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

[killuwatt]

[ Gon... knows this weirdo? Killua hadn't realized that. The realization has him even more baffled than what had just happened, which in his mind was some Cwyld-infected random creep lurking in the entertainment district near some of the seediest areas that stay open until daybreak. The whole robot thing was weird too, and almost guaranteed this person was a Mirrorbound since there's no one else in the city like that as far as Killua knows; he might not have lived here that long, but the machine parts stand out plenty.

What stands out even more is Gon's face, though. The way Gon looks at Mettaton with a mix of worry, betrayal, and-- is it fear? No, not fear exactly, not fear of the stranger in front of him. Fear of something else. An anxious, awful memory. Killua can't understand why, exactly, Gon looks like that, but he can see it. And, in the echo of their Bond, he can feel Gon's distress.

It immediately overtakes his annoyance with what had just happened. He's free now, the weirdo has no arm, and Gon is here. If this is a friend, they can figure out what's wrong with him and take him to the Coven even if he does put up a fight.

Taking a step forward, Killua begins to reach out. He opens his mouth.

The words don't come; the paralyzing spell works instantly.

For a moment, Killua stands there, eyes wide, lips half-parted, awake and completely unable to move or make a sound. He feels the magic working, senses it taking hold, but he's too late to resist. With the commotion of others milling about nearby, trying to peer in on what happened, he'd dismissed the steps coming up behind him and focused too hard on the feeling of the Bond inside, trying to understand Gon's expression and act to soothe him. It's an ill-timed mistake, and an unlucky case of wrong-time-wrong-place.

The Witch standing behind him is an older man, grey haired with fine, distinguished lines beneath his angular glasses, which flash beneath his drawn-up hood. After a night spent in the Entertainment District failing to find a good subject on street corners, night-houses and brothels -- where they're all too drunk, too weak or too old to withstand what he wants to test -- now he finds the perfect subject. He'd seen the boy rip off that other person's strange arm, seen the electricity.

Killua, having missed his chance to run, has no defenses against high-level magic from a master practitioner. He feels long, cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, squeezing tight, grabbed like a misbehaving kitten. Unable to move even his eyes, Killua doesn't see what happens next. A hand reaches into his pocket, where his watch is barely visible shining off the lights.

There's a crackle of magic that makes the hair on the backs of his forearms stand on end, and then he's yanked backward, hauled into the shimmering air behind the bespectacled man that blinks there for just a moment before -- they're gone.

The robed figure and Killua vanish into thin air, and the watch clatters to the floor. ]

[glitzandglamour]

[Mettaton remains both unsympathetic and agitated, completely unaware of the tension that ripples and tears through his company's Bond. In fact, he's not even aware they are Bonded! That they could be isn't as much of a focus to him as it would've been under any other circumstance, for Gon's likening of MTT to a puppet isn't too far off.

There are some times where MTT's given more agency of himself in spite of his mild mind control spell. But this isn't one of those times. With a focus on spreading infection and doctrine alike, a boisterous, empowered personality like Mettaton's does it to the highest degree: given a stage and a camera, he'd probably lose himself to the thrall with immediacy, spouting rehashed messages from meetings in charming syllables meant to appeal. As he is right now, the Puca seems satisfied that there are people around them making up an audience of sorts, watching on: even if their horror is directed mostly at him, that meant they were watching him most of all, too. He can play the villain with startling ease. His ears remain cocked pleasantly, his lips drawn into a smug smirk.

Speaking of the crowd about them... Mettaton's lips part, attention on Gon. He moves to say something at the same time as Killua, takes a daring step forward, and he knows attention's on him.

And it's at this very moment that a secretive cult member lying in wait makes his move—one Mettaton doesn't even know about.

It happens so fast. Killua's holding his arm (which he wants back), and then he's not. And then he's not moving at all. The dark figure behind him nearly blends in with the dark of the night behind them, a cloak of extended darkness. (It reminds him a bit of his own full moon form; Mettaton would never admit as much.) He can't at all make out any details of the figure before he realizes Killua's being paralyzed, and before he knows it, the boy's gone.

A small pocket watch clatters on cobblestone in a clean chime. Mettaton gawks. A gasp washes over bystanders, a mix of surprise and fret. Even Mettaton reacts with a wide eye and bewilderment, taking a step back, ears high, body on skittish alert.]

Where...

[His arm. The crowd. Mettaton huffs. The attentions not on him anymore, and he stoops down to retrieve his arm with an air of indignation. He turns to Gon, clutching his limb close to his sparking socket.]

Well. I guess I don't want to fight after all. [That's spoken truly through the lens of a Puca's spite, his ears fold back in ire. But he fixes his attention on Gon again, tilting his head.] Gon, what just happened?

[freecshow]

[it's a good thing that the role and behavior of a villain is, to Gon, quite relative and also subjective. or, really, well—it's awful. but it works for Mettaton, in this scenario.

Gon stands there, shellshocked, his tail standing at its height, its every soft fiber of fur and coarse strand of bristle standing outwards, along with the hair on his arms, with his ears high and alert, pupils pinpricks as Gon finds he suddenly can't breathe too easily—inhaling and exhaling both feel subdued by the smothering tightness of his own throat.

he barely hears or parses Mettaton's first words—Gon's instinct is to run after them, but he doesn't even have a compass or an idea to chase after. they'd simply vanished.

he hears Mettaton's question, though. his eyes, furious and wild, turn hard onto Mettaton. in the back of his mind, a distant, reeling echo reminds him to be calm; Mettaton isn't himself, nor is Mettaton necessarily responsible. he is a friend, and he is wounded. his teeth are grit in tense pause, all of that adrenaline, the energy from it, having no place to go. Gon's nostrils flare, and he takes a sharp breath in—and his tail drops.]

I...I don't know.

I came here because I felt Killua was in trouble.

[Gon reels the feeling—the vitriol, the instinctive rage—back. back, back, and back.]

...And you are too.

[dread cements in Gon's belly. he hadn't been able to do a thing for Killua.

what a useless Bondmate he is. and it feels just like it was at home—he's a useless friend. and left here, reeling from losing Killua so suddenly, absolutely unsure of how to pursue him just as abruptly—Gon's left here with his friend, maimed and infected.

will he be able to help Mettaton, even without the distraction of losing his Bonded, suddenly? does he have the means? the strength, or ability?

can he really help anyone?]

[glitzandglamour]

[With a cool chill, Mettaton stomps his foot, agitated. His ears are still angled, agitated, as he tosses his own arm idly in his only remaining hand. It's so casual a gesture, as though it doesn't hurt, as though this just happens.

And that much is true, but his shoulder does hurt. It hurts a lot. He bites the inside of his cheek, sneering at the spot where Killua once stood. He's distant enough that all Mettaton can think about is where he should strike next, what part of the district he should spread the good word of Cillian Alder next...

Gon is despondent, a wisp in the wind after a show of fiery fury. It's the only thing that gets Mettaton's ears to rise and lean for him, eye widening with curiosity.]

Killua. [That must be the name of that Witch. Mettaton tilts his head.] Did you see it, then? There was someone here just now, cloaked in black... But I didn't catch where they went off to. I thought it was an elaborate stunt on his part! There was lightning and everything, which is what he tried on me.

[Mettaton spits that like an accusation, and stomps his heel again like an angry bunny would. Flawless Logic, As Usual... It might be because of his automatic dislike for Killua, or it might be because of his mind control telling him to move onto greener pastures, but Mettaton doesn't seem to care all that much for Killua's well-being when he might've normally.]

Are you sure he didn't just hitch a ride with a teleporting Witch?? I do that all the time!

[Ah, yes, flawless, good logic, A++, sounds like someone can't acknowledge that kidnappings are happening.]