![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part II
Event Log: February, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part II
Spirited Away, Part 2
Characters who have been kidnapped are being kept in the lower floor of Alder's estate, which is a labyrinth of rooms and corridors. Without exception, the way out is always either locked or heavily guarded. All kidnapped characters have been infected with the Cwyld (sometimes by proximity to botanical materials, sometimes by being directly exposed to the violent Shades they already have imprisoned) and are being used to further the Evergreen Circle's research into the nature of the plague. The details of these tests is expanded on in the plotting post and, needless to say, their capturers have very little interest in their wellbeing. They're needlessly cruel, often pitting victims against each other and forcing them to infect newer arrivals as they turn up. Subjects are allowed a few hours of sleep at a time and a small meal- assuming that they're not being purposefully deprived of either- and are locked together in cramped cells.
|
Initiation
Throughout the first hour or so, Alder himself flits from person to person, congratulating them and making smalltalk, but he seems different somehow. Excitable. Eager. Of course, there are other ways one might get in; while the front entrance is closely monitored, the side one leading through the kitchens isn’t. In the hustle and bustle, you might slip through unnoticed.
Alder takes to the head of the room and, with his signature voice amplifying enchantment, addresses his audience. He greets everyone and gives a fairly standard speech thanking guests and welcoming initiates to the Evergreen Circle proper- and then it happens. Servants begin to wheel in cages and tanks, all containing individuals infected with the Cwyld at various stages. Some look to have been drugged, others are wide awake, but the regulars seem delighted by their presence. They whisper and titter and applaud. Some of the more docile victims are even taken out to be showed off like animals at a fayre. "Tonight, let us enjoy the fruits of our labour! Witness the progress we've made and share our blessings among yourselves! Fear will only blind you to taking the next step. Indulge, open your minds and take the first step towards your salvation!" What he means by this quickly becomes apparent. While they're not discussing or mocking the imprisoned witches and monsters, the other guests are partaking of vice the party has to offer. The drinks flow freely and there's a manic energy in the air. Those with sharp senses might recognise that some of it has been artificially crafted by enchantments. Furthermore, if you're looking for missing loved ones, you'll no doubt spot them among the "test subjects" or servants. Good luck trying to snap the latter back to reality, though: their memories have been tightly sealed and it might take some work. One of the drawing rooms has been half curtained off and a woman at the door skittishly offers the curious an aphrodisiac-laden draught, though some might have accidentally had some already. Within, guests are draped over every surface in varying states of undress, though there are partitions up to allow for more privacy. What better way is there to spread the Cwyld and strengthen bonds than intimacy?
One by one, the least aggressive Cwyld-infected subjects are dragged from their cages and any remaining individuals are brought out, all restrained. One of the bodyguards is carrying a large ceremonial dagger, which he presses to the vampire at the front’s throat. "Rest assured, their deaths with not be in vain: we have learned much and they will make for the perfect offering to the beings who gave us the Cwyld's blessing!" The knife flashes, ready to cut already decaying flesh- - a blood-curdling scream echoes through the room and glass shatters as a Shade breaks free from its prison. It ploughs into the guests, howling with rage as it tears into anyone and everyone that stands in its way, and others soon follow. At some point during the chaos, Alder appears to realise that he’s been caught. He, along with his inner circle, set to work trying to cover up their actions, setting the basement floor alight and using magic to bring down supports to block doorways completely. If you want to gather evidence, it has to be now, else you can focus your efforts on a rescue mission or chasing the cult leader himself down. |
[ ooc: More information about the event can be found on the plotting post along with comments for questions, and an IC vote concerning Alder's fate! ]
no subject
And it's bright. Sunny. As himself. Usually. It's a little sorry that anyone should meet him in this state, when he's naturally such a wonderful being to be around.
Jaskier smiles at the corner of his lips, mostly. He can see that, now that the dark has settled. A Turnskin, he thinks. Like Geralt. Pointed ears.] Mm. They mentioned one to me. Funny. Not something that happens at home.
[It's explanation enough, he thinks: there's not a bloody peasant that much cares if a boy has his first drink as long as he's got the coin to pay for it.] I play music at all the ones in town. [He'd be lucky if his throat worked after this. If he could sing at all.] It's fun. Music, and food. Women, and men. Everyone is usually in a good mood. And if they're not, you can sit back and enjoy a good old bar fight.
no subject
[That's what Roxas is thinking, at least.]
It sounds like it would be a lot of fun. Though, maybe without the fighting. [Just because in his experience, fights can get a little explosive.]
Maybe when we get out of here... I could see you play?
no subject
Jaskier lifts his head off his bars. For the first time, there is the smallest sense of hope. Everyone else is so downtrodden. He includes himself, of course. But those words he always longs to hear -- that he can bring one more soul into the realm of his music... ah. It's beautiful to behold.]
Absolutely. I'd love that. I won't even make you pay, I promise. [He smiles through the dark.] And perhaps you can show some talent off of your own in exchange. Perhaps whistling? Fencing?
no subject
[Maybe it's a bit of positivity he's inherited from Sora. Or just plain stubbornness. But either way, he wants to believe they'll get out of here, and they'll have the chance to meet up at a tavern.]
Pay? For music? [He tilts his head a bit, one of those dog ears p.] But, isn't it free to listen to music? [He's never been to a concert, clearly.]
Heheh, well... I'm pretty good in a fight. I'm pretty good at Struggle, too. And I could show you some tricks on my skateboard... assuming it doesn't fall apart when I use it.
no subject
Of course, my dear boy. A bard has to earn his coin somehow.
[Ah. Barding. Playing in taverns. Normal things he'd done only... days? ago. He misses them terribly now, and has missed them nearly every step of the way. Even if he should want to comfort himself and the caged people around him (and so he does), he can't find the energy to sing.
And he's afraid to. Afraid to learn the infection in him has twisted his ability somehow. Those are dark thoughts. Terrible ones.
Much easier to focus on other things. Like the very list of perplexing things Roxas offers.] Another talent I lack. [As in, expect him to be zero help if they somehow do escape.] I'm afraid I haven't heard of, er, those. Struggle? Some sort of card game, perhaps?
[Skates? Yes. Skating is a thing. A movement. But it's hard to guess why a board might be involved.]
no subject
[The only 'bard' that Roxas knew was Demyx, and Demyx had been more than willing to let anyone hear his music, much to the rest of the Organization's dismay. He didn't even think of paying one to hear their music was a thing. Who knew he'd learn things even in this place?]
Not quite. Struggle's a fighting game, actually. It's the local sport of my home world; there's even big tournaments for it and everything. You and your opponent each have a set of orbs, and you're supposed to use a foam bat to knock your opponent's orbs and take them without getting your own taken. I guess you could consider it like, a mock-fight, since no one really's supposed to get hurt in a Struggle match, but it's a lot of fun.
[It sounds like a silly sport, but the faint fondness that still manages to creep into Roxas's voice is testament to his enjoyment of it.]
And a skateboard's just a piece of wood with wheels on it. You can use it to travel, or you can try to do tricks with it. I like to use it to slide down rails or do kickflips.
no subject
[A smart, talented one would not play for free. Except, of course, to those he loves. Or friends. Or those he's trying to impress. But that was no matter to discuss now, though he did like the idea of such simple conversation.
It took his mind off of things. Off of what he must look like, of the thumping headache he's had for days, and the things he sees at the edges of his vision sometimes. He listens, and imagines it's quite like any normal brawl in the street that drunken men will bet on, but something called foam is involved (a different sort of sword?) or -- ah, probably not. He imagines not many people would bet on something where no one gets hurt.
Possibly for children, then.
Let's not even question kickflips.]
So you're a bit of an athlete, are you? It sounds like you're in training to be a knight.
no subject
[Roxas never really minded Demyx's music. It was his only exposure to it in his Organization days.]
A knight? [Roxas considers this for a moment.] I guess... yeah. I never really thought about it like that, but I guess Keyblade wielders are like knights, aren't we..? But yeah. I don't play sports, but I do like being active.
[He looks over to Jaskier.]
What's it like? Being a bard, that is.
no subject
He smiles. That, at least, sounds familiar. Ah. The amount of times Geralt has told him to fuck off when he was practicing --
He hates how terribly he misses him. The both of them.
At least Roxas is proving to be a wealth of unfamiliar topics. Words he just throws out, expecting to be understood. That's fascinating to him, especially in here when he so desperately needs distraction. Jaskier sits up a little straighter, focusing more on the conversation now.
Perhaps it'll keep the visions away, too.]
I'd love to round back to whatever a keyblade is supposed to be. [Sounds a bit like the nun sort with the big rings of keys slapping their thighs while they trudge around the temples, looking down their nose at any man who dare steps near a statue of Melitele. Hm. Probably not the case here.] Being a bard is... it's about as free as I know a man to be. I would travel where I wanted, sing in every tavern from Caingor to Cintra. Ah. All across the Continent.
[He's never missed his sphere really, not so terribly. But he's lived his life there without being tortured up to this point, so that was a point in its favor.] It's a good life. Certainly the only sort I could imagine for myself.
no subject
[Roxas listens carefully to Jaskier's explanation, and despite it being dark, he does have a small smile on his face. It sounds like a very free, fulfilling life to live. His tail wags a little bit as he listens.]
It sounds like a lot of fun. You must really love it.
[Which makes it even more heartbreaking to think of the bard here, trapped in a cage and being experimented on. He lets out a small sigh, his ears lowering.]
...we'll get out of here. I promise, we'll figure out a way to get out. Then you can get back to playing music again... and I'll come see you play.
no subject
I did. I do. [He shifts, his eyes catching a small light from down the hall. A candle, perhaps? He catches, at least, a bit of Roxas now: the silhouette of triangular ears, and a shock of blond hair. A lovely color.
A shame he sees his ears droop so quickly. (No. It reminds him terribly of Geralt.) If anything, he grows a fondness for his cellmate even quicker. Roxas sounds so... completely normal. Not close to the sort that should have this happen to them.
Jaskier turns and leans his head back on the bars. He smiles at nothing, or at the dark itself. Lovely words. They float like light-footed music in the quiet.] Yes. I'll make a promise in return, to show you a real bard. [Arrogance? From Jaskier? Of course not. Well, normally, yes. But in the moment... no. Simply a promise.] Don't let them get you down, my friend.
no subject
[He shifts to lean in closer as well, peeking through the bars as best he can. He nods once, solemnly.]
Okay. I'll remember that, okay? [Roxas took promises seriously; he'd find a way to get them out somehow, if he could. And once they got out, he would seek out the bard. Something to aim for, a goal to keep in mind to motivate them to keep trying. He had to hold onto something, at the very least.]
I won't. Don't let them get to you either.
no subject
Roxas is far too sweet for all of this. If it is trickery, well. Jaskier will gladly submit. At the moment, though, he has no energy to pick apart words or divine the secondary meaning behind conversations, if there is any at all.
Simplicity is preferable here. And it leaves the heart stronger.]
I'll remember as well. [Yes. He must. If only --
Jaskier sits up straight as footsteps echo down the hallway. Fuck. It doesn't mean they're coming for him, but for a terrible moment, he can only hope they're coming for someone else.] A promise, isn't it? [He can't smile now. The pain of his last needle prickling comes as acutely as if one is sinking into his skin now.] I'll make sure to bite one or two in your honor.
[It's mostly a joke. Mostly. But if someone comes here, looking for another test subject -- surely, surely, he will have the strength to persuade them to look past Roxas.]
no subject
But... [His ears briefly lower, realizing what Jaskier is suggesting. But he's already been through so much... they all have. And despite the pain he's felt, and the weary ache from fighting against other Shades, Roxas's instincts kick in, urging him to protect, guard, protect his pack.]
[Jaskier is someone he's only just met, but he's been able to make friends off of short meetings before. A trait probably inherited from Sora, really.]
[So when the cult member comes walking down the hall, and lingers near their cells, Roxas stands slowly and leans against the bars of his cell.]
Hey! Why don't you pick on someone who can actually fight back??
[He has no idea if his jeer will work or not, but he has to try.]
no subject
Yet Roxas beats him to it, surprising him. How little he hesitates. (How heroic he is without a pause.) Jaskier isn't quite conscious of how he's pushed himself to the back of his cage, cold sweat running down his back. Not me. Please. But not him. Not --
Fuck.]
Roxas, don't! [He kicks his bars, or tries to. The sound rings hollowly.] Don't. Not for me. [He pulls himself forward, the largest buds on his arm beginning to lightly glow.] If you came for more fun, you may as well take me.
[See? Noble. And. Fuck. If this doesn't kill him, it's a miracle. And it works somehow. The hooded Circle member turns towards him with a chuckle, the jingle of keys ringing in the dark. My. Eager to aid the Circle, aren't you?]
no subject
[What was he doing?? He would get hurt! Well, they all would, in this awful place, but if he could somehow take some of that focus off of others who were hurt, tired, weakened... Roxas had fought hordes of Heartless before, he was already battle-hardened. Technically he wasn't even human. He could take a little more abuse for others, if it meant helping them.]
[But the Circle member instead goes to Jaskier's cage. His ears flatten as he grips the bars tighter, trying to lean out.]
Leave him alone!
no subject
Or because he could not abide by the idea of anyone, absolutely, ever hurting a boy like this.]
Just let me do this, Roxas! [He can't see him anymore, not behind the cultist -- who looks delighted by this exchange, but not in a sinister, villainous way. More as if the very idea of someone willing to volunteer for more was a sweet melody.] I'll be fine. I always am.
[It's so easy to lie through his teeth these days. The cultist mumbles something to himself -- it sounds a bit like a chant, actually, or a song -- as his cage unlocks.
Despite Jaskier's words, every muscle in his body coils tight, his mind already screaming for release. Or for escape.
I always am.]
Can probably end things here?
[In desperation, Roxas tries to slam his shoulder into the bars of the cage. But try as he might, the heavy iron bars won't budge. So Roxas is forced to watch as Jaskier is grabbed by the cultist and led away down the hall. His ears flatten against his head, but his yells do nothing to stop the cultist's actions. Nothing to help Jaskier's situation.]
[When the footsteps echo out of earshot, Roxas growls under his breath and slams a hand against the bars once more out of anger and frustration, before sinking down to his knees.]
[Not for the first time, he wishes he wasn't so powerless.]