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]

[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. ]