He understands. He does. He's chased echoes of Ciri before so many fucking times. Her shadow in the Horizon. Her memory in those nightmares. Desperate, every time, that something might be wrong.

It is never easy to let go. ]

You can't. [ He pauses. ] We need shelter. If we're still here after the storm passes and the light lingers, I'll come with you. All right?

[ He's hoping they will not be here for the entirety of the night's blizzard. But if they are—then that's a promise. He will. If only because he knows how it feels, that inkling of what if. Sometimes it's best to confront it head on. ]

[ofthesword]

[Nero grits his teeth. With a pull, he jerks out of Geralt's grip, taking a step or two and then stopping. When he looks at it, it's like the light glows dimmer, and he gives it a second -- just one -- for the thought that Geralt might be keeping him from her to linger, but --

What'd be the point? Geralt doesn't know her.

He turns back to him. I'll come with you. Yeah. Yeah, all right. It's that offer that settles it.] Yeah, well, I'm not exactly a cabin expert.

[He's not back to himself; his tone's too quiet for it, but he is fucking cold whether or not he can freeze to death out here.] We can make a cave or something. Gotta be a big enough outcropping on this rock, right?

[gynvael]

[ A tense moment passes where he thinks Nero will take off. He's well aware he's no match to stop the boy if he does. Then Nero stops, and Geralt relaxes.

One problem resolved. For now.

He nods towards the eastern side. Up there. They'll find a cliff or an overhang that direction. True, he can try to manifest a cabin, a tent, but. So far, the Horizon has not been yielding to his will. He'd rather duck behind a wall of rocks. Not as though he's with a human. They're both sturdy enough in a storm, he and Nero.

He begins to trek up the snowy hill. It's rough, slow, but soon—Geralt leads them towards a pocket between the cliffs. Shielded on three sides. It'll do. They can block up the entrance with rocks, build a fire within. ]

[ofthesword]

[Nero gives him another nod, and it's the closest to promising he's not about to jet -- even if his eyes keep going to the light. There's no image of her, no voice, but he swears he can hear it, just like he heard it trapped in the darkness of Sparda's asshole. Nero... you came for me. You wouldn't leave me, would you?

He shakes it off.

Clenches his hands.

His boots trudge through the snow deep enough he leaves a clear path behind him. With his distraction, with knowing the frosts had to come from him, he's not willing to try making anything, either. The best he could do was Queen, but even she couldn't hold up long. Nero kicks the snow as his thoughts tangle up, frustrated, wanting to pull out of the Horizon and knowing something is keeping him in here.

It's like the dawning realization of being trapped. Of darkness closing in on every side. Of the way the walls of that rock squeezed in on him. Sanctus's goddamn laugh. A single light in the dark.

It'll do. Nero tucks in behind Geralt, even though the place isn't really made for two guys as tall as them.

At least it doesn't stink.]

Hey, what was that thing you did? With the ice. That somethin' you can always do?

[gynvael]

[ He pulls his focus into setting up. It's what he knows, burned into his very being; he goes about it methodically, gathering supplies, making use of the snow, eventually patching up a shelter that'll weather a storm for the night. ]

Mm-hm. We call them Signs. Small spells.

[ Practical spells. Point in case: where it's too damn wet for fire, Igni lets him do something others cannot: he heats a pile of rocks in the center until warm steam fills the air around them. It isn't a crackling flame, but it keeps the chill out. The stones will hold the heat for awhile.

Good enough. He leans his head back against the icy wall. Breathes out. The ache of the fight is beginning to settle into his bones. ]

You? No part-demon spells?

[ofthesword]

[Not that Nero's not willing to pull his weight, but he doesn't really know about this shit. What does he do? Look for sticks? This mountain doesn't have a single freakin' tree on it. So he just gets outta the way, expecting Geralt will tell him what to do if he needs the help.

The least he can do is keep a look out. Make sure his brain isn't popping out any more frosts. It's just -- the snow. The mountains in Fortuna. Hard not to put two and two together.

Nero's brows rise. Huh. Now that's a neat trick. He puts himself between the entrance and Geralt, but at least he's got some hot rocks at his back. Better than freezing his ass off.]

What? Surviving that shit's not magic enough? [He tosses a snort back over his shoulder, then turns back to face the blizzard outside. He shakes his head.] Not a magic kind of guy. Can turn into a demon, I guess, but it's not exactly flattering. I don't go around showing it off. [He rolls his shoulder.] Makes people nervous.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt, meanwhile, simply does not think to ask for help. He's often taken care of these tasks—whether travelling with Ciri or travelling with Jaskier—and there's a comfort in the familiarity in a place that's currently...

Not at all comforting. The barren landscape leaves him uneasy. So does the looming marble statues. He'll not say it, but Nero's company is appreciated. A good distraction. ]

Most things make people nervous. [ Yeah. He understands that. (Ask him how he knows.) He means to say something else when the ground trembles. The ice above them begins to crack. He manages to shove the rocks blocking off entrance, diving out before the ceiling collapses.

He grabs for Nero, trying to catch him before he falls right through the fissure yawning from the abyss—but the gap is widening fast, opening up under their feet. ]

[ofthesword]

Know some pretty skittish people, don't you?

[Not that Geralt's wrong; it's just a person thing. Anything that they don't understand. Anything that could hurt them. It's not like he was all that different himself --

Nero's head jerks up at the sound, and in a second he's on his feet. Following Geralt's lead, punching the rock in his way out of it, sliding out as ice forms underneath his boots. No. It's not forming. It's the snow, falling away, as a crevice fucking forms out of nowhere --]

Hang on! [Nero reaches back for him, skin splitting with energy as his arm reaches, stretching further than a human arm in the demonic transformation. He gribs Geralt's wrist and they fall --

Slamming into cold, hard stone so hard that even Nero is dazed. He curses, his body still feeling like it's tumbling through the air, his claws hand no longer holding Geralt. Instead scraping the stone.

He holds his head as he lifts it, looking around. It smells rank. Like sour mold and blood.] What the fuck just happened?

[gynvael]

[ He lands heavy even with Nero catching him. Cold stone, sticky blood beneath his hands. Dried, warm, congealed, all of it layered atop each other. Slicking his palm. The screams are as loud as he remembers, echoing off the walls. The air is suffocating. Sickly sweet, acrid, tinged with copper and rot.

Is he—?

Revulsion tightens his chest, curdles his stomach. He has been outside this room. He's even set a foot inside, once. But he has never been thrown in it without warning, where the door has bolted shut and with a blinding darkness. He can't see, he cannot breathe. It's utterly overwhelming in a way he's forgotten he can feel. Not since—the labyrinth, but even that had been different. He'd known, in the back of his mind, where he was. That it wasn't real.

Right now, he isn't thinking about what's real or not. He isn't thinking at all. Something inside him feels like it's fucking dying; his breaths are choking. Every beat of his heart sends a pulsing, scorching heat through his veins. Distantly, he hears someone speaking but it hardly registers.

He doesn't know when he lurched for the door. Doesn't make it, exactly. His fingers dig into the stone walls, finding the grooves in the scratches like it's the only thing holding him up. ]

[ofthesword]

[The fact Geralt doesn't answer at first isn't the most weird thing, but it is there's not even a grunt of pain. Or an annoyed grunt. Or a "fuck." Nero gets to his knees, realizing he's kneeling in something wet.

His demonic arm does not become human again. The rough scaling and spikes instead begin to thread through with glowing blue light; the only light in the whole fucking room. It's otherwise pitch-black in here.]

Geralt?

[The blue light turns it an almost unfamiliar color, almost purple, but he's been in plenty after that damn tree to know that's blood. Staining the floors in thick, stinking layers. Some as hot as if it was just spilled. Other patches cold, turned to sludge.

He jerks as a scream echoes around them. It's not Geralt's, for sure. Too high pitched. Like a -- a kid.

Shit. It's like the basement of a haunted house. Or a serial killer's.]

Geralt? [He nearly trips over him, thrown off by the way his light is reflecting off all the wet, off all the noises bouncing off and hitting him right in the head. Just like the Horizon, he guesses, for you to be on a mountain one second and then in a dungeon the next.] Hey. [Nero touches his shoulder. Between one scream and the next, though, he can hear him. Like he's choking on air.]

Hey! Geralt! Come on, man. [Geralt suddenly moves past him like a bear about to take a massive shit in a hurry, but he misses the door -- is that a door? He gets closer, sees it is. Shit. What the fuck is happening? Where is this?]

Okay, okay. Come on, big guy. Gotta get somewhere I can actually see. [He tries tugging Geralt, but too much resistance sparks Nero's annoyance (and this growing sense of dread he's going to cover up.) All right, fuck this. Fuck the Horizon. Fuck its little games. But pissed as he's gettin', he's not leaving Geralt behind.] I got you, grandpa.

[His transformation surges through him. It's not like manifesting a sword or a gun; this is him. Another tug, and it's sharper, until Nero's wings unfurl and he simply picks up Geralt with the two of them, ethereal claws digging into his shirt. Geralt's huge, and it's fucking awkward, but Nero's got plenty of strength to manage to get Geralt half onto his shoulder. Effectively four-armed for the moment, he holds Geralt and holds his glowing arm out to find how to open the door. A knob... a bar?

Seriously, not a single goddamn torch in this place?

With a oh, fuck this Nero simply shoulders the door, barreling out of it carrying the hulk of the Witcher with him. They fall out into more stone hallway, but a gust of fresh, freezing air greets them, pushing down the smell of blood for at least a second. Nero sets him down, slapping his face (lightly).] Hey, come on. Get back with me.

[gynvael]

[ Probably, it is for the best that Geralt hasn't got any idea Nero is fucking carrying him. He can't say how he'd even react to that. That he's been picked up like he weighs not an ounce more than a leaf.

All he knows is that he tumbles free of the room somehow, some way. He falls forward on his hands and knees as he struggles to catch his breath. Nero's slap goes unnoticed. But he does hear his name, filtering in through the haze of deafening screams. He sucks in air—fresh air compared to the stifling stench in that place. It twists his stomach, cold and sharp. Then he's heaving up a bitter, sour mixture of blood and bile—thick, black, splattering on the ground.

Fuck. Fuck.

He shoves himself back against the wall. His hands are shaking. He can't seem to stop; Nero is staring at him and he doesn't know what to say. Can't even remember how the hell they ended down these stairs out here. Weren't they on the mountain a second ago? He recalls falling, then—

His gaze lingers on the open door. It's not near as loud outside. But he can still hear it. Or perhaps he's imagining it. (Everything here is his from his mind. That's the damn problem.) ]

I'm fine. [ Shit. Fine is enormously absurd claim following everything. There's a sense he isn't even attempting to convince, that he's only saying it to say it. ] I just. I need a minute.

[ofthesword]

[Get back with me was sort of a hopeful order he'd expected to come with a gasp or Geralt glaring at him for the (light) facial slappage, but barely dodging some vomited black goo was hardly what he was waiting for.

Gross.

Nero's form settles on human again, the wings evaporating into blue specks of light that fade to nothing. He rubs Geralt on the back, the same thing he did when Julio got that real bad seafood poisoning the one time. Seemed to help. (Kyrie said it would help, when Nico had sworn she wasn't going within 30 feet of that bathroom.)

He only just misses Geralt clipping him with the fridge-sized angle of his shoulder.]

You are so far from fine, we're in fucking Unfineland. But it's cool. You don't need to be fine. [Nero leaves him against the wall for a second, closing the door that he may have blown open as closed as it can be. It sort of hangs awkwardly against the frame it (used to) fit in. Better than nothing.

Maybe 'cause it's so small -- or because Nero didn't mean to make it -- that the roll falls at his feet. He'd only thought: man, should probably shut this thing. He picks it up, pulling a long stretch of duct tape off the roll to help close the door more firmly.

Cool. Better.]

Maybe we should put a little distance between us and, uh, that. When you're ready. [Nero takes a seat on the first step, rubbing the back of his neck. The pain from the impact's gone and he's fine, but he's just. Really fucking confused. Where this is, and why Geralt's freaking out. He must have seen it before, right? 'Cause a little blood doesn't make a guy who hunts monsters do this.] I got your back until you are.

[gynvael]

[ A beat as Geralt stares somewhat dumbfounded at Nero tearing off a sticky strip of something to secure the door. It's such a minuscule, such an idiotic fucking gesture that it should not make him feel—

He doesn't know. Can't fully describe it. But something about the casual, thoughtless way Nero does it settles in his chest, between his ribs, and he breathes a little easier.

He does sit for a time. Isn't quite ready to move when he fears he might vomit more blood. Which makes no sense; he did not go through the Trials again. It's a memory. An echo. But his body believes it real, apparently. At least he no longer feels as though he might burn from the inside out. How long he stays by that wall, he isn't sure. Minutes? An hour? Nero stays with him, though. He isn't certain what to make of that, either.

When he stands at last, he's steadier. There's blood in his shirt, red stains on his hands. It doesn't matter. He ascends the stairs. They seem to go on forever. Eventually, he reaches the top and pushes open the door. The keep above is cold, foreboding, still infested with vines.

At least it's free of cries and death.

He sits on one of the benches and grabs the nearest bottle. His head throbs. ] Would've rather stayed in that blizzard.

[ofthesword]

[They sit, and it's quiet. Nero's a bundle of restless energy, but he doesn't really feel the need to disrupt the silence, either. He can hear plenty: Geralt's uneven breathing, the tape straining a bit against the blasted door to keep it in place. He leans against the wall with one foot propped up, looking at the door they've moved a little bit from. Just a stairwell up. Straight up. Carved right outta stone.

He takes the quiet time to try to put together what the hell's happening. The Horizon's fucking up, for sure, like a television merging two channels together. Neither of them wanted to be in a goddamn blizzard. And his -- the deer, helping once and fucking off? Falling from a cave into this?

And whatever this is, it's. Not something Geralt meant to confront. Something he didn't mean to make, maybe; something like the panther that dogs Nero's footsteps. That lashed out in the last few days like it didn't even recognize him.

It isn't his place to pry. But he can't help but wonder if Geralt will ever bring it up again.

Eventually, he stands. Nero hands him a towel (he meant for it to be, like, a little cloth, but what falls into his hands is a freakin' bath towel) and follows behind him up the stairs. The air grows colder as they go, and for a minute he's thinking they're heading right back onto that mountain.

Door opens to... well, not a mountain, but not exactly anyplace he recognizes, either. But it's weirdly homey, with the fires burning, long stretches of tables.] Huh. Reminds me of the eating hall in the Order.

[Maybe that's it. A place where people were meant to gather. Except there's a weird fuckin' tree.]

Yeah, well. You survived both. That's braggin' rights, yeah? [Nero tosses down a loaf next to him, stretching out his legs. Not sure if his company is helping, or if there's helping at all, but it'd be fucked to just up and leave.] Personally, I dig this place. It's warm. I mean, not literally, but -- this home for you?

[gynvael]

[ The towel ends up in his hands out of nowhere. Geralt frowns, distracted momentarily. He wipes his hands, then drops it on one of the long benches.

His instinct is to want to be alone. But the truth is, being alone will do little to help. Nero has already seen...all that. And Geralt is not ashamed of his reaction; it isn't about that. It's more. A discomfort. The kind that comes with being seen too closely, too clearly, before he's ready. Before he's allowed it.

He huffs. Bragging rights. Not quite sure that's what he'd call it. Still, the lines of his shoulders relax a hint. He tips back the bottle and swallows several long mouthfuls. ]

Mm. It's where we're made, trained. Live. [ Not where they die, though. Not since...that night. The only piece of them that often make it back are the medallions, if that. Most of those hung—they're from the ones who perished in the massacre.

Nero, he thinks, is the first to call it warm; in a sense, he isn't surprised. They grew up similar, from what he's learned. The Order, as Nero calls it.

He hesitates. Does he wish to talk about it? No. He just. It hangs in the air, a dark shadow, leaving his fingertips cold, an uneasy prickle over his skin. So fuck. Perhaps saying something will dispel that. ]

That cellar, it isn't meant to be there.

[ofthesword]

Made, huh? I got made the old-fashioned way. [Geralt gets a five-year-old's grin and a wiggle of his brows. Then he sobers, rolling his shoulders, looking into a pit of fire with a pot hanging over it. For dinner, huh? Explains the smell. Kind of like...

Chicken noodle soup.

And that's the smell that moves across the hall all at once; salty chicken, boiling bone marrow, the sort of bitter tang of celery mixed with sweet carrots. Nero gets the urge to look into the pot, half-expecting (three-fourths expecting) to see soup has appeared in it.

The bench creaks as Nero stands up, approaching the pot. He glances at Geralt over his shoulder, pausing by the fire.] Yeah, I figured. Since, you know... [He rolls his hand through the air. The black vomit? Not a normal color, unless the guy's been eating tar.] You've seen her. [He peers into the pot. It is definitely full of chicken noodle soup. Kyrie's perfect blend of what she calls mire poix and chicken and, because Nero asks, potatoes.] That cat. It's... it's baggage, I guess. And as much as I try to get rid of her, she sticks around.

[Two bowls fall onto the table beside him, and because Nero has been trained under Wanda's tutelage of "magic is fucking weird," he simply scoops out two bowls of warm, hearty soup, parsley still swirling on top, and returns to Geralt. The soup goes right in front of him.]

She's not even mine. She's my -- [He stops before he gets the word out. He still can't. Father.] I dunno, man. This place is fucking weird, and it likes messing with you. So eat some soup and don't try to think about it too hard.

wrapping!

[gynvael]

[ He sighs at that juvenile remark.

The pot, funny enough, has been empty since the moment Geralt created Kaer Morhen. He's not got any brothers to cook for, nor any that would do the cooking. In fact, he's forgotten about it until it begins to bubble and steam.

Can't deny a warm stew.

He takes another drink while Nero looks over the fire. Yeah. The telephone booth, the wildcat. He knows. ]

It isn't this place. [ He says it quietly. It's them. It's him. The Horizon simply exists to manifest through their memories and desires. For some, he supposes that means this. Confronted with what will not leave them alone. Baggage, as Nero calls it.

He blinks down at the offered bowl. Smells good. Hearty. Is Nero feeding him? He nearly shakes his head. It's nothing. It's just—it reminds him of Lambert, thrusting supper into his hands when Geralt would retreat to his room to brood as he was often accused of.

He takes it. ] Thank you.

[ He doesn't mean for the soup, though Nero can take it that way if it's easier. Silence falls as he eats; eventually, either Nero takes leaves on his own or Geralt tells him to (with some affection) get the fuck out already before vanishing upstairs. He has not gone up to his room in some time, but it's suddenly where he wants to be. ]