Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part 1

[faileas]

Event Log: January, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part 1

The Evergreen Circle Something is happening in Aefenglom. A rash of disappearances has finally caught the attention of the authorities, but only thanks to a strange twist: a handful of the missing individuals are starting to turn up again, and not as they should be. It began with a harpy. After a week of nothing she returned, fully transformed into a Shade and too far gone to save. The same happened with a trader the next day. And the next with a witch. All three were infected, albeit to varying degrees, and only one of them was able to be brought back from the brink. Naturally, this is a huge cause for concern. There's little sign that the Bright Wall is damaged and none of the victims were known to have left the city. Questioning the survivor, Owain, doesn't produce any leads either as he can't remember anything before his disappearance. It's only after he's had some time to recover that he notices something off. As the blackening of the Cwyld fades, a small tattoo on his palm that wasn't there before becomes visible. To the concern of the Coven, it's a symbol that's familiar to them as the emblem of a rising spiritual movement favoured by the wealthy called the Evergreen Circle, led by a witch called Cillian Alder. Their purpose, he claims, is to provide hope through interrogating the Cwyld from a scholarly and philosophical perspective. In spite of this, Alder has developed more of a cult-like following than anything. Mirrorbound of standing (business owners, members of parliament, public figures, etc) might have already received one of their pamphlets. Naturally, it's an incredibly sensitive subject. The Evergreen Circle has been entirely peaceful up until now, and with such influential and powerful figures among its numbers, the Coven is reluctant to make any outright accusations. Instead, the task of investigating them has been covertly passed to the Mirrorbound. As outsiders, they stand less of a chance of causing political unrest. However, they explicitly warn against taking any hostile actions for the time being: this is an information-gathering request, nothing more. They can provide basic information about the Evergreen Circle meetings but that's about it. a. Preaching to the Choir (Every Friday Evening, Mid-Ieneuer to Early Feoveuer) Cillian Alder Art by Rachel The hall is buzzing. Though there aren't even enough people here to fill the place, everyone seems to be bubbling with excitement, exchanging loud greetings and introductions. They're particularly friendly to newcomers and are quick to offer up their experiences with the group: "Cillian is a truly free thinker!" "I haven't felt so positive about our future for a long time." "There’s a real sense of hope and community here in the Circle." The meeting convenes at 8 o’clock sharp and silence descends upon the room as a figure takes the stage. With his commanding presence and charismatic smile there's no doubt about who this is: Cillian Alder. A man in his late fifties with greying hair, he speaks with an accent crisp as cut glass and a strong voice, no doubt amplified by some kind of spell to reach around the room. He's hypnotising, those cool blue eyes of his impossible to look away from and piercing in their intensity. "How wonderful to see you all tonight, both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike! You are all welcome. I have only one request." He brings his hands together with a smile. "That you keep your hearts open. How else might our minds grow Evergreen?" Alder's speech is nothing if not passionate. He paces and proselytises, responding to the audience's interruptions and cheers with enormous enthusiasm. Throughout, his message is clear. "Who are we to immediately decry the Cwyld as a curse? Fear of the unknown, of what we have yet to control, can only hold us back! We must instead seek to understand it and be at peace with its presence! This is a test of our conviction! Our will to survive!" It goes on for the better part of an hour and, afterwards, he descends into the audience to receive their praise and questions with the gracious smile of a beloved king. He might even turn that magnanimous presence on you, affording you a few crucial moments of conversation (limited to 2 RNG characters). Will you stick around to find out more or try and slip backstage while everyone is distracted? For such a warm, welcoming atmosphere, there seems to be a lot of security around the doors leading back there so it might take some quick thinking to get through without conflict. Those who are caught will have to face the consequences, but the results might be… unfavorable. b. Spirited Away (late-Ieneuer to mid Feoveuer) Those less inclined to subterfuge won't have any problems finding trouble to get into either. As the month goes on, more and more people disappear, and that might even include Mirrorbound. Whether you're intercepting a kidnapping or fighting off your own, you're more likely to get caught up in it the longer the month goes on. It's easy enough to fight off the attackers but nigh impossible to actually catch or identify one: each is dressed in black and smells of the tell-tale decay of the Cwyld. But even assuming you do manage to apprehend one, they will refuse to talk in anything but vague, confusing comments about salvation and new beginnings. c. Cast Out (mid-Ieneuer to early Feoveuer) Likewise, the number of locals who have been abducted and released continues to rise. The victims, anywhere from badly infected to fully transformed into Shades, require subduing, healing and, in the most dire of circumstances, permanently dealt with before they can hurt anyone. Without exception, they're aggressive, reacting violently to attempts to heal as well as harm them and there are no discernable patterns when it comes to victims. However, the eagle-eyed might spot the Evergreen Circle's symbol on some of their palms if they're not too heavily corrupted.

[ ooc: More information about the event can be found on the plotting post along with comments for questions, and RNG sign-ups for directly interacting with Alder! ]

Comments

2.

[silentsavant]

[Mettaton pounces, but Soren reels out of his pending embrace and listens to the nonsense ooze from his mouth, growing increasingly disturbed the longer he goes on. He steps back, catching a whiff of decay, a dark stain on his hot pink chest. All of it stacks together into a worrisome picture. A nervous edge penetrates the dragon's demeanor.]

Are you out of your mind?

[It's mostly rhetorical at this point, for Soren has come to the conclusion that there's something wrong with Mettaton, if he's not under the influence of the entertainment district's various sensual substances. With the Evergreen Circle looming as a potential threat, he can't help but correlate their victims' affected mental states with this lunatic behavior and the Cwyld manifesting here on the Puca. Lowering his voice to avoid causing too much of a panic in the roaring streets, he adds]

You're infected! You know what will happen if you let it fester, don't you? Why would you give something like that to me?

[He has a really bad feeling about this, and he won't let Mettaton get any closer - stepping back if he steps forward, evading any incoming lunges or grabs.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Dragon, Turnskin, human... they're all up for grabs, as far as Mettaton's concerned. And what better source for infection but himself? It registers as only natural for him to want to spread the wealth, taking responsibility for the sweeping popularity of his own sickness.

How it makes sense... is purely magical. After all, drugs and alcohol don't have effect on a machine. Whether Soren knows this or not is up to him. Mettaton laughs, sparing only one of his hands to pressing delicately upon his chest plate.]

To make sure that when the Cwyld catches on in popularity... I know it'll all be from me!! But trust me, darling. It's not bad! I've had this for a few days, and I'm better than ever!

[A bit more unhinged, but Mettaton doesn't know that. Fortunately for Soren, Mettaton doesn't yet try to grab for him, but he does pace and saunter closer, around, trying to find some angle he could seduce his way nearer.]

This is the way this world ought to be, Soren-darling. Instead of fear, we should treat the Cwyld with love.

[silentsavant]

[Soren backs away, but not against any structures that would serve well to corner him, wings spreading as if in preparation to be used as he reaches into his cloak.]

Mettaton... Are you attending the Evergreen Circle meetings?

[glitzandglamour]

[To that, the Puca's ears rise tall, facing forward. Ah, the language of the body. Mettaton's ears emote where, even if he wished to be tight-lipped, they might tell a different tale: recognition. Excitement.

His eye, too, widens. His smile broadens.]

Oooh, could it be? Are you a fan?

[He cocks his head, but his volume's dropped to something lower, more intimate.]

[silentsavant]

[This sounds like another way of confirming his suspicion. Soren holds his ground, tries not to breathe the fetid air too much as an extra precaution.]

Would talking sense into you help? I'll turn into a Shade. Everyone you touch will turn into a Shade. You'll turn into a Shade. After that, you will become nothing at all. This isn't some kind of "fad"; it's a disease, and there's nothing to love about it. What have they been telling you?

[He has a bad feeling about this. Mettaton has always had an, erm... flamboyant, lively, and quirky personality, but there's something quite off about this fanaticism he demonstrates. He's curious to hear where this next question goes.]

[glitzandglamour]

Hmm... Yes, that's what the Coven says. [The situation Soren describes doesn't seem to be new, or bothersome, to Mettaton.] But the Coven's been trying to combat the Cwyld for hundreds of years, darling. And what have they come to understand better about the Cwyld? Not a lot!! What a shame!

[The idol shrugs with his arms, broad and sweeping, advancing another step closer to the prickly Dragon.]

It might be time for another open-hearted approach. After all... Solving the Cwyld may be they key to solving why we're here in the first place. What better way to understand it?

[The ramblings of someone dedicated to attending his meetings, to embracing cultist doctrine despite the dangers... No matter how many times one asks why, Mettaton smiles easy, like he's already considered it all and accepted it anyway.]

[silentsavant]

Actually, this sounds like the worst way to approach it.

[In truth, running experiments on subjects infected with the Cwyld may not be the worst approach to a better understanding, however questionable the ethics. It's running headfirst into an infection and endangering the whole populace without their consent.]

I'm not taking such a foolish risk. I want to live. If you're going to wholeheartedly embrace the Cwyld this way, go do it alone in the wilde. Step any closer to me and I'll set you aflame.

[He raises his voice now.]

This Puca! Stay away from him; he's infected by the Cwyld!

[Heads whip around, followed by gasps and fearful murmurs, passersby stepping back. Alarm spreads like a contagion.]

[glitzandglamour]

[Soren's threat and suggestions get a full-bodied laugh out of Mettaton, who cackles wickedly, villainously. And while he doesn't shrink away from being called out—which happens before he can stop Soren—Mettaton appears to only revel in the attention.

He speaks first to Soren.]

Haven't you considered that the ones of us who can handle this mild appearance of it are the ones who will achieve true salvation?

[There's some rehearsing of doctrine here, though he doesn't claim anything about the Circle. He knows he's not to do that, either. He's compelled to remain silent on the existence of the cult, after all. Soren's demand for attention is fruitful, and Mettaton poses, brilliant and strong.

Some of the more evasive of the population are baffled at the posturing, and slow.]

What an AUDACIOUS claim. Am I sick with the Cwyld? Does anyone see any sign of it on me? Feast your eyes, darlings! [There's an unfortunate truth about Mettaton, and that's that... his body is covered in black metal and silicone. The slightest hint of shade on his pink torso... is it errant fur? People can't make sense of this automaton readily.] To think! Maybe I am! Maybe I'm not. However. If I were infected with the Cwyld... that would mean it's not as bad as the Coven says it is!!

[He grins wickedly at Soren. People aren't soothed, but a lot of people in the Entertainment District have seen the Puca before. To remain so radiant despite an infection... A lot of them begin to wonder if there's an infection at all. Natives who haven't bolted away remain wary, but perplexed by the conflicting possibility of seeming so healthy despite being infected.]

[silentsavant]

[A couple of Turnskins sniff at the air, ears alert, a whine rising at the back of one of their throats. He can't fool everyone. The majority of the crowd, however, searches the lofty Puca for the Dragon's worrisome claim with human eyes and stimulated minds. Soren sweeps his free arm in a dismissive gesture, his tail sidewinding slowly.]

Listen to this nonsense. Anyone who's been infected to your degree would be able to move about like you are. Besides, you're mechanical. Do you even feel pain the same way we do?

[Murmurs rise to a louder hum, whispers of 'Mettaton' popping up like the bubbles in a fizzing drink. To attack the star in the middle of the streets with an audience and a fresh criminal record... As self-defense, it would work out better, even if a well-placed fire spell could burn the rot and hack away the current problem... but not uproot it, and if Mettaton truly is under some sway like Myr had been cautioning of on the network, then a fresh blight might just sprout anew. Moreover, no matter how quick to the draw Soren is, the Puca's agile enough to evade with ease and cause him to risk injuring a bystander.

Salvation. That's a suspicious way of putting it.]

It will only get worse. And what of the people who aren't worthy of this "salvation"?

[glitzandglamour]

[Turning his roboticism against him... MTT's brow furrows and his sneer intensifies. Of course he feels pain! And he's in it, but it's manageable, it's low, it's a background hum to being alive. If anything, it only made everything more vivid: it's an improvement! He crosses his arms, widening his stance and tapping his heel.

People run. Mettaton considers them lost causes. He lifts a hand and flicks his wrist, dismissive.]

Oh, I'm sure everybody's worthy of salvation! Once they open their hearts... [An alarmingly optimistic outlook, and not one the circle would agree with. This is Mettaton's justification.] You only need to accept that you don't understand it, and experience the unknown like the thrill it's meant to be. Oooh, yes!

[silentsavant]

I've already accepted that I don't understand this from the moment you began talking about it. Maybe salvation is a fancy way of saying 'death'.

[At this point, a couple of the city guards begin moving through the breaking crowd, one of them in more martial attire and the other in robes, announcing their presence as passersby point at the suspicious metallic Puca. They hasten their pace but wear cautious looks, wary of anything that has to do with the Cwyld. This is the first time in a while that Soren finds relief in the sight of them. The Dragon tries to look as unhostile as possible so there is no confusion as to who is the real problem, dropping his clawed hand from his coat and stepping further back from the offending Cwyld victim.]

It looks like we're about to really be saved.

[glitzandglamour]

Hahaha! Death?? Honey, robots don't die!

[Monsters can die. Mettaton can die. Not in public, though. He laughs against the back of his hand, an authentic princess laugh for the books.

He stares down the guard with a wicked grin. There's a mumble from them: this time, the guard's assembled of humans, and one of them's quick to prepare an abjuration spell. "Oh, for hell's sake. Get on this one fast! This is the automaton who always escapes!" Most of them get right to work, but one fresh-eyed recruit blanches, then flushes. "Y-You mean the same one caught, um, playing the bagpipes on— I mean, being played, um—"

But his stutters (and misconceptions) are lost in the din. Soren's assumed to be an innocent bystander, because Mettaton apparently has a history with the guard already. And he just laughs.]

Oh, lovely. The city guard, my favorite. [Mettaton's tone is flat. Unamused. He taps his jaw idly before flicking his wrist in a dramatic flourish.] Well! I have so much to do. So many venues to visit... It was good as ever, Soren, darling. But we have some unwelcome visitors, don't we?

[Mettaton raises his hand and curls his fingers in a cutesy little wave before launching up onto a rooftop nearby, using the full strength of his developed legs for the lift.]

Enjoy being "saved!" You should think about MY idea instead, beautiful. Open your heart! [He winks.] Well, ciao!

[Mettaton launches himself with terrifying speed before any Witch can land an abjuration spell to capture him, from one building to another, and then back down into the streets below.]

[silentsavant]

[Robots may not die, but ghosts are already dead.

Flummoxed, the guards cast looks to each other as if silently asking whether they should try pursuing the quick and highly mobile hare, or even whether they really want to bother with this notorious problem-causer. In the end, they unanimously decide to mobilize, splitting up to head down different avenues in hopes of predicting where the Puca might go.

The Dragon leaves it to them, wanting to deal with a Cwyld-infested Monster even less than they do. Playing the bagpipes...? That sounds like some kind of euphemism for...

No. He's going to blot that thought out. Soren inspects himself for any signs of infection, sniffing his arms and glancing at his extremities. If there is anything he can do at all from here, he figures there is one person among all of them who should be notified of this odd and sudden fascination with the Cwyld.

In a matter of minutes, he reluctantly texts Mettaton's apparent fiancé about this encounter.]