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

[cyclopticsadist]

[That is not the reaction he wanted. He keeps his lecherous grin stubbornly in place, but for a moment his ears lie flat against his head. He rubs at his newly freed wrists. He likes having his hands free, but it's a privilege he knows can be easily yanked away if he doesn't behave. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes a step over his tail again. Having it between his legs was fine for a joke, but keeping it there indefinitely is just asking to be tripped up and wind up on the floor.

The place where the stinger connects to his tail is hidden by fur, but when Soren works his fingers under the fluff he'll feel something like an elbow anchoring the transition from skin to exoskeleton. Along the bulb itself there are whisker-like stiff hairs that send a distinct prickling sensation up Niles' spine as he presses them down. If Soren still has a hand on that joint he'll feel it twitch. He redirects that urge to dig his stinger forward into a proper thrash of his tail. Once again he does his best to grind the thick muscular column against Soren's abdomen and thighs, unintentionally proving his point to the witch when despite all his squirming the stinger itself doesn't budge. A frustrated growl starts in his chest, but he suppresses it, instead using it to kickstart a deep, jagged, insincere purr.]

Not nearly as much as you're about to get. [He changes tactics, turning his attention away from the stone faced dragon and onto the far more flappable research assistant. He looms over him and his devices, the rumble from his chest thrumming under his words.] You ready to milk me dry little man?

[silentsavant]

[It's as if the assistant's face can't decide whether to blanch in unsettlement, darken with disgust, or flush with embarrassment as he skirts his gaze to and from and back again and away from the purring chimera currently in the process of being felt up by their dragon. Unable to come up with a reply, he hastens to unruffle himself but hesitates when it comes to approaching them with the clamping apparatus. This naturally frustrates Soren, for he is in the thick of dealing with Niles.]

Don't let him bother you. Focus.

[There's a strained quality buried in his tone, for that press to his abdomen indeed evokes physical arousal. Soren suspects that's what he wants, for he's made himself into nothing but a source of distraction for all parties, and he knows that sort of tactic isn't just for the fun of it. Moreover, this tail has proven quite strong; if he manages to jerk it just right, he could aim for an intended target, or at least escape his fierce grasp. Even with his draconic strength, a chimera's can be an unpredictable force to be reckoned with. They're the wild card of monsters.

But there's something fascinating about the details of his parts, and the longer he got a feel for them, the more patterns he notices. He readjusts his hold that got frustrated by his tail thrash and focuses on stimulating those little hairs, running his fingertips along them with a lover's agile touch and using the pressure Niles exerted against him by grinding his body lightly along the shaft while he works. There's no guarantee that will help stimulate the part-scorpion just right, but there's no harm in checking — even if it does backfire a little in stimulating himself. But Soren is sure he can keep his own libido in check.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[The cocktail of bewilderment the scientist responds with is very gratifying, but Soren easily recaptures his attention with what he's doing to his tail. He's never explored his stinger in detail like this. He's felt the hairs compress as they press against a body of course. It's a distinctly satisfying feeling, like scratching an itch. He knows what it feels like to use the stinger as a blunt instrument as well, the jarring impact satisfying in the same way that landing a punch is. This stroking is entirely different than either, but oh so familiar. It is all in all, an alarmingly effective method of teasing him. He grits his teeth and forces his tail to stay still, causing the whole thing to puff up in its own embarrassingly automatic reaction. But then he feels the undeniable proof that his own teasing is finally paying off. More importantly, it's a sensation to focus on other than his damn fingers.]

Right, right. I promised to be good didn't I?

[He pivots slowly to face him again, careful to keep his tail as rigid as possible as he does. He needs to keep up something hot and hard for Soren to grind against after all. Once he's completed his turn he moves in closer again he wants to have a good look at the man's expression before he pulls his next trick. His purr starts to smooth out, and then he just lets himself relax into one of the warring animal instincts in his mind. This is one he dips into and out of all the time, one he knows he has more control over. He lets his tail shudder. Its an initial intense burst of vibration followed by it trailing off to settle back into an ideal platform for him to grind on.]

[silentsavant]

[The catlike eye that darts from tail to the owner of it widens briefly in surprise at the startling new sensation, pupils constricting and widening as if Soren can't decide whether to feel threatened or give into the astonishing pleasure that hits right where his sex organ stirs concealed. He bites back an undignified cry.]

Oh...!

[Judging by the chimera's look, this development is intentional. He's just doing this to be contrary, isn't he? He bumps his horned head back to push Niles away, his tail waving in irritated excitement. His grip over the tail does not falter. His grinding, however, has come to a complete halt.

Part of him wishes the other cult cronies would evaporate and leave the milking part entirely to him so they didn't stand there trying not to gawk at how blatantly sexual their engagement is evolving, so he could relieve the swell in his loins without the issue of being watched. It doesn't bother him as much that Niles might feel the "reward" he would reap as he continues to stimulate him in turn; he's not exactly prudish. It does, however, bother him that his own spike in arousal appears to be impeding their progress.]

Don't let me bother you, either! I said focus! Just give me the clamp if you can't handle this.

[Apparently, being yelled at by a frustrated dragon is enough to snap some motion into the stymied cultist, flushed scarlet as he tries to apprehend the shuddering tail. Soren goes ahead and snatches it away from his feeble attempt and does it for him.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles snickers at Soren's expression the sound soon building into an outright cackle as the two of them squabble over his equipment and their equipment. He turns away from them, finally seeming to actually cooperate. He relaxes his tail, and it becomes a heavy but easily pliable limb. When the clamp finally closes around his tail he grunts just a little under his breath. Soren's grip was tighter but his hand had no mechanical hinge to catch and pull on his fur. He turns away from their fussing to stare down the distant observers.

He notices a control panel in front of one, a thick cable running from the base of its stand back to the clamp. His jaw sets. He's been pumped full of volts before and while he can't deny he's plenty fond of the thrill of it, its power to stimulate reflexive actions is potent. Sure enough, as he thinks about it he can feel one of them parting his fur deliberately now before tightening a line of screws. One after another he feels cold blunted metal probes against skin normally well insulated, and he can't keep his ears from pinning back. There was no thunder coursing through him yet, but it was only a matter of time. He frowns and tucks his arms against his chest. When he next speaks up his voice has lost the teasing lilt.]

Hey, hey, for real, I'll cooperate. [He's giving in, and it's not mockery this time, really. He wrinkles up his nose in a grimace, remembering the last time L had tried to fry him with thunder.] Shooting me full of sparks will make the whole cell block smell like burnt fur.

[silentsavant]

[As the research assistants fix Niles up for his impending electrostimulation session, Soren dismounts his tail, not exactly eager to participate in the sensation should any of his cohorts jump the gun. He studies the genuine objection written in the chimera's features, hangs an intentional pause there while his cold and reptilian gaze pierces him. The other monster's comforts are not a clear priority to him or anyone here.]

It already reeks of much worse. Forcing it out of you would be easy for us. [He does, however, show a willingness to bargain with a stroke that begins at his bulbous telson and trails down in a sensual sweep. The dragon's pupils gorge with hunger. Despite what little he personally feels toward their captive, his swelling sex drive permits him to appreciate shallow appeals like his roguish attractiveness, the contortion of his face now that he's so cornered that he's retracted his lewd and irreverent antics for desperate gravity matching his true situation. He scopes with private interest any slight changes transpiring after the brief touch, tilts his head just so, but despite the suggestiveness of his own remark, he remains as mirthless as ever.] But if you really will put out for me this way without a fuss, I suggest you don't delay.

[cyclopticsadist]

[He meets that hungry gaze with a resigned, bitter smile, and a nod which ends with his eyes averted. He keeps his tail still at the petting, but one ear swivels briefly towards their observers. He recognized, (and frankly shared), Soren's annoyance at their presence, but knows that in the near future they'd have another trip down winding, empty corridors. If he keeps feeding that instinct might really be able to provoke his handler into getting sloppy on the way back.

He sits, putting himself at Soren's feet with his back facing the machine.]

This position, the pressure at the base of my tail helps prime the instinct. [He huffs a little, but he keeps cooperating. His tail stiffens up as he arches into an obvious strike pose. He looks up, smirking as his instructions get unavoidably risque.] Get your vessel ready, then stroke the bulb like you did but harsher. I've got more than one load in me so make sure your friend can handle some real volume.

[silentsavant]

[Soren levels his near-perpetual scowl at his assistant friend, who stops balking immediately and prepares himself (and his vessel) for the aforementioned volume. Once he's shuffling on the task of swapping out his chosen collection phial for a bigger one, Soren seizes his lethal, furry tail just beneath the bulb with both hands, but not without ensuring once more that the other cultists won't be stupid enough to treat the both of them to an untimely shock. He locks eyes with Niles then, the pupils of them engorging again from the slits he'd given the spineless aristocrat.]

I can do harsh.

[Not wanting to waste any precious venom, Soren waits until the phial is positioned adequately before digging his clawed fingers into the right spot, rubbing harder than he was doing before but not quite crushing. He demonstrates once more to Niles that despite his size and frame, he truly is a dragon, and he means to press his stiffened tail to spill the goods by force.]

Hard enough for you?

[cyclopticsadist]

[Niles responds only with a growl. His shoulders hunch and a hard twitch runs through his tail. It ends with the joint flexing, the muscles eagerly pushing the bulb into that pressure. The stream of clear venom that results splatters forcefully against the bottom of the container and up the sides, but the seal around his stinger holds, and nothing spills. It comes in spurts, and after the sixth or so Niles starts grunting and tensing his shoulders in time with the twitches of the tail. The next three jets are harder, then it begins to taper off. As a few final drops slide down his stinger he's left panting.]

That's- That's round one. [He looks up at Soren first, then over to the assistant.] If you need to change vessels my refractory period, (for this anyway), is around five minutes. [Coincidentally that's also around how quickly the more paralytic and lethal symptoms of a well placed sting set in.] You can keep squeezing all you want, but nothing more is coming out until then, so you should take advantage of your window.

[silentsavant]

[There's really no contesting how evocative this display is or how it feels in Soren's grip as he tenses and releases. The poor cultist adjusting the vessel had to bite back a yelp and wince as the venom jets hard against the glass, and it's a question of whether the force of it or his nerves made him almost lose his grip. The research assistant further from him let loose a cackle at his expense. Either way, he was never the same after that, face aglow up to the ears and expression bolted in an affected frown. Soren, on the other hand, remains focused as ever, in control of his arousal in spite of how it's fed further by Niles spending his secretion.

The blushing assistant wastes no time in detaching the freshly-squeezed death juice from its spout and turns his back to make the recommended arrangements. Soren runs his fingers along the spotted pelt much like a congratulatory pet — condescending, maybe, but it also sublimates the private and growing desire for further stimulation.

Soren's mind hasn't been a perfect spread of lies. Some real truth begins to emerge, the darker hues of his past bubbling up from the mire in his heart to corrupt the presently reformed version of him. It's the wildcat fur and those tiger-like ears that draw some unanticipated satisfaction of rendering him helpless, mastering him down to his bodily fluids, being in control. The ghost of a smirk haunts his features, camouflaged like a trick of the light.

But it feels wrong somehow, like the discordant note of an instrument in need of tuning. Not a moral wrong, but a sense of critical displacement. He's missing something. Something important. Ike? No... No, he has that. The threads of his memories and associations are tangled and snapped in too many places. The dragon dismisses the eerie sense of deja vu as a product of the brain damage he had received. He'll inform Ike of this feeling later; he'll be able to set him straight. He always has. The mental slippage, unfortunately, washed out Soren's expression for a moment into a meditative blankness. He recovers from this forcibly and tries to avoid making sense of his addled train of thought. He has a duty to perform.

After a couple more extraction sessions, once the venomous chimera has been purportedly milked dry, they move onto the experiment proper. Soren binds his tail back up and the other cultists roll the equipment away. This time, he unshackles his manacles to permit them freedom of movement. The witch who had mostly remained stationed away from the sordid action steps up, wand at the ready. He clears his throat.

"I trust you are capable and prepared for this next part, Dragon," he reviews, tone thin and gruff with age but held up by the loftiness of his manner. 'Dragon' nods, eyes on their subject, a stance ready to react to anything but lacking the tension of one doing so out of fear. ]

Of course.

[ The cultist swirls his broad-sleeved arm, over and over as if conjuring a vortex into the air. Their surroundings shift: a polar plunge, a gale that plays with the long strands of Soren's hair, rustles the fur along Niles's body. He stands at the shore of a lake now, and the chilly waters kiss Niles's feet. Their prior surroundings and all who inhabited it fragment and break down, swiftly restructuring into a dimension drawn up from Niles's psyche. ]