Player Plot: The Salvation of Geardagas, Part II

[faileas]

Event Log: February, The Salvation of Geardagas: Part II



CW: This plot has a general content warning for kidnapping, torture, experimentation, violence, drug use (incl. aphro), infection/disease and potential death. This is entirely opt-in.

Spirited Away, Part 2 i. Hypothesis One moment, you were free. The next, you wake up in a cold, dark room with eyes on you and the cloying smell of decay all around you. 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. ii. Alternative Theory Some characters, however, escape this particular cruelty in favour of something else just as dehumanising. If a member of the inner circle has taken a liking to someone, they'll take them out of the pool of tests subjects and move them into their households. Servitude is ensured by a strong enchantment that scrambles memories and replaces them with the false knowledge that they've been working there all along. These brainwashed servants might also be forced to participate in the torture and testing of the others.

Initiation The night of the initiation party is here. If you've managed to ingratiate yourself with the cult- or at least a member of rank- you'll have already received an elegant envelope with an invitation and all the details. Or maybe you stole one or put together a convincing forgery. Alder's estate is handsome, with a small courtyard lit up with strings of lights and servants at the double doors to greet guests. Inside is just as grand. The hall and ballroom are impressive spaces with vaulted ceilings painted with elaborate star maps and broken up with marble columns that wouldn't look out of place in a palace. Drinks tables are lined up against the walls and there are several smaller drawing rooms off to the side, all of which are full of guests. 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. i. Cavorting and Cruelty It isn't long before things take a turn. 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? ii. Midnight Show Things reach a fever pitch around midnight. Once more, Alder calls for everyone's attention. "There's one more thing. I know all of you are loyal, true believers- but everyone must be tested," he says, gesturing to several larger bodyguards, "and we have to protect ourselves. There are those who don't understand us and seek to undo our work. Therefore, we need to tie up loose ends." 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! ]

Comments

[silentsavant]

( he pushes his splitting head into his adversary's harder, anger and agony causing his heart to throb heavily and accelerating. ike's not here? he doesn't want to hear it. he doesn't want to listen to reason, doesn't want to understand why this man conjures a storm of muffled but intense emotion to crackle across his whole being far greater than his understanding of him should warrant. he's nothing to him but a friend of ike's, and now he sees fit to betray him. betray them and their goals. )

We're going to be saved.

( his voice trembles at a low volume. )

We're going to find a way. He promised me we would. That I wouldn't have to live in fear of the Cwyld...

( he reclaims distance again, sitting upon his lap like a four-legged animal as he peers at the bleeding cat laguz peppered with the beginnings of bruises, clutching that necklace for dear and waning life. )

I won't let you or your delusions get in our way. You think I can't smell? Bah. I'm a sub-human just like...

( huh? soren freezes, eyes widening and glancing around an invisible array of disjointed ideas that don't connect right. he tries to ignore his frightening lapse and aborts whatever train of thought he'd been trying to communicate. his gaze falls to ranulf's balled up fist and he seizes it to unfurl his fingers for the contents within, to keep him from focusing on whatever enchanted artifact he...

the futhark rune bounces and spins into view. he doesn't understand it. the sight of it whips his mind into a whirlwind of yet more indistinct shapes and associations, a play of shadows cavorting through the closed curtains of memories he can just barely make out, as if he might have dreamed them once and woken up half-recalling.)

I... ( he snatches it, stares long and hard at it with a rising brow and parting lips. when did he... why did he... ) I made this...?

[ranyaulf]

( but this addled version of soren's idea of saving sends a wave of nausea through his system. if it involves any of what he witnessed out in the main ballroom, in the side rooms where the scent of... nothing good floated out from the doors and around the corners? then, that isn't saving. it doesn't track with his comment of fear either! when would soren be so afraid of something that he would lose his mind? lose his will entirely?

it all makes sense to him. clear as day, as bright as the sun over gallia. did they somehow convince him, magically or otherwise, that ike was here? that brings another wave of something--- red hot searing anger. how could anyone use soren's love for ike against him. something so deep and personal. it's enough to sober ranulf up, clear his mind, allow him to take a breath... )

You did. ( all of that doesn't stop his skin from pulsing. even smiling, as frail as it is, hurts. it makes those bruises stretch, makes those cuts open a little more. ) And I made you something... did they take it from you?

( he tries to look, but his sight is blurred. )

But... but yeah. It has your blood. A reminder of you, just in case we ever lost each other. A symbol of our bond, and not just the one that this place has gifted us.

( not forced. not mandatory, and not necessarily permanent. a gift, just like the rune that's now in soren's hands. but he stays quiet now, closing his eyes. trying to rest, while also preparing for what could be a final blow. risky. everything is a risk. but even then, a part of him wishes that this is a dream... )

[silentsavant]

( soren bites his lip. the edges of his eyes crease. pain... so much pain, like sifting through shards to dredge up notions always just beyond his grasp.

a conversation one night over darts and drinks. laguz, it was. modranicht, the workshop. it wasn't like him, but the spirit of the season had gotten to him and he'd... what was that feeling then? warm. he'd been so warm, even when the chill crept in from the windows. warm, when he'd been given the charms he always wore, the charms ike almost stole from him. i...ike?

something's wrong. something's really deeply wrong. but to admit that would mean that ike doesn't... exist.

warm. he felt so warm when he was wrapped up in an embrace after spending the day wearing his bones down in the freezing air. Warm within and without when he'd wake up and... oh, the memories are eluding him again. he very much wants them to come back, whatever they are. is he so confused that he's mixing people up? how could he give something with the intent to help a laguz to ike? it makes no sense! he would never swap someone else with ike! no one could take his place, not even — no, especially not ranulf. why would he ever...

...cold. plunging, dreadful cold drops into his chest. none of this makes sense. he lets go of the wooden pendant to tilt ranulf's chin in the cradle of his hands. )

... Look at me. Please.

( it feels as though he's experiencing him through glass, unable to really touch him. that's not true of course, because he feels skin against his palms — no, it's as if whatever has been clamoring in his chest cavity is pawing at some kind of barrier. a division between self and... no.

what's going on? soren starts to shake as the weight of all he can barely process starts to bear upon him, and all of these things he's been repressing begin to upwell, bit by bit, thought by thought, the longer he peers at him. seeing him beaten and shredded like this, barely hanging on, jabs him hard. one overwhelming sentiment begins to take charge:

i can't bear to let him die. )

I gave that... to you? That... That can't be. We're not Bonded. I don't feel you. You're lying again, just to confuse me...

( he mutters that with such weakness that it's evident he doesn't really believe himself. )

[ranyaulf]

( he asks politely, so it would be rude of ranulf to not look soren directly in the eyes, to stare at him with as much fondness as he can. but it's hard when the right side of his face is numb, and when that redish-pinkish eye of his feels like it might be... well. if it's permanently damaged, then that's what it is. magic can probably fix it. ranulf's magic? probably not. time might be of the essence, but this is far more important... even if he told soren, he probably wouldn't hear him the way that ranulf needs to be heard. )

I will never lie to you. You're the most precious person in this world to me. ( in fact, his honesty is what brought upon their first bout of insecurities. together. that a part of him wanted to be more like soren, so that they could be... not necessarily the same. some kind of distorted form of normalcy that ended up backfiring, but also provided him with some reassurance. no matter what they looked like, they would be happy together. that is what he subscribed to, what his heart felt better knowing.

it's at that moment... a loud sound. a crash? growling, shouting, screaming. the unmistakable sensation of magic. not right outside of their door, but certainly close enough. his eyes widen, heart racing. while they've been having their own battle, one has started. ranulf tries to stand, tries to get up to his feet. )

I won't let them take you again. I won't.

( and immediately goes crashing down to his knees, wet cough accompanying his rough landing. guilt weighs him down, but the need to protect who he cares for the most gives him the energy to at least put himself in front of soren and the door which could come crashing down any moment. )

... Soren, stay behind me. No matter what.

[silentsavant]

( soren's gaze flickers to each eye, again searching, trying to make sense of the confusion in his heart. nobody can say that to him and make him feel a squeeze in his chest. no one but ike. and not even ike has ever said something so powerful as most precious. those words had never been for him... )

What...? How can you say—

( he's interrupted by the sudden clash that shakes ranulf. he lets go of his cheeks and springs to his feet. a howl mangles the tense and charged air. clattering and stampeding and screaming is beyond anything soren expected of the events outlined for tonight, so something must no doubt be going awry with the sacrifices. he whips back around to face the cat laguz who fails to stand and scoffs, turning toward the door to attend to more pressing problems. )

Behind you? I don't want or need your protection. I have to protect—

( soren buckles as if receiving a blow, hands flying to his chest as if to stop blood from gushing forth. that's really how it feels: a rending of the heartstrings, preceded by the prelude of sheer terror echoing through every fiber of his being. once that sharp and severing pain swipes past, what's left is nothing more.

something just took everything, all that had any meaning to soren away from him. the psychological but very physical shock of his bond's evisceration arrests him and robs him of his ability to keep standing, too. )

No...

( his voice leaves in a pathetic whisper. for a moment, he's petrified, face frozen in horror and disbelief. even when the wall scrapes with the claws of a massive shade, it's as if soren doesn't heed it. he squeezes his chest hard enough that it does draw real blood. his tail slinks close to his body. soren looks like he's slowly crumbling to pieces. )

No... No, this can't be happening... Ike is... No...

( the beast pounds against the door. )

[ranyaulf]

( he wants to keep his eyes toward the door, toward whatever monstrosity may break it down, and perhaps at his future killer. but what's happening behind him is even more dire, feeling something raw and sore and bleeding in his own chest. even if soren can't feel their bond, ranulf can--- and it's bright and painful and everything that getting struck by a ball of fire feels like. if a shade does batter down the barrier, even fortified by ranulf's magic, they're probably both doomed. a shade will not show mercy toward either of them. it will not understand.

but he has to take care of soren. there's more at stake with him than with the howling of the creature that comes for them both, probably alerted to their presence by their commotion to begin with. and as he turns back, vertigo slaps him across the face and he reaches out to take soren's hand and immediately press it against his own chest. blood already on those claws, he doesn't care if soren's pushes and scratches his own out to the surface. )

Do you know my name?

( maybe he does. maybe he doesn't. it won't stop ranulf from keeping him safe, throw his body on top to give him as much protection as possible if he has to... the growing fear is suppressed. )

I'm sorry that I can't be Ike. I'm... I wish I could be him for you, but I can't.

( he misses ike. so much. )

[silentsavant]

( even when he can feel the death of a bond like a ruptured organ, he frantically claws for ways to disprove its reality. soren seeks the cat-eared man with impossible strain as the sudden grief continues to crush him from within.

his mind veers, throwing off his sense of time and space. a clean and earthy scent soiled by the raze of armies cuts into the overwhelming tang of rotten magic. he thinks of a black knight, a silver-haired maiden. ranulf is, was, there, here, and in his growing despair, he clings to the only presence that gives him any stability, is making any sense to him whatsoever. )

Ranulf...

( it's as though with the breakdown of ike's bond, there's nothing stopping the rush of another to hurry and occupy the vacancy left by its destruction. it's him. ranulf. they're... they're bonded. the barrier once separating them has shattered, and soren begins to sense him there where their souls have been knotted all along. they're frayed. he's wounded in the same way that he is. more, even.

he can't stand it. )

I... I can't remember! Something's wrong, something's... ( he shakes his head as if it might dislodge the fuzz enshrouding it, or perhaps the bolt of agony that ripples through him as he copes with revisiting another distressing but life-shattering reality. ) Ah, Ike is...!

( the door splinters with another blow. soren's eyes flare incandescent, as if shooting fire at the mindless beast who dares to encroach, one of the mindless beasts that laid ruin to his future and intend to devastate what's left further. he begins to rise to his feet with adamantine resolve hardening over his damage and a low, inhuman growl rippling through his vocal cords at levels that inspire fear. )

[ranyaulf]

( he grits his teeth. that roar... every emotion that soren is feeling can be felt in it. it's even more intense when his bond seems to suddenly live again, a breath of life in what joins them together. that invisible link that isn't plugged anymore, no longer 'broken' but still... weak. withered but not dying, not decayed. it can be brought back, he knows it, and that alone gives him the strength to channel all he can into that sound. into that noise of pain and confusion and desire to protect and understand again and...

it makes soren louder. the roar, booming and echoing in the room. his teeth clatter from the reverberation. he can't even hear himself, not necessarily trying to intimidate the shade, but he's gasping for air. not crying. almost wailing. a sound that he'd be embarrassed to admit making in the future. but all he wants right now is for them to be able to see the next sunrise. see the next sunset. lean into each other for strength. overcome every boundary. and if that means pushing himself and forcing all the energy out of his body to do so, he'll do it... and he does.

tears leak from his eyes. he missed soren so, so much.

and when the pounding stops, of his heart and of the door, he can still hear the faint sounds of fighting... but it's not as close. they're probably safe, right? maybe? who knows if it'll return, but that's none of ranulf's concern. it's the fact that his body feels numb and he can't stand any longer, collapsing in a heap to the ground. )

Soren... I'm glad that you remember me.

( the saving grace is that, now that their bond flows strong again, that he can stay conscious. relief is what keeps him awake. )

[silentsavant]

( soren spares one final glance over his shoulder to his bonded. he doesn't remember. can't, not all the way. but his heart is beginning to recall the important parts.

this sub-human... monster? no, he's the monster. laguz. this man is important to him, and ike - not just ike, but soren - would hate to have him die.

sense is no longer soren's strong point as he's overwhelmed by the fire in his belly to avenge, to protect what's left. the washroom glows with the light of his transformation bouncing off the mirrors and tiles, the same hazy light ranulf once emitted, and the small form that occupied the space grows and shifts into a dark, dragon-shaped entity that busts a rain of plaster from ceiling, too, and blows apart what's left of the door and all the walls supporting its frame once he unleashes the blue flamelike surge of his breath.

after that, soren just takes to pulverizing whatever shade comes near with reckless abandon. breath, claws, teeth, tail. he rips and fires, blockades anyone and anything from entering the now dragon-sized hole in the wall, not heeding the danger for infecting himself when he's already been tricked and coerced into contracting it, when ike is gone now and it feels as if he's lost most meaning to live anyway. the foundation shakes with his fury. this part of the mansion is going to be toast... )