Event Log: April, Tangled Terrors Part Two

[faileas]

Event Log: April, Tangled Terrors Part Two

Hopefully you and your fellows have prepared yourselves for the trial that comes next, with supplies and backup, because it could be days until you see the city of Aefenglom again. Slashing down the curtain of blackened roots that bar entry to the source of all this trouble will open up access to a truly massive cavern, the ceiling of which is far, far over your heads. Unlike everywhere else in the Underground so far, slats of light from aboveground filter in through cracks in the ceiling of varying sizes, where thick, sickly roots penetrate the surface and reach down, down, down, hanging like stalactites or wrapping around the mass at the center of the chamber. There it is, the pulsing louder than ever, a steady drumbeat of unease: a beating, throbbing mass of Cwyld, easily as large as one of the bigger buildings in Aefenglom. Pitch black in color, it’s attached firmly to the coiling roots of what must be a huge tree above, leeching from it like a parasite and reaching dark vein-like fingers into the leyline. This is an ancient, well-established thing that must have laid dormant for a long time, newly awoken by the efforts to clear away infection in the tunnels close to it. With every beat of this hideous heart, the problems that plague the Underground, Aefenglom, and the Mirrorbound grow incrementally worse. It’s easier to feel out the leyline here, even for those who may not be sensitive to such things, and its poor condition is enough to fill even the stoniest heart with empathetic, deep-rooted despair - the magic here is badly tainted, the land dying all around you.

I. The Screaming Tree It’s possible to climb the winding roots up to the world aboveground, wriggling through the cracks in the earth’s ceiling. The Cwyld is deep-set here, the grass ashen gray and withered, crumbling under your feet, the plants black and twisted into strange shapes or simply dead, collapsing into dusty husks at the slightest brush. The ancient tree before you is just as dead, its branches long bare, its bark crumbling and leaving bone-white patches of the raw wood visible in the trunk. It might have been beautiful once, homey, its roots spread wide and forming natural hollows and bowers to rest in, but that was a long, long time ago. Before something terrible happened here. Look closer at the trunk, and bear witness to the faces of two dozen humanoid creatures who seem like they were partly absorbed into the tree and frozen there, their expressions a tableau of horror, fear, despair, many of their mouths twisted into screams. Men, women, there are even a couple of faces that seem so, so very young, held in place inside the dead tree by black, pulsing veins. Their long limbs are outstretched like branches, as if they’re reaching for you, desperate for help. Black, oily sludge constantly leaks from their unmoving eyes like tainted tears. The Dryads died out a long time ago, fallen to the Cwyld, that’s common knowledge, but now you’re seeing it for yourself. The pulsing mass of Cwyld below overtook this tree, and the Dryads who no doubt lived among its roots and branches. "Can thou feel their cries? The hopelessness wrought deep in their souls?" comes a larger than life voice near you, laden with despair of her own to see the evidence of lives cut tragically short. “I remember this place. It was a Dryad settlement once, long ago.”

II. Guardian's Blessing The source of the voice may be familiar to some: Creia, the guardian dragon of the earth, who was once freed from her own slumber thanks to Mirrorbound efforts; her scales are a vibrant, emerald color, evidence of her better health from her first true meeting with the Mirrorbound as a whole outside the boundaries of Aefenglom, and there's a sense of power in the words she speaks. The power that comes from long life, from an ancient being who has seen and experienced much. "Mine wings bore me as swiftly as they could," she says, settling into a sitting position in the dead grass, watching the tree with immeasurable sadness. "Thou hast seen what lies beneath, have thee not? The Cwyldheart." Her tone is nearer to disdain than sorrow, but there's a clear remorse in it as well. "I had not thought they existed still, but perhaps they merely laid dormant where my senses could not find them. This one poisons the very leyline that runs beneath thine Aefenglom." She goes on to inform all who are gathered that when she heard from you Mirrorbound that something was amiss, she came as quickly as she could to see the damage, and to try and offer her help if she can. Cwyldhearts, she tells you all, are masses where the infection is concentrated, where it has consumed a great amount of magic or lives, and when active, they cause powerful surges in infection all through the leylines they attach to. She wasn’t aware that any remained, and speculates that they hide themselves when they go dormant. This one is most assuredly active, and that means it won’t stop until it has consumed everything it can, turned every life from here to Aefenglom into an infected husk. But Creia, her talons scratching at the dead ground, and her gaze fixed on the tree, does not seem so willing to accept that. "Thou who hath been called by the world, thou hath proven thyselves capable of achieving the improbable before, have thee not? That I stand here now before thee is proof enough of that. Perhaps, should thee take heart and valor in hand, thou may be able to do so once more. Wouldst thou like to try?" In a surge of power, the ground immediately beneath her shifts, the grass changing color slowly from gray to white to green with new life, and she drags her claws through it to turn the earth, revealing large brown seeds shaped like teardrops, the size of footballs or ostrich eggs, nestled in the dirt. Despite their woody outer shells, she’s very careful with them as she offers a seed to anyone who steps forward to take one. "Each of these seeds contains a piece of my magic. Keep them safe, plant them in the center of the Cwyldheart, and add thy power to mine own. Yes, yes, those who are closer in form to myself as well, everyone with a spark of life in them can lend their voice to the chorus of this world. It will amplify thine abilities and thine hope for a better world, and enough of them should allow thee to destroy this blight for good." She casts a glance to the tree, to the frozen faces of the Dryads, something new entering her expression, something like hope. "And who knows what may happen then?" This mission is a dangerous one, but Creia sends off those willing to take it with a warm, heartfelt wish. "Thou must take care of thyselves, but be certain to take care of thy comrades as well. Thou shalt need one another."

III. Heart of Darkness You can’t put it off any longer. With seeds in hand, it’s time to venture back down below, to the pulsing Cwyldheart. The steady thump-thump, thump-thump resonates in your very bones, in the back of your brain that has your instincts screaming at you to run the other way. The twisted knot of blackened roots and veins at the center of the chamber does not welcome visitors, but it’s possible to slip through a gap between the tangles, into a darkness you’ve never known before. Whatever entrance you find closes up the moment you and your fellows step through it, and it becomes obvious quickly that either you will succeed here, or you’ll join those Dryads in the infected tree. Your Watch still works, at least - most of the time. The connection is quite spotty, and voices can come out sounding garbled and nightmarish on both sides, but with persistence, this is the only way you’ll be able to talk to anyone who isn’t on this mission with you. Otherwise, you’ll have to rely on your fellow volunteer heroes to help you through this. a. Inside the Cwyldheart The inside is much larger than the outside would suggest. Once your eyes adjust to the darkness, an easier feat for Monsters than it is for Witches, the true scope of this maze of tangled roots becomes clear. The walls move in and out like they’re breathing around you, some corridors much tighter and others feeling vast. In some, you can walk right side up, while in others, your feet remain on the ‘ground’ but the blood rushes to your head, the actual floor far below you. Time and space take on a dreamlike feeling, and you can’t tell if minutes have passed or hours, can’t tell if you’ve gone feet or miles, but Mirrorbound at least should be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality. This is all very real, and you won’t wake up miraculously fine if you get hurt down here. Negative feelings seem always at the forefront, paranoia and fear especially, filling those who venture here with the sense that they need to watch their backs. The air is thick and stale, damp and reeking of rot. The natural pathways that tunnel through the Cwyldheart like twisting arteries are lined with clusters of purple fungi, and very old, sludge-covered bones of the creatures it infected long ago. They’re rare, but occasionally blind Shades still wander within the chambers of the Cwyldheart, so twisted and mutated you can’t tell what they used to be. These are attracted to sound and motion, and by staying very still, you can generally avoid their attention. Everything in this place gets more dangerous once it gets the scent of those seeds you carry, though. As if sensing what they could do to it, it will react defensively. Protect those seeds; Shades will come after those who carry them, the roots in the walls and the bulbous mushrooms loosening and growing and lashing out. The Cwyld may sink its claws into you in an attempt to infect and consume those seeds - too much contact with the roots or the Shades may start to cause physical mutations in you, just like those mutations of the velvet wormipedes and the native creatures of the tunnels. Your limbs may change and twist, you may grow new blackened protrusions. It's painful, and disgusting, and if it goes too far, you may need to hand your seed off to someone you can trust, lest you sabotage the mission yourself. b. Heart on Your Sleeve As the hours pass within the Cwyldheart, things get… a little weird. Your sense of perception could feel off. It may feel like something is always watching you, like you have to keep looking over your shoulder every few minutes. Or you might feel utterly, utterly alone in the universe, even if someone is standing right next to you. Whatever makes you feel worse, it seems like. But then the strangeness gets more improbable, like the Cwyldheart itself wants to probe at your weaknesses, bring them out to the forefront to better get under your skin and make you lose hope in ever finding the center. All those things that have hurt you in the past, that left their marks on your mind, your soul rather than your body, surface as wounds or scars on your physical form. None of them will be debilitating or life-threatening in themselves, you won’t bleed out from your past broken heart, but they will be painfully obvious to those around you, and some may not handle that type of vulnerability well. The only thing that seems to ease the pain from these psychological wounds is talking about the events that caused them to another person, whether they be your Bonded or a total stranger, or just sharing an emotional connection of some kind. No one wants to discuss some of their worst memories or open up to a near stranger, but it might be necessary to keep yourself from being distracted or held back as you wander the maze of the Cwyldheart. c. A Helping Hand The rampant issues with Witches’ magic, with Bonds, even sometimes with Monsters; abilities, continue even here. With your proximity to the source, they are even stronger - but there is a way to alleviate the effects enough to progress. The land recognizes all bonds, even those that are unofficial, even those that are new. While you can hang on to your Bonded if you’re lucky enough to have them with you, friendships or familial relationships or a budding romance, the heat of a rivalry, or even the new and tenuous bond of two strangers brought together by mutual dangers can be used to your advantage. Physical contact with any of your fellow Mirrorbound, even just clasped hands, or a comforting hand on your shoulder, can make it easier to cast spells to light your way through the dark or fight off the few wandering Shades. It can give you the strength to use your abilities, not quite to their fullest, but better than you can use them alone. It will also help you protect those seeds you hold close to your chest. Your bonds, and your Bonds can help shield their presence from the Cwyldheart, making it safer to proceed. It’d be easy to push people away, especially bearing the physical representations of your deepest emotional hurts, but you’ll never survive that way. You’ll only make it to the center by coming together.

IV. Seeds of Hope In the real world, at least a week has passed before you and your fellows find the center of the Cwyldheart, though it may feel like only hours or it may feel like weeks to you, stuck in a place that ignores the conventions of the real world. The innermost chamber is a small space, tucked away, with sloping walls made of latticed roots littered with holes. This is the only place inside where a thin trickle of light filters down, weak, through a small hole in the ceiling. This chamber is vulnerable, all the strange defenses outside meant to protect it. The soil here is black with infection, but soft, easily dug with your hands or tools if you happened to have brought them. The perfect place to plant your garden of hope for the future of Geardagas. Once you’ve broken through to the innermost chamber, the pulsing seems to fade away, letting you think again, clearly, for the first time since you entered. The walls are still. You’ve made it this far and no more dangers will come for you. Plant the seeds you worked so hard to keep safe in the blackened soil, hold your friends tight, and plant a piece of your own innate magic with them. All your best intentions, all your joys, all your light. Let it bloom. The seeds take root quickly, and bloom they do, growing fast and strong and pulsing with magic, Creia’s bolstering your own to make something bright and brilliant. The resulting plants grow huge in a matter of minutes, twining together in harmony. Maybe you can even tell which seed you have carried, because the plant is a larger version of something significant to you, or it bears colors that represent you. They form a sheltered bower, and spread upward, pushing away the blackened walls, sinking fresh green tendrils into the bigger roots of the dead tree. The Cwyldheart crumbles around you. The black recedes. The leyline fills with fresh magic and pulses with new life. A gentle warmth wraps around you like a blanket and heals your wounds and banishes any infection you picked up. It will keep working over the next few days, the new life sinking in, banishing the Cwyld entirely from the Underground caverns and weakening its hold above. It will gradually bring life again to the ancient tree and make it bloom once more. At this point, you can stick around to watch it happen, or you can return home with the good news, and trust in what you helped to start. With the destruction of the Cwyldheart, all its negative effects will fade. Your Bonds will snap back into place and right themselves from the Dryad Tree clear into Aefenglom. You might feel the phantom ache of that loss for some time more, but the moment it’s destroyed, everyone will know that all will be well.

Welcome to Tangled Terrors, Part Two! This part takes place entirely at the site of the Cwyldheart, but anyone is welcome to do Watch threads on this log to communicate with the group they aren't part of (staying home vs expedition team). We'll be posting a small wrap-up at the very end of the month that will describe the aftermath and the rewards characters will reap for their efforts, but it won't be a full event post of its own. As always, you're welcome to use this log or make your own, and please make sure you warn for any content that might be disturbing to others! And lastly, please direct your questions here. Have fun!

Comments

QUESTIONS

[moustre]

Re: QUESTIONS

[notbert]

What can be done with the seeds? Pouring magic in certainly. But anything else? If he were to ask what price there is to adding one's voice to the chorus, is it a permanent matter or something to heal this specific infestation?

Momo | IDOLiSH7 | Witch

[yesdoubt]

[a: inside the heart/helping hand]

[Since coming here, Momo's been through a lot of unpleasant experiences that are worlds apart from the kinds he'd face back home. But this is definitely taking out a spot somewhere at the top of the list, once the group of volunteers slips into the heart and are closed off from the rest of the world.

He's carrying a seed himself - Yuki had insisted on taking one, and there was no way Momo would let him enter alone, so a seed each is better than one. And honestly, there's no way Momo would turn back at this point anyway, especially not knowing the Cwyldheart was awakened by the leyline cleansing efforts. He's the one who initially gathered numbers to bring that technique down here, and though it had helped in the short-term, he has to take responsibility for the long-term consequences it's now having. Regardless of what that might mean for him.

Though the travel group is likely close-knit anyway, Momo is particularly apt to not let his partner out of his sight in these circumstances, though sometimes his position ends up a bit further away than he'd like. There hasn't been a Shade through in a while - but the mushrooms are still aggressive to anyone holding seeds, and Momo has something of a tendency to react instinctively whether they're targeting him or targeting someone else nearby with a seed as they burst out of the wall trying to spread their infection.]

Hey--! [He initially just means to shield against it, but the magic weirdness is still in play, and what actually comes out is less a barrier and more a flash-in-the-pan slash of energy that splatters the mushrooms all over the place. He dodges most of the remains, but a few splatter onto his outer layers and a little onto one hand, and he quickly moves to check anyone in the nearby vicinity and whether they ended up splattered.]

Are you okay?

--

[b: heart on your sleeve (cw: graphic wound descriptions, major elements of self-hate/self-destructive behaviour*)]

[Momo has never been a particularly honest person, when it comes to his personal matters. Either because he thinks that other people's are more important, or because he has difficulty really trusting people with those sorts of matters unless he knows them well. It's ended badly for him more than once, and though he's fairly covered up given the nature of the mission, it begins to show through before too long. In many, many places.]

(i. travelling)

[While they're on the move, Momo's developing wounds are less visible, even if he can initially be seen rubbing at his wrists a bit before he realises what's going on and stops drawing attention to it. He's covered almost all the way up to his neck, except he's no longer wearing gloves since he doesn't want to risk losing grip on the seed at a bad time, but the most easily visible wounds appear on his upper face, up towards his hairline on the left side - some might notice that Yuki has larger wounds in the same area, if they encounter him. His neck is a little bit harder to notice, with his collar cutting about halfway up it, but the wounds that begin to unfurl at about the point his larynx would be are a raw contrast to the surrounding skin, a mess of what look like claw marks and bruising fingerprints focused on that area rather than the rest of his neck. The lack of gloves also leaves his wrists visible, bearing bruised and raw marks reminiscent of the wear and tear from struggling against chains or manacles.

While he notices the wrists quickly enough (and the itches on his neck and face are difficult to ignore, even if he can't actually see the wounds), he moves to pull his sleeves down and his collar up a bit in hopes that nobody picks up on it. The face is harder to do anything about, but if anyone looks like they're about to remark on it, he'll preempt it by turning back focus on their condition rather than his.]

Are you bleeding anywhere? I doubt I can stop it with magic right now, but I brought some bandages and dressings.

(ii. breaks)

[Of course, those aren't the only places Momo is feeling the phantom wounds, and the particularly unlucky might catch him checking on them during a rest stop, shirt unfastened and pants rolled up a bit. His ankles are showing the same marks as his wrists, and there looks like there's some kind of fissured scar down the back of his left leg - but that's not the most noticeable thing. Not only does the opening of his shirt make the extent of the neck wounds more obvious, as well as what looks like a fresh, raw burnt brand across the base of the back of his neck, distending his recently refreshed mind control warding tattoo, it reveals what Momo was probably actually checking on.

Over his heart, a knotted and extensive mass of wounds lies, another set that looks more like claw markings than anything, perhaps from something canine. However, rather than looking like they've come from the outside and into his chest, they look like they've come up and outwards from it, as if something was trying to gouge its way out over a very long period of time.

Though that has his attention enough for someone to get near enough to see, as soon as he notices another presence, he hastily covers his chest up again. The ankle and leg wounds are less of a priority than the heart one, apparently, and Momo's expression, for the briefest moment, is something sharp and defensive before he tries to underplay the whole thing with a bit of a dramatic pout.]

Can't a guy get some privacy even inside a freaky infected heart?

[[*This is kind of a specific content warning for the first line, but due to most of Momo's emotional wounds coming from his treatment of himself/other internal factors, there will likely also be allusions to self-harm in threads off this prompt, if indirectly/by association.]]

--

[c: infection (on the last real world day of the trip, cw: body horror)]

[While Momo does take advantage of holding onto his Bonds to stabilise his magic, he still has enough flare-ups akin to the earlier one with the mushrooms and a few close calls with the blind Shades going for the seed he carries that he ends up exposed to the infection. The lack of gloves really didn't help even if he considered it an acceptable tradeoff for better security holding the seed, though he's at least tried to bear as many of the exposures as he can on one side of his body.

And boy, does it end up showing. In the last legs of the trip, with him stubbornly continuing onward in the face of everything, dead-set on reaching the end after they've gotten this far, he fumbles the seed and has to shove it into his good arm as the other one spasms. Initially, it just feels like a regular muscle spasm, until a moment later when all his muscles clench and it starts to feel like something's stabbing all the way down the limb.

Being as stubborn as he is about showing that he's hurting, he manages to grit his teeth through the sensation of hot knives that goes down his arm as the skin goes blackened and hard. And then it starts to split and let out a series of twisted spines, and the very first one dragging its way out pulls an audible cry of pain along with it. Anyone who seeks out the sound, or just notices something's wrong, will find Momo having shoved the seed into his carry bag for now, to instead clamp his good hand over his mouth to try and stifle the agonised noises as the infected arm, bristling with malformed spines, distends into a longer length and envelops his hand as it forms into one long, cruel spike of bone and infected flesh. Somewhat ironically, those who've seen Momo use his ice magic might note its similarity to one of his favoured brute force attack methods of freezing his lower arm into an icicle temporarily.

The pain is blinding, and by the end of it, Momo's knees give out - his good hand stays on his mouth, the spike that his other one has turned into at least "catching" him before he faceplants, but leaving the infected arm bent at an uncomfortable and unnatural-looking angle. He's already trying to push himself upright, like he's just trying to ignore it and move on, but his legs don't want to take his weight again just yet, and the spike arm wobbles and distorts a bit. It's solid for the moment, but those cave creatures didn't turn into smears on the rock from nothing.]

--

[d: seeds of hope (cw: body horror)]

[Though he's definitely not in anything like good shape by the end of everything, Momo continues forging ahead with very little mind for his own condition but that he gets there in (mostly) one piece. And when they finally break through into the heart of hearts, it's like taking a breath of fresh air. Nothing else trying to dig at his mind, nothing else trying to attack him or someone he cares about for their seed. His infected arm is deteriorating already, flesh starting to go soft and rotten, but he doesn't need it for this - he just needs his heart, the people he holds within it, and the one good hand he can wrap around the seed as he presses it into the earth, wrapped in his own magic. Hopes, cares, the determination to make it out alive, whatever he can reach for.

When his seed blooms, it carries the scent of herbs, comforting and homey to anyone who's had home cooking done with them freshly picked. It's a scent he knows well from any kitchen in anywhere Yuki lives, and he breathes it in, lets the warmth come through him, feels his arm seem to tighten as it recedes far less painfully into the shape it should be. As the last vestiges of the Cwyldheart vanish around them, and the fresh magic starts its cleansing work, his legs give out on him again, but this time, it's in relief, the knowledge that they've managed to come out the other side.]

...We did it. [It's a few simple words, but the tears that trail from the corners of his eyes and the smile that peeks out his pointed canines is telling enough. He's glad he could help see things through for the Underground, and at this point, he can only hope this purges the infection more decisively than what their hands had done prior to now.]

--

[e: wildcard]

[[Feel free to hit me up to plot something else over at the plotting post or at reviseleviathan! I'm still up for some random Bond shenanigans, though still with the caveat that they probably won't last long.]]

b. ii. + bond shenanigans; no issues with the related content

[adventageous]

[Through the fog of everything, Alice feels the telltale spike of feelings that comes with the experience of having a Bond. At first she thinks it might be her connection with Karin re-establishing itself, but she quickly rules that out due to how unfamiliar it feels. Despite her exhaustion after the day's travel (assuming it has been a day--time here has no structure or meaning), she follows the thread toward a familiar face, albeit one she doesn't know well.

He's clearly not especially pleased to see her, although he attempts to be somewhat lighthearted about it even as he covers himself. It doesn't stop her from feeling the spike of negativity that precedes his words.]

I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, I didn't see anything.

[Alice was too focused on what she's feeling to pay much attention to what he looks like, currently.]

I just followed... what feels like a Bond toward you. Do you feel it, too?

a

[grandspark]

[The sudden burst of infected flora out of the tunnel wall as he passed was definitely a surprise. His honed reflexes were quick so he dodged the initial explosion and grasping fungi easily. What he didn't anticipate was Momo's rapid reaction and the mess it made.

The gooey substance that was once fungus landed all over his front side. His suit was ruined but honestly at this point that was already expected considering the traveling conditions down here. That wasn't an issue.

What was an issue was the parts that covered his skin and scales. A splattering across his face, a touch on his tail. The goo wouldn't have bothered him much on a normal day--sometimes jobs just got dirty--but this infected nonsense had him more on edge than usual. A dragon amongst all this was a dumb idea, he knew it, but he kept going anyway. He'd taken care to cover himself carefully as he traveled through tighter spots, using shawls and capes to cover his head and wings and tail when needed. But he removed them when in more open areas like this one to keep from feeling stifled.

Maybe he should reconsider that. His muscles twitched in the closest approximation to panic as he allowed himself.]

...fine. Help me get this off.

[He told Momo as he took out a handerkerchief and started to desperately wipe down his face and, yes he still had them even down here in the dark, his sunglasses.]

c: infection

[claritatis]

[Ignis, strangely enough, doesn't appear to be showing any signs of his inner turmoil twisting his body. He has been walking a little gingerly for a while now, but still sure-footed and with the seed he carries tucked firmly into the palm of his right hand. He's a little pale. What no one can see is the cacophony of voices building inside his head.

It had been quiet at first. Whispers, now and then, that he had first thought had simply come from those around him and echoed down the tunnels towards their position. Now it's a rushing chorus of overlapping words and shouts, and it's all he can do to concentrate enough to put one foot in front of the other.

But other are suffering far more than he is and as distracted as he may be he doesn't fail to notice Momo crying out in pain... or what's happening to his arm as soon as he finds the source of the sound. His thoughts go immediately to his conversations with the Cwyld-infected Mirrorbound in the cages at the cult manor, but he still doesn't hesitate in crossing to him and bobbing down into a crouch.]

Hold a moment. Don't try to get up.

cw: body horror. don't click the link if eye stuff grosses you out.

[adventageous]

I. Heart of Darkness (OTA)

[Alice's internal hurts are many, but the most insidious of them is the curse she carries. It's borne of the world's Malice collected within her lover's heart, a burden taken willingly but will ultimately kill her in his place. As she enters the Cwyldheart, the curse begins to take shape in her features in additional to her soul.

Her skin is cracked and mottled, covered with inflamed and infected eyes. The jewel in the tattoo over her heart, visible due to torn clothing, is an angry crimson as opposed to its original blue hue. It's painful and terrible, but Alice does her best to pay it no mind. The pain is the same as it was back home, before the curse claimed her, and she's suffered it before. She clings tightly to her connection with Karin, even without their Bond, and reaches out to other seed-bearers where she can.

That doesn't mean that she's not struggling. Alice is just as likely to be found slumped in a corner nursing her misery as she is proactively trying to care for others or fight back the Shades that seem to linger behind any corner. Regardless of her state, she will at least try to give a smile to anyone who approaches her.

Despite her best efforts, the smile doesn't reach her eyes.]


II. Seeds of Hope (closed to Karin)

[Breaking through to the deepest part of the Cwyldheart feels like a breath of fresh air, her mind clearing enough to appreciate the thin trickle of light--the first natural light she's seen in what feels like a lifetime. The beauty of it, even with as weak as it is, nearly brings her to tears.

As the dragon Creia had instructed, Alice overturns the soft earth at her feet and buries her seed within it. Once that's accomplished she prays, reaching out with her magic with the hopes of a safer, more beautiful world. Aefenglom holds the same place in her heart as the world she's left back home, imperfect but filled with love and joy and the best of humanity if one knows where to look for it. What she felt was a divine directive upon her arrival has become a deeply personal one. For however long she's allowed to remain, this is her home. There's nothing more that she wants than to save it from its own decay.

And as she prays, pouring the best of herself into the ground and willing it to take shape, the symptoms of her curse fade away until she's herself again. She's no longer in pain, no longer isolated, no longer suffering. It's almost funny--she had started this month the loneliest she's felt in a long time and is finishing it feeling more connected to everyone here than she ever has.

The most important of those connections flows back into her like a wave, breaking her concentration and turning her attention from the lily before her growing and blooming and intertwining with the other seeds of hope that have been planted here. She feels Karin's presence within her again, and the wave of emotions that come with the reconnected Bond bring her to tears.

Alice takes Karin's hand, giving her a watery smile.]

We've done it.

[Her hold tightens slightly, as if she's scared Karin might still somehow slip away.]

I missed you.


III. Wildcard

Feel free to hit me up at asondeiru or asondeiru#9009 on Discord if you’d like to plot, or tag in here with a starter of your own!

Heart of Darkness

[themogget]

[No one would have expected a small white cat, of all things, to have made it this far.

Mogget lost control of his human shape not all that long ago, and the effort to keep holding on to it almost drained him entirely. He isn't sure how long it's been anymore and somehow the passage of time doesn't seem to matter. Well, it never mattered before, did it?

The curse has had its own peculiar effects on the small feline form. Strange wisps of light curl off his white fur, almost like smokey tendrils, giving the effect of his entire shape appearing to be losing cohesion. His shape doesn't seem entirely right - cat-like, but off in a way that is entirely uncanny and not easily pinpointed. When he walks it's with clear discomfort.

He finds the young woman sitting in a corner, looking about as terrible as he feels. The eyes don't seem to put him off.]

Would you have still come, if you knew?

[When the cat speaks his voice is a myriad of odd mewls and other feline sounds, but there's something else to it now. A strange, vibrating bass carried under it that speaks of something far more powerful.]

ii

[sonnestark]

[That hollow feeling following their bond being severed had never really faded, not until now. She had lost track of the days down here; time had so little meaning in the dark, removed from the rest of the world as this place seems to be. She has never allowed herself to stray far, watching over her bondmate even as the connection between them languished, but she can see Alice return to her rightful self before her very eyes now, the color returning to her face as her magic is restored and she is once again whole— and their bond along with her, causing the part of Karin that had been steadily edging towards feral to calm itself at last.

Everything is as it should be.

She squeezes Alice's hand in turn, offering a smile that shows pride as much as it does relief, reaching out to lay her other hand against her bondmate's shoulder, something that feels strangely more intimate than it ought to thanks to the raw and powerful sensation of their bond having been restored.]

I didn't do much of anything.

[She hadn't had to struggle nearly as much as Alice had to get this far, but...]

I missed you, too.

I; cw: self harm/suicidal ideation mentions and third party injury

[gekijou]

[Yuki did not know what the hell he was signing up for. He knows that now. Still, he doesn't regret it, because he swore after the kidnapping incident that he wouldn't let Momo face anything dangerous alone ever again. They're partners. This is what they do.

Only his Bond is absolutely fucked up right now, among other things. He can barely feel Momo, he feels other people off and on, which he absolutely hates, and now he's reached up to brush sweat-drenched bangs back and felt a massive scar across his forehead. If he couples that with the ones on the backs of his hands and across his fingertips, the ones winding up his arms, and the one more subtle one around his neck, he gets what this place is trying to do to him and he resents it immensely. That miserable time in his life is over, and he's not looking back. He has Momo, not matter how hard things keep trying to come between them.

He won't back down.

He is an absolute mess, nothing like the idol he is on the surface, and for a moment he just needs to rest. There are no Shades nearby for now, and he sees a person in the corner, so he makes his way over to join them.]

...Are you used to this kinda stuff? I'm definitely not.

howl

[galdorleod]

( darkness - closed to jin guangyao. )

How fitting it is for the large brown seed, cradled in Howl's arms, to be compared to an egg, but the explanation for why is a bit long.

It has been two days since he and Jin Guangyao, one of his new Bonds, ventured back down into the recesses of the Underground to find the Cwyldheart. Just a few days earlier, the Wizard rushed over with an eager desire to do whatever he could to help the situation, but the oppressive atmosphere has started to take its toll on him. Still committed as he is to seeing the problem solved, he hasn't complained or asked for help and he's kept his thoughts to himself - as usual. But he can't entirely do that with Jin... not with his feelings.

As new as their Bond is, the tension in Howl's mind would start to become apparent to any Bonded walking beside him, even if the Bond was weak and temporary. Howl insists on pressing onward out of a desire to take care of the Cwyld as soon as possible, but he's clearly becoming exhausted faster than he's letting on. The perpetual darkness is starting to get to him as well, with the occasional cracks of sunlight doing nothing to cheer him up.

And maybe worst of all, as they keep walking into the afternoon, is that for some reason, Howl is becoming momentarily distracted by intense bouts of despair. It might begin with him trailing off mid-sentence, or a sudden chuckle to himself at nothing, before he stares into space momentarily as if deep in thought or miserably grief-stricken. At the same time, and perhaps relatedly, he's becoming very clingy towards the seed they received from Creia, treating it as preciously as an egg. He anxiously refuses to let it leave his sight for any amount of time and eventually insists on carrying it himself, no matter what, even though it's actually fairly heavy.

At the end of the evening, or what their watches say is the evening, something finally happens that gives the pair no choice but to confront Howl's odd behavior. As the Wizard is casting a spell to create a smokeless fire for their camp, the familiar tingle of magic on his fingertips suddenly reverses and becomes needles being driven beneath his fingernails. With a flash of light and a horrible crackling noise, Howl collapses to the ground. The seed tumbles from his arms and rolls away, out of control, into the darkness.

"J-Jin - Guah --"

Something went horribly wrong with that spell, and now Howl is clutching his chest in pain, face-down in the dirt, huffing clouds of dust from his gritted teeth. His hands and arms are burning; his whole body feels hot. It was just a fire spell! Something so simple! Something he mastered before he ever met Calcifer, and remastered within the first week of coming to Aefenglom. Where's the fire? Why does he feel like the fire should be there, even with the spell backfiring, and why does he have all this pain instead?

( shared nightmare - closed to mogget & howl's bonded. ) cw: mild body horror.

Howl knows this place. It's his uncle's cottage in the highlands where he grew up, surrounded by marshlands and snow-topped mountains. The fact that he shouldn't and couldn't possibly be here does not occur to him, as the veil of dreaming prevents his full knowledge and logic from the waking world to apply in this moment. He nevertheless steps into the grass with a vague sense that something isn't right - as if he's left behind something irreplaceable, or he said something terrible that he didn't mean, or he's been abandoned without saying goodbye.

Any interloper to this nightmare would only need to look at Howl to know something isn't right with him. The Wizard, who normally looked to be in his mid-twenties at most, is now a young boy no older than ten or eleven. His hair is black and scraggly, his cheeks are round, and his appearance is overall far more plain than when he's an adult, but there's no denying that this boy is Howl. This would be strange enough if not for the large, oval-shaped hole punched in the center of his chest, clear through, to exit out his back between his shoulder blades. The edges and inside walls of the hole are solid black, as dark as the night sky above the marshes, and the blackness fades into Howl's chemise and vest as if the whole wound were nothing more than a murky ink blot.

Young Howl descends the hill towards the edge of the marsh and the expanses of wildflowers that grow in and around it. As he walks, he stares up intently at the sky, waiting - and then a streak of light appears from inside a cloud, sparkling and tinted blue, before falling down into the water a hundred yards away. The boy breaks into a run.

"Stop them! You can't let them fall!!"

It's unclear if he's yelling at someone else (has he even noticed anyone here with him?) or trying to motivate himself. But he's panicked, not excited.

( inner chamber - open. )

He's here. He's finally HERE. The center of the Cwyldheart, all the way down in this miserable, awful hole in the ground. He's hungry, he's tired, he's aching from the bottom of his feet to the crown of his skull; he fears the worst about how he looks and how he smells; he's almost completely drained of magic. He wonders (privately) if he might actually quit being a Wizard altogether should he be forced to do something like this ever again. But he's here. They can do what they came to do, make sure everything is taken care of, and be on their way. By the end of the day today, Howl will be back at home, wine glass in hand, being sponge-bathed by his favorite Harpy escort.

Hugging the seed to his chest, he shuffles to the center of the chamber, falls to his knees, and starts to dig a hole in the black loamy soil with his bare hands. Because the seed is so large, it takes some time to create a proper hole for it, and each time he has to stop to give his sore wrists and arms a break, he looks around to anyone who might be watching him - or could have been watching them.

"What are you doing, just standing there?" he asks, pouting. "Don't just stand there and be useless. Haven't you a seed of your own to bury?" And aggressively anticipating a possible response, he quickly continues: "If you've already buried it, you can help others with their own, you know." Others being him.

darkness... imprisoning me... all that I see...

[turmoiling]

None of this is really what he had signed up for. But facing the dangers of the Cwyld, when things were this dire, is something Jin Guangyao doesn't feel like he has a choice about. Even if the mirrors could pull him back to his realm, there's no future for him there.

The temperature underground is never too oppressive either way for his cold-blooded nature, but the passage is disconcerting and hazy, even though they're both pushing on as quickly as they can. As heavy as the despair in the air weighs, he feels the fear more strongly -- nothing is right here, and his forked tongue flickers in the air more, a habit he avoids at all times when in the city of Aefenglom. But here there are all sorts of nameless and named dangers. Even when Howl begins to become possessive of the seed, Jin Guangyao can only find it suspicious, keeping his unblinking snake eyes on his Bonded.

So at the yelp, when they have settled as best they are able, he's torn between slithering for the precious, precious seed, and the safety of his new Bonded. If the pain didn't trickle down to him, he might have suspected something else was going on here...

So there's a moment of hesitation, caught between the two -- before he slides hurriedly across to Howl's side of what would have been a fire, had it worked properly. Half curling around the other man, he does his best to at least roll Howl over and brace him in the curve of the solid bulk of his tail.

Though feeling a tightness in his own chest, hopefully the close contact will help in some way in such close contact. Deciding to Bond again was convenience alone, to stave off his own fears of ferality should the other break. But it was inherently hard to keep a Bond at arm's length under such circumstances.

"A backfire?" he intuits quickly. Burning, he can feel it searing at the edges of the Bond, but there's nothing past that first spark of light, and once again he's left feeling more helpless as a monster, unable to bring half so much aid as any witch probably could. "Breathe, slowly. You're not on fire," he urges soothingly, trying to tamp down his own rising fear again. "

inner chamber

[grandspark]

As it so happened, Rude was actually standing around and watching others plant their seeds. He wasn't normally one to hesitate on the job but the infection was starting to get to him mentally. Having traveled this far, however, he wasn't going to give up now.

Howl's words snapped him out of it. He grunted as he turned his gaze down towards the Witch and saw how little he had dug so far. His wings twitched behind him and his tail thumped once at his side then was resolutely stilled.

He knelt down and set his seed carefully aside. "Fine. I'll help." He shooed Howl back a bit so he could get at the hole. Digging tools would have been smart to bring but in the haste of leaving and the limited supplies already gathered at the initial time, he had left without grabbing any, leaving them for others to take advantage of.

As a dragon he had the size and strength to dig without aid well enough anyway. Notably, his hands were covered completely with a pair of sturdy gloves probably meant more for fighting than gardening but they would keep his hands clean at least. They didn't hamper his efforts; he began to move dirt with quite some force, sending it flying out of the way.

shared dream

[omnicrafter]

Just the sight of falling stars gives her a strange feeling these days, of something lost and something never had all at the same time. Even the otherworldly sort evokes the same vague sadness, despite knowing it has nothing to do with Amaurot. And yet... she's not the only one who doesn't care for it, apparently.

The features of the boy chasing after it are a little different than she knows, but the face is definitely Howl. Though why such a strong reaction from something seemingly so innocuous, she isn't sure. If it's not a falling star, then what? And what does it mean that he looks so unlike the current Howl?

Curious in spite of herself, she pursues him at a brisk jog, hoping he'll stop when he reaches the water to give her an opportunity to catch up.

shared nightmare

[themogget]

Mogget doesn't remember falling asleep, but that hardly matters. Nothing that's going on right now makes any sense.

The cat watches, faintly bemused, as the scene unfolds in front of him. He lacks the sense of urgency that the young Howl (and it's obviously him, he wouldn't mistake the man for anyone else) feels as the stars fall, but his keen eyes follow the track of one as it plummets, hits the ground, and--

"Interesting." He says softly.

His small shape disappears into the grass as he jumps from the step of the little cottage and follows after the boy at a gentle trot.

Rude | FFVIIR | Dragon | OTA

[grandspark]

I. Heart of Darkness

[He had come this far, he wasn't about to quit now. Despite the dangers to the dragon, Rude refused to not take part in the final push to defeat this damned infection. So without hesitation, the Turk took a seed and headed down into the darkness. He was used to guarding things with his life anyway.

Down below things became intensely weird. Walking was a chore, flying was even worse, for he never knew which way the gravity was going to flow. The path was treacherous due to the infection along the way and the still wandering feral beasts as well. Not to mention the occasional Shade to stealth past.

What he still hated the most was the paranoia and dread that came from this waking nightmare, and all while randomly bonded to complete strangers. His Bond with Reno was faint but it kept him going truth be told. For everyone else, he wouldn't apologize but sorry if his emotions were thin for once. It was hard going down here. He did his best to remain his usual, stoic self though.

As for scars... Rude had plenty of those already. Most of them were from fights though--large, epic battles with great monsters and small melee skirmishes with all sorts of criminals and terrorists and random people alike. There wasn't much emotional baggage with such things for a person like Rude. He left most of that behind once the job was done. A few, however, left deeper scars on his psyche when he didn't agree with something. The bombing of the Sector 7 Plate was one, the most recent event from back home in fact, and though he tried not to think about it even he hadn't approved of the method. He hadn't suffered any permanent wounds from that night but it manifested down here anyway; as burn scars, deep and thick and shaped like a pillar with lattice work to keep a large structure from collapsing. It would be hard to spot though beneath his clothing. Mostly, it caused him to itch and thus scratch at his scales a bit more than usual.

As for other types of emotional scarring there wasn't much of note except for a bleeding heart effect. The guy never had any luck with the ladies and a few stood out among the rest. Heartbreak. A damn romantic at heart. The stickiness of blood was a little easier to notice than the scaring--it made his shirt damp and darkened the deep purple even further. That, too, he kept rubbing at in annoyance.

He ignored all of that quite well--or maybe he talked it away with someone along the way. Either way, he kept going as though he were a machine that had one purpose: to get down and plant the seed.]

II. Seeds of Hope

[He hadn't been expecting it to be this way. The feelings of dread and paranoia and other dark thoughts faded with the sudden stillness and quiet of the inner chamber. It was a huge relief.

And yet the dragon hesitated at first to do much more than stand and watch as others began to bury their precious seeds. He held his in his arms now, tucked protectively against his chest, and though he knew what to do next he did not make a move to begin for a long while. He may have needed encouragement first.

The soil beneath his feet was horribly infected and--perhaps terrifying. Not that it showed on the outside. Eventually though he moved and with swift movements he dug a hole to bury the seed within. And afterwards made haste to wash himself up as best as he could with what he had access to.

But all that brief drama aside, the task was finally finished, and the mission was complete. They had accomplished the goal they had set out for. As the seeds began to grow unnaturally fast into sprouts and the strange bonds began to fade...Rude let out a slow breath of relief. All he felt now was Reno and that was how it was supposed to be.

He didn't avoid anyone who had temporarily been his bondmate for the duration down here, but he didn't seek them out either. He watched as the seeds grew into large, full versions of various plants and knew exactly which was his by the familiar sight of a plant back home. It wasn't particularly telling--it was just a type of lily, really--but for him it was obvious.

He didn't linger too much beyond that day. He'd started off this whole investigation with a newfound enjoyment of caverns and cave tunnels--only now to be sick of them. It was time to leave this hellhole and hope the best for it. From afar.]

III. Wildcard

[[Sorry, these prompts may kind of suck. They're intended to just be very open ended so any preference in action or trauma or both can be taken as wanted. If you have any ideas or questions or want to discuss things, lmk! On the plotting post or even here or aisuyoukai.]]

Heart of Darkness

[claritatis]

[The paranoia is the worst part - that heavy feeling of being observed and always feeling that someone is just about to put their hand on your shoulder. Ignis has walked the last hour or so with a dagger in his hand, not even seeming to realise that he's carrying it nor that he's holding it so tightly. His eyes are fixed on the path ahead, his intense concentration focused only to hide the level of distraction he feels with the effects this place is having on him.

He walks beside Rude for a while without even really seeing him, but the movement as the dragon lifts his hand to rub at his chest draws his attention for just long enough to see the blood smeared on his skin.]

... Are you all right? [Ignis asks quietly, looking up and finally seeing someone's face for what feels like the first time in days.]

I

[exsoldier]

[ It hasn't taken long for Zack to realize that being in the Cwyldheart warps something as simple as his sense of time. Sometimes he feels like he's floating, or like he can't tell up from down, and while it makes sense that a place so deeply infected is nowhere near normal, it means that he's disoriented every time he turns another corner of the maze.

It also means that he's lost track of Elidibus, even though they'd endeavored to make the trip to the center of the Cwyldheart together. With a temporary bond in place, Zack's pretty sure he'll find his way back to him, but for now he's on his own.

Or so he'd thought. Zack's been wandering with his sword drawn, that shroud of paranoia not allowing for anything else, and so when he makes his way down another bend of these seemingly breathing corridors and finds himself face to face with a Turk, he's quick to level his sword at Rude.

He's not outright attacking yet, but he is on the defensive, expecting this to turn into some kind of confrontation. His newly-sprouted wings flare up behind him, and Rude may be able to spot the dried blood on them. Of course Zack had to end up with a new addition to his monster form now, of all times. ]

What are you doing down here?

[ What business would a Turk have in this place? ]

1;

[worldcleansing]

[ It's dangerous here. The air of risk practically pulses from the walls, causing thick waves to crash against those traveling toward the heart of the infection; at least, that's how it feels to Light. Unlike Rude, he has no scars — he's very good at justifying most things — but he has fallen prey to negative feelings that threaten to wash over the adventurers. Nonetheless, Light Yagami takes pride in controlling his emotions, not allowing his emotions to control him.

Most of the time. Even he has his cracks.

That's why he approaches the dragon, initially. It's impossible to ignore anyone who looks to be capable of strength and in sizing him up, the dampness becomes obvious. It's possible the dragon is aware of the injury, if it is an injury, and is ignoring it, but it's also possible that whatever caused it has left him in shock, leaving the wound temporarily numb.

It's also just as possible that he dropped some sauce onto his clothing before coming down here, but the rest of his clothing looks clean enough that the stain catches Light's eye.

The man who approaches him is young — 18, if Rude is skilled enough at profiling to tell — and well dressed. Since Light sports no abnormal growths or additions, it's likely he's a witch. ]

Your shirt.

[ That's his hello for now. Why dance around the topic when the topic might very well be an injury. ]

Did you get hurt?

L Lawliet (but Linden Tailor, to you) | Death Note | OTA

[hearthebell]

[After the exhilarating success at Alder's party, L and Light's ability to succeed as a Bonded pair and take on missions together had been soundly proven. Taking on another mission had been an exciting prospect; more so, perhaps, in the aftermath of Light's potion-prompted confession. There have been subtle shifts in their rapport; to L, it feels deliciously deviant, to have such a thing out and acknowledged. Most importantly, it serves as insurance that the selfish detective with his strange priorities gets to keep his favorite plaything nearby.

It was always the goal, really, with or without Kira to sweeten the whole affair. And it's been going well, and L can still think so after the rather disastrous first leg of the mission. It had been terrifying and shocking, to have his magic backfire so spectacularly, sending shockwaves throughout his Bonds and leaving his arm frozen solid to the shoulder. Fortunately, his protective tattoo had mitigated the damage, and Myr himself had been along swiftly by use of their teleportation charm. The faun had pulled both L and Light to safety post-haste to recuperate, and with some rest and healing, they've rallied for another effort, more cautious and wary of the unique dangers this mission poses to those who have become perhaps a touch too reliant on magic.

OOC: L is on this mission with Myr and Light, so please assume that they're usually at least relatively nearby in threads with him!]

I. The Screaming Tree (the new CR option)

[L cranes his head, listening to reports from those who have climbed to scout out the Cwyld's effects on the ground above. He's in no mood to scramble that way, himself, especially with a left arm that's still recovering full sensation from the mishaps earlier in the mission.

Another result is a fair amount of skittishness in regards to using his magic at this juncture. He doesn't want another spectacular backfire, and so much of what he can surmise is through observation alone.]

They're not Fae...

[He addresses you quietly, for no other real reason than you're nearby. He's looking for someone to bounce ideas off of, perhaps an opportunity to grow a touch more familiar with one of his other mission-mates. L knows, better than anyone, that he has a bit of a tendency towards an insular existence, and it can put him at a disadvantage when he has to rely on others who aren't among his Bonds. Trust is a four-letter word, to him and those of his particular ilk.]

Given what we've heard, I didn't think we'd see Dryads in a dream, let alone this kind of remnant.

[It's almost like a fossil, a moment in time long past, however disturbing it may be.]

II. Guardian's Blessing (the temp-bonding option)

[As a general rule, L finds dragons awe-inspiring and intimidating. Even the Mirrorbound dragons cause him to tense, his breath to come quicker, his senses on higher alert. Creia blows them all away in terms of the sheer impression she delivers; it's ancient and tremendous, and unearthly, unrelatable. Still, he believes that she actually does have some idea of whatever paltry amount of heart or valor he might have at his disposal. He believes that it is a great honor to be given a seed and instructions on how to use it to heal this twisted illness.

He is taking a moment to rest after the dragon's parting words before the party sets out again, pensively cradling the seed in legs crossed at the ankles. His own magic is unreliable; is this unknown element the most failsafe thing currently at his disposal?

Well, not quite, if the dragon is to be believed. He's here with multiple Bonded, after all, and others in whom he's been bidden to trust.]

So much subversive or unexpected advice. Typically... we're advised against taking on too many Bonds, but if it's to help us... well, I don't suppose you're looking.

III. Heart of Darkness (various AWFUL options, general CW for violence and unpleasant subject matter)

A. Inside the Cwyldheart

[Typically, L has a good sense of time. Even when he gets truly wrapped up in something that occupies all his notice or he goes days without seeing the Sun, he is generally aware of what time and date it is, at least within the half-hour. It's not the case, here; he's disoriented, and as they march deeper, in an increasingly sour and anxious mood.

He's on the sojourn with Kira. Of course it could go badly, in spite of the safeguards; it was insane to Bond with him, let alone come here. He could peel his skin off, tear at his dark hair to relieve some of the pressure in his skull, or lash out at the nearest person. Of all of these delightful options, there's one he admittedly favors even on a good day.]

Could you breathe any louder? You're practically a shade magnet, and I'm standing close enough to your turbine for that to be an issue.

[You're not actually breathing that loudly. A part of him knows it; a part of him is also spoiling for the kind of conflict that makes him feel the most grounded and alive.]

B. Heart on your Sleeve

[He doesn't feel grounded or alive anymore. He's barely breathing; when he does, it shudders and feels cold in his lungs. He pulls his jacket more tightly around him; he covers most of his body at all times, sparing most of him from the eyes of others, but his throat is ringed in finger-shaped bruises. Half of his face looks like he's gone several rounds with a prizefighter who kept punching him after a knockout hit, with a blackened eye and a split lip; the other half simply looks as though he was hit from the side, hard, by something rushing and heavy. A bludgeon, a train, or the ground after a many-storied fall, perhaps. That side of his skull looks to have questionable integrity; when he moves, the crushed and broken parts shift noticeably; the dim light hits textures of exposed bone and slick, glistening sheens that might, mercifully, just be blood.

Not that he's really making it a point to move, very much. His clothes are covering a lot more than his thin, bony body.]

You can tell me...

[He's heard that helps, and you can hear the quavering pain in his voice even though he's giving it his most stoic effort to regulate.]

It's safe. You can.

[And at this point he just might beg you to return the favor.]

C. A Helping Hand

[Through all of this, somehow, L's spindly arms have managed to hold onto his seed. It looks larger against his narrow frame than some of the other seeds, but it's exactly the same size, exactly the same amount of trust placed in him, exactly the same prayer for his willingness and ability. So far, he's come through... but he's run into some trouble. Maybe both of you have.]

The last time I tried to cast an offensive spell, it went badly. Can... I rely on you for defense, so that it might go better this time and give us a fighting chance? I can take out four shades at once, but... only with both hands free.

[He hesitates, but ultimately offers you his seed.]

WILDCARD

[Really? I wrote all of that and none of it was good enough for you? NO WORRIES I'm thirsty regardless, hit me with your best shot OR hit me up via PM to this account, or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]

III; B

[onamissile]

[The draining has fucked Mello in a number of ways. One: his magic is drained and yet extrapolated. Two: there's a thin, black line running from his temple, down his face. While he can't see it, he can feel it.]

[And then there is L. As usual. Unusual. He's more disoriented than Mello is; that's for sure. But the question (demand) rings a bell, and he just can't help it. Sap bleeding from a dying tree. A heartbeat in a newly alive thing: he doesn't know. But honesty is prominent, and he gives it without thought even though his mind is broken and riddled and he's lost himself somewhere along the way.]

L.

[True names have always given and taken power.]

You're protecting Kira. I want to kill you both for it.

[Honesty at its finest.]

b;

[worldcleansing]

[ What a rollercoaster this month has been with L. Between the confession and remarkable recovery from the confession, it's been both a low and a high. Once the secret was out, it was out, and Light finds himself needing to hide less and less of himself. It's liberating. What was a win for L ended up having benefits for Light.

And now, another blow. Light really did assume he was fine. While meeting others with scars, his took a bit longer to manifest. While thankful for the pass, it couldn't last long.

By comparison, he looks much better than L. By comparison, most people look better than L. Light's life has been relatively easy, blessed even, before meeting the detective. L was Light's first hardship, his first challenge, and thus his first pain. If L hadn't been the cause of most of his scars, Light's markings wouldn't even be terribly embarrassing. Only one of them is noticeable: the large bullet hole going through the middle of his forehead.

L's sure to remember who put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Two more scar his body, though one is hidden beneath his gloves. Since he wasn't originally wearing them, Light knows they're likely noted, but he hopes L will write it off as an excuse to cover the other visible scars: two rounded bands on his wrists where he was in handcuffs for much of his captivity. There's no need to address the ones the gloves actually do hide, even if they itch and irritate him. ]

You should start. It looks like you need the relief more.

[ And L is damn aware of Light's own markings. ]

I. The Screaming Tree

[towards_okeanos]

They are not. They look more like...

[Dryads, tree spirits of his homeland. Iskandar has never seen one himself, but heard countless stories that speak of them. It is unsettling to see them here of all places. Especially so, to see them like that.]

Yes. No. I don't think so. [The clarity of his speech has taken a hit along with everything else.] At least I haven't. Not in a dream, nor anywhere else. But they look exactly like the stories tell. Except... [He can't bear to look at their faces.] What a horrible fate to be subjected to.

III. Heart of Darkness

[notbert]

[OOC: All of the below options will take place during the Heart of Darkness segment. As a warning Zack may or may not be in Elidibus's company during any thread but there is the chance he'll jump in on a thread if it's viable (totally optional for all players involved).

Publicly Elidibus goes by the moniker Ardbert so with specific exceptions this should be the name he's known by in any handwaved situation such as overhearing someone talk to him.

Warning: Elidibus is a walking FFXIV spoiler in general, Shadowbringers expansion especially. Some body horror present! Definitely lots of injuries and pain. May or may not be violence involved!]

While Elidibus is not foolish enough to think it a 'simple' task- not with the limitations he labors under, not with the world sliding to its destruction- it is not one he would believe beyond him. Or, though there may be some who would be surprised to learn this, beneath him.

It will after all aid in the protection of his people, for all there are only two on this world. A seed is taken and placed with care among the Emissary's belongings which are in turn bearing enchantments of protection, both purchased and of his own slowly growing repertoire.

Thus he made preparations. A word to both Lahabrea and Emet-Selch on his intentions despite the frailty of Bonds and precautions for the journey itself. Food and drink, weapon and gear, and... a partner. One not recovering from being recently dead and who wouldn't be highly vulnerable to the Cwyld infection. But also one who could be... trusted take on the onus of a Bond, however temporarily.

How ironic there was a candidate for such a role if only because Elidibus hadn't intentionally set up such an emergency measure. The man named Zack Fair was approached and given the proposal and had for whatever reason accepted the task. The being who often called himself 'Ardbert' (though he most certainly was not) was willing to risk his secrets to a mortal. Because yes, Bond potion or not, another surety Elidibus has accepted was the one in which there was no way to tell how the instability of Bonds, in general, would treat the temporary joining of 'mere acquaintances'.

Both Ascian and ex-SOLDIER were undoubtedly in for more than either bargained for.



A. Questionable Bonds (Random Bonds, Temp Bond with Zack, Dreams, Emotions [FFXIV Spoilers])

Whether it could be claimed the Cwyldheart's tangle had a darkness Elidibus has never known before is... questionable. The Unsundered had lived (existed? dwelled?) in darkness for over ten millennia. Has seen many types of darkness. Living darkness, unliving darkness, the darkness that grasps for living souls. The more philosophical darkness of mankind's desires. A darkness of another flavor is yet one more. The Emissary does not give this darkness the fear of the unknown it wants.

But the Cwyld is part of this world's ailment and some part of this world has a connection to the Mirrorbound. Eventually, it will find ways to effect Elidibus regardless of the ancient being's ability to persevere through it.

Such as the random strength of the Bonds, both chosen and forced in the ongoing flux.

What lies in the shell of the identity known as Ardbert is old and calculating. But not... necessarily malicious. Dangerous, yes. Very much so. But whatever reasons he has to take this journey, Elidibus is sincerely committed to it. His goal is to bring the seed he had chosen to the core of the Cwyldheart and to have it grow and heal the blight.

Thousands of years' worth of memories. Clandestine-looking meetings in serene darkness. Purplish energy roiling within a massive crystal. Moments which feel more like 'life' struggling in battle to rid the world of encroaching darkness, raising and mentoring others to do similar feats.

Sometimes guiding dark-robed figures and sometimes standing against them but much more often the observer and advisor making certain a great endeavor stays on course.

Fragmented in the far reaches of memory are traces there was once more. Nothing so complete as to suggest even a glimpse of a picture which once was. The flicker of robed and masked comrades in a few moments of conversation or a voice calling out.

'Elidibus'.


B. Separate Paths (Injured, alone, and without recognized allies. A time when the Cwyldheart's efforts at increasing paranoia and distrust are bearing some fruit.)

In the heat of a battle, Elidibus was cut off from Zack. In the wake of the event, the voices which cry out to be saved are louder. They cut and burn the mortal flesh without smell. By tomorrow the remaining scars and old burn marks would add themselves to countless others that have manifested since he entered the Cwyldheart. The Ascian preferred to treat them as a minor nuisance. Fortunately, the warrior's armor covered a great deal of them. Long sleeves, gloves, leggings, and high boots gave him the image of a strong figure. Also, the clothes were mostly dark. And anyone would expect white fur trim to be a bit stained after days of a hard journey in such a place.

He still kept up the pretense that his name was Ardbert outwardly. And Elidibus would have sought to project the same image as 'himself' regardless. Perhaps white robes would have been harder to keep clean so there are small blessings.

But wounds were getting deeper, particularly so when there were none of these fluctuating Bonds in proximity to hold the line. And felt, even more, were the moments such as now where injuries- both from battle and emotion- needed some tending. Elidibus had discovered a place which might be considered reasonably secure. Minimal roots, something he's certain is a sturdy rock face at his back and constant near paranoid attention cast to his surroundings while easing a piece of gear off, furtively reaching into his pack and bringing out dwindling medical supplies. Minimal magic might keep his supply of gauze regularly clean (and the fast scarring effect of these 'emotional wounds' allowing him to recycle a bit) but antiseptics and pain relief would be running out.

Approach any sound that escapes the cornered Ascian with caution, for there would be a spell or a massive axe readied (maybe both) with an instinct to fight first and ask questions later trying to take the lead. Would be that someone he trusted enough to watch for danger was around. Likewise, he was not there to have the ex-SOLDIER's back.

Concern for a mortal beyond their usefulness as a tool was very uncommon. Certainly enough that Elidibus briefly halts his task in surprise.



C. The Night Before (Near the Goal)

Only one difference lies between injuries from emotion and those from battle now. The latter do not heal as quickly. Medical supplies are gone. Limited magic healing holds him together. Sometimes conjured bandages though those last only so long and are just another expenditure of his energy besides. Fabric from his gear was cannibalized, sanitized, and used in makeshift fashion.

And the Cwyld has gotten in. How could it have not after all this time exposed? Elidibus was hardly immune to infection.

While not over-cumbersome his right arm and hand seem to have become something a little larger than would be appropriate for his frame. The mutation itself must have been excruciating to experience. Not the stretch of the limb or the way his hand now bears a resemblance to a gauntlet replete with segmented, clawed digits. But the lattice twist of black flesh exposing muscle and bone which have not yet caught up with the growth and gives a ...hollow appearance.

From his back arches a protrusion which might be likened to the main bone of a wing if it weren't made of fleshy substance and had no defined shape. A more stumpy protrusion has begun to show near his other shoulder. And where his outfit now exposes unmutated flesh there are signs the old and new scars and wounds taking on the familiar black tinge as if the emotional wounds themselves have become yet another vector. In a sense they are.

He speaks rarely, for when he does it appears to be an effort to force the vocal cords to make a sound. But the man's eyes remain thus far clear of the malignant, maddened malice Shades possess, were one keen on taking time to look for such signs.

The Bonds from others have done their part to aid him. Whether a passing healer willing to spare something, some small timely reminder, or an actual Bond, these have been part of the barrier against the Cwyldheart that have allowed a Mirrorbound barely five months present in Aefenglom to reach the core.

The rest is that anything and everything the pulsing tumor of Cwyld is capable of throwing in Elidibus' path has been emotions and circumstances the entity has dealt with for thousands of years. And what remains has to deal with trying to subsume a will capable of surviving a soul-sundering event. One who has become, both by his desire and countless others, a beacon of hope long before being touched by this world.

Perhaps the Cwyldheart knows this, for its efforts have turned to physical means. Mutations, injuries, gibbering Shades. The massive great axe Elidibus has wielded seems used more as an aid to walking than a weapon to defend with. There is little subtlety left in the Emissary's progression. The darkened loam may have channels cut into it by the axe without much sound, but occasionally there is the scrape of metal on rock or the gibbering shrieks of Shades attacking him and those who have chosen to help his progress.


D. Any other ideas? Future CR notion? PM me! Discord me! I'm open for ideas!

A

[exsoldier]

When first approached about the concept of a temporary bond with Ardbert, Zack hadn't really known what to think. He'd interacted with the guy all of once, and that had been a strange occurrence, to say the least. Hearing the woes of some sort of being that transcended any sense of "human" wasn't something he'd been prepared for, and he's not sure anyone really could have been in his situation. Is that really the sort of person he wants to tie his essence to, if only for a short time?

Still, the fact remains that neither Cloud nor Aerith are here, and the deeper that he's traveled into the Underground's tunnel system, the weaker his links to them have felt. For what lies ahead — a journey into the pulsing heart of the Cwyld — it would make sense to have a Bond that's close at hand, something to keep him grounded and stave off any chance that he might go feral at the worst possible time.

Which is how he's found himself here, within the twisting paths of the Cwyldheart itself and walking alongside Ardbert. Each pulsing beat makes him twitch, but he doesn't feel like he's going to actually lose control of himself anymore.

That's in part because the Bond is so different from the two he's used to. With Cloud and Aerith, he'd known what he was getting into, more or less. Bonding with a relative stranger, even knowing what he did going into it, is entirely different. He gets a deeper sense for who this other person is, how old he is, and how he's existed at the periphery of so many events, watching and waiting, judging and at times stepping in to nudge things in a certain direction.

There's a sense of duty and purpose too, something which Zack can recognize and respect in spite of everything else. It's easier to focus on that, rather than letting himself disappear down a mental rabbit hole.

Both of them have been on the quiet side since they set off on their journey, but finally Zack has to break that silence. Even as he focuses on their path through the maze of vein-like tunnels, he glances over to study the face of his new Bondmate.

"Your name... isn't really Ardbert, is it."

Mogget | OTA | Witch

[themogget]

i. The Screaming Tree

[Mogget's small cat form serves him well in scaling up to the surface, where the heaviness of the Cwyld in the ground and the air itself makes the skin under his white fur itch. The dying tree reminds him somehow of the broken Charter stones back in the Old Kingdom, though without the stomach-lurching nausea that comes with being close to them.]

Hm.

[He's ready many books, having had the time to and little else to take it up with, and Mogget had read about the Dryads. Though he never expected to see them here.]

It makes sense that they would fall like this. [The small cat says thoughtfully, getting as close to the petrified, weeping figures as he dares.] Don't you think?

ii. Heart of Darkness

(a)Inside the Cwyldheart (human shape!)
[Before they head back down, he magically resumes a more human shape for what is likely to be a journey best made on two feet (and he had no desire to carry one of those seeds in his mouth). It's more difficult than he expects it to be to force the magic to do as he wishes it to, but with some concentration he manages it.

Of course, he soon regrets it.

Many who know Mogget would not have expected him to come this far. The cat has always been selfish, self-serving, and never seems to have much care as to what happens to most people around him. Yet here he is, arguably risking his life for the sake of this world. Though, at the moment, he isn't short on wishes that he had changed his mind before it was too late to simply turn back.

And at first, he seems to do fine. His white-skinned, white-haired human form stands out starkly against their grim surroundings, and he's able to retain enough cat-like traits to sneak all but unnoticed around any blind shades that cross his path. He hadn't been able to avoid the Cwyld, though, and eventually it manages to get its hooks into him. Dark spots appear and spread over his skin, itching and burning and playing havoc with already shaky and unstable magic as he turns all of his attention to simply holding the shape he's in while he walks. Sometimes he just stops, takes a couple of breaths, then keeps moving.

He finally makes a noise the first time his skin splits, spiking pain up his leg and sending him to the ground without a lick of grace. Dark liquid oozes through the fabric of his clothes, first at his thigh and then his shoulder, his lower back. A darkened bruise on his neck breaks and sends what looks like thick, black blood dripping out over his collar. He kneels on the ground, paralysed by the sudden pain, and his grip on maintaining the humanoid shape begins to slip.]

Not now-- not now. [Mogget grits his teeth. The tiny size of his usual form wouldn't be able to take this damage and still keep moving. He plants a hand against the wall and tries to get up.]

(b)Heart on Your Sleeve
[Eventually he had needed to give up, his magic far too unstable and his concentration too weak to hold the shape he would prefer to have here. He hadn't perished, as he had half-feared, but the state he's in doesn't look much better.

Mogget is still the shape of a cat, if you look at him sideways and not too closely, but direct examination reveals that whatever is going on down here now is pulling at him in some peculiar ways. He doesn't look... right, but it's hard to put your finger on just what is wrong about him at first. Maybe the legs are a little too thin? His neck a bit too long, eyes slightly too large, his ears turning just a little too far around as he listens to noises around him? He still looks like a cat, but also not like a cat.

What is entirely noticeable is the way his fur appears to be steaming. Though patches of it are still black and oozing strangely, the parts that are still white are letting off strange white wisps of fog-like light, only adding to the uncanniness of his appearance overall. Mogget understands what it is, what it means, but he doesn't expect that anyone else would. Not really wanting to explain it is helped by the fact he's now having to carry that dratted seed in his mouth, albeit very gently.]

iii. Seeds of Hope

[The relief is tangible, both from himself and the people around him, when they finally reach their goal and several threads of tension in his body seem to snap all at once. Mogget digs a hole for the seed with his front paws, indiscriminately showering anyone who happens to walk behind him with soil, and the tree that sprouts from what he plants is a white-barked, elegant thing with green, petal-like leaves that grow in bunches like small flowers.

He watches the Cwyldheart crumble, feels the aching and throbbing finally recede from his body, and the space it leaves behind immediately fills with a crushing exhaustion.

So Mogget doesn't leave immediately, but curls up near one of the growing trees and shuts his eyes. He'll stay there for a while, unless someone feels they should, perhaps, ask him if he wants to be carried back to the surface.]

iia

[faithlikeaseed]

[Mogget isn't the only one adopting a larger form for its convenience. While Myr's (oversized) deer-shape is much too large to squeeze through many of the smaller tunnels, it is a great boon in the wider ones for how much it allows him to carry...and how much easier it makes dealing with the occasional marauding Shade. (His sight was hardly necessary if he could simply crush an attacker with his bulk.)

The useful combination of being able to carry flagging Mirrorbound along with him and effortless dispatch attackers has also made him keenly attuned to sounds of nearby distress. When Mogget stumbles, the big deer lifts his blindfolded head where he's shuffling along in a near-daze--and picks up his pace to trudge toward the sounds of distress.

White is the worst possible color to be down here: Every streak of gore or Cwyld or dirt stands out on him, making him look a (nearly moose-sized) nightmare vision from some hellish forest when he finally looms over the beleaguered Witch.]

Need help? [It's Myr's voice that emerges from the creature, at least, even if it's a little unearthly.]