JANUARY TDM + SETTING UPDATES

[beleos]

BEARING FRUIT (NEW CHARACTERS ONLY)

It starts out as a pleasant dream. You’re in your favorite place, with your favorite people. It’s a moment of idyllic comfort.

And then, it goes wrong.

The sky turns dark above, and as you look up, you see the black expanse of space spotted with faraway pinprick lights of stars. Yet, they’re not stars. You’re certain. They’re watching you. A billion eyes all looked down, and they spilled forth as if the sky itself was a dam holding back those dark waters. You reach back to the people you’re with, but they’re frozen in place. Their eyes are black, reflecting only the expanse of dark eyes. Their bodies jerk, and convulse, as if controlled by puppet strings, reaching out to try to grip your hand, your shoulder, your wrist, but you know you should pull away. Something iswrong. If fingers or appendages meet your skin, there is a chill, that runs up your body, from the tips of your toes, up your spine, a full-body experience of wrongness. Would your loved ones feel like this, when they reach out?

So you run, even though you know you won’t escape it. You glance back and see it not overtaking, but consuming. The landscape around you is being devoured, and you can see it cracking apart. The world itself is breaking, and it cracks under your feet. You fall, and the billion eyes chase after you until the darkness swallows you whole. It's coming for you, it will not stop, it will not relent, and there is nothing that can be done. What a fool you were, for ever thinking you could escape. There’s agony as if you’re being ripped apart, and then—

You cannot see. You cannot feel. You simply are. Yet even so, impossibly, a woman’s voice speaks gently.

I’m sorry it couldn’t be saved. But, come, it’s time to wake.

Your senses come to you slowly. Are you here for days? Weeks? Longer? It is difficult to say. All that you are is inert, and still. You can feel parts of you that form, but they hurt, like your body is fighting through a layer of...something. Something that keeps you from a gentle regrowth. You feel a chill, next to your heart, and while your form grows, it also fights, trying to both find a form and fight against some darkness that clings to you, like it's trying even now to consume your soul. It has a taste of it, you can tell, though not enough to take from you. Enough to know you, and while your body grows, this darkness slowly, slowly ebbs away, as if it can no longer touch you when you are whole. Something protects you, a presence. You can sense it, just like you can start to sense the presence of others. Some are close by, you can tell, winking in and out of existence just like you are. Falling in and out of consciousness like you do, as you are all collectively regrown. A groaning, creaky voice hums in your ear, with breaths that thrum and hum, like a gentle summer breeze through the leaves, and it tells you: Try to reach them. Welcome their calls. Can you hear them? Through communion. Your emotions are laid bare, in this space. Will you allow them to project? Will you try to control them? Will you reach out to your fellow new bearers, and soothe their own worries, or exacerbate their fears?

Eventually, after a long time, you wake with a start, cradled by soft, velvety plants, and sticky with a sap that smells faintly of honey and iron, an acrid scent lingers, like the edge of rot that has been swept away. You can see the veins of the leaves that hold you, lit warmly and gently by what looks like a crystal embedded above you. Yet, it’s odd, because that crystal calls to you. When you reach out to touch it, it’s warm. Familiar. Important. You don’t know why, but you know you must hold onto this because now it feels wrong for it to be suspended in these leaves. So, you pull it out.

The light starts to fade, but only in time to see as the leaves cradling you immediately start to soften and crumble, and with it comes a torrent of dirt. Soft, loamy soil starts to fill the space around you in the dark as you’re buried. Or, rather, you already were. You reach out through the dirt desperately, and your hands finds a root, so you pull while you clutch that precious crystal so close that it almost feels like it sinks into you (in your panic, you don’t notice that it does). You reach out again, and this time, your hand hits open air, and plenty of sturdy roots around to grab.

From a seed you’re born, and like a sprout, you make your way out of the ground.

And once you’ve clawed your way out of the soft earth and the roots, nearby, you see the soil shift. Another hand comes up to grasp desperately for something, anything, just as you had been.

A LITTLE ISLAND HOPPING

With the new Shard-Bearers present or en route, it is Kathova and Cetina who approach the established ones, requesting that they form mentorships with the new souls to assist them with the integration process. To this end, they have both provided a centralized zone in both Highstorm and Springstar for a series of small, seemingly casual gatherings, they happen over the span of a week, so new visitors can get the chance to spend time in both cities before they make a decision.

Additionally, as Springstar and Highstorm are holding their events over multiple days, the knowledge-hungry can participate in both informational sessions -- the tones and opinions held by both cities are doubtless to differ.

For those established bearers of the opposite faction, however, your faces are known amongst the populations of our sister cities, especially the administrators of both Meridian and Zenith, and if you try to attend the parties of either city, you will be turned away, with varying levels of aggression, depending on your tier of harmonization. New bearers are free to notice if someone tries! It seems you've stumbled your way into an escalating war.

SPRINGSTAR, αιώνιος ήλιος

In Springstar, the seat of the Tribune becomes available for such an event. While a section of the building itself has been reserved for the meeting between fresh faces and experienced Shard-Bearers alike, the hustle and bustle of Heliopolis continues around them -- acolytes still gather their robes and tomes, hurrying from their quarters to lessons. A score of young militants march in step across the yard to the training grounds. The higher-ups amongst Meridian have taken it upon themselves to wrap up their Year's End and New Year's festivities with a celebration of their recent victory over the Harbinger Oracle, as well as a celebration of the possibility of new shard-bearers. One does not have to attend every day, but Springstar's celebrations do tend to be multi-day affairs, and everyone from the scholars to the titled nobility seems keen on greeting new bearers. The tribune himself, Cyrus, welcomes bearers with a rousing speech at midday each day, speaking of their victories and their battle to stand for the worlds now lost. His speeches are met with polite applause, but is it a bit lacking in enthusiasm? Cyrus seems to brush it off with little offense, but perhaps you notice, that his eyes crinkle slightly, and he may look a touch... sad.

The celebrations are in the Seat of the Tribune, with tables draped in white-and-gold-trimmed fabrics fare filled with fare typical to Springstar's slowly brightening summer -- platters of hard crumbly cheeses and stuffed doulmades, roasted meats and fish, like souvlaki and psari plaki. There are plenty of grains and other dishes that elude to the abundance of both Springstar and Alenroux, and bearer efforts there.. The atmosphere is ambient with informality and friendliness, though topics will inevitably stray towards philosophic or political, Springstar's meeting grounds are decorated with handsome chaise lounges and slouching klismos chairs in small, intimate groupings. This is a forum in the classical sense, where people are encouraged to speak freely, no matter the topic. Though excitement charges the air, the gathering at the Seat is much more muted than what transpires outside the center of the city.

The church, too, celebrates the victory. Now that the Year's End celebrations have passed, the head of the church, Hieropoios Natalia Theodora Vaso Helios offers proclamations daily to those who will attend. Her tone has turned in tone toward driving forward, for now, that they have two Oracles of 3, Meridian's light is in favor, and she offers blessings and venerations toward the bearers who support their efforts to restore worlds. Bearers who attend these masses will feel their discord ebb from her words alone, and their shards will feel warm to the touch for some time afterward, even if they are not harmonized. If they ask anyone within the church, they will be told that it is Meridian's light filling them.

One would assume after a victory, that the mood elsewhere in Springstar is jubilant, but while there is still the occasional party outside in the summer sun in the Psychagogía district, there is a hushed tenseness to the city of eternal-sun. Stay too long, and you will eventually find the reason why, when scared locals speak of disappearing friends or family members, and there are whispered rumors of attacks. Some accuse the denizens of the Below, and others whisper about monsters in the dark. Though they have captured the latest oracle, the hope that normally follows such excitement is... tentative, at best.

HIGHSTORM, луны-близнецы

Eternally in opposition, Highstorm uses the manor's courtyard as the location for a series of events over the next week, inviting bearers new and old to join them in celebration. The members of the Highstorm council have set the small gathering in the court beneath Yima's tree, and next to the reflecting pools. The Lady Yima herself is in attendance and oversees the gathering from the balcony of her manor above. She will visit the grounds sparingly, generally when a new bearer is afoot, but she will direct any questions to either Kathova, or her more established Zenites, as she has many people to greet. Though she will take the moment to hold each new bearer's hand that visits and tell them each: "You have the potential to hold the key to a new, and better world. We believe in what you can do, and what strength you will find in Kenos. Let the memories of your loved ones, and your world, guide you to the right path, and know that your loss will be honored when we achieve our new world," before she glides away.

There are few places to be seated in the Manor's courtyard, resulting in bodies milling about as they flow and ebb between smaller gatherings, clustering in small-to-large groups with small platters and shimmering flutes of drink held in their hands. Yet, as you look, you’ll see that the selection is also quite interesting. The foods and drinks on offer are from a multitude of worlds, and so you may find a new favorite! Or something not suited to your palate at all. It’s at least a chance to be adventurous. If you try something and don’t like it, might not want to say that out loud, lest you insult someone who’s from that world. More established Zenites are encouraged to attend to help draw in new Zenites, and both new and old inductees alike are encouraged to speak about what their vision of a new world would look like. The reflecting pool itself is at the center of the courtyard, and if one looks in, they can see their memories reflected back at them. Though... if you look for too long, something seems to try and reach out for you. Can you feel the allure of dark fingertips, ready to brush against your face? If you stare too long, an attendant will pull the bearer back, just before they land right in the pool, offering unsettling remarks of “that has been happening more lately, the last person it happened to disappear. We even drained the pool, but couldn’t find them!”

Further into Highstorm, the Greenwood Yards attracts many visitors during the dead of Highstorm's winter. The doors are (proverbially, we can't let the heat out!) open, to bearers new and old alike. Attendants there will explain that this season is the best for starting some of the seeds that will grow well into early and mid-spring, but most seeds need warmth to grow. They will ask visitors to find a partner, to hold their combined hands together, and to offer shared warmth to the seed, and they will explain that seeds grow best when they come from the combined care of more than one individual. Bearers will eventually have to separate, but they will notice that the small seed in their palms has started to sprout. Visitors will also be welcome to turn fertilizer with the laborers at the yards (What's in it? Don't worry about it!) and there will be sessions held by the staff on the local flora and fauna, so consider this your primer on the native plants and animals of Kenos!

The denizens of Highstorm are putting out their bells and whistles for the new bearers, as they have less to fear in the streets (or do they...?) so feel free to stop by Benny's -- watch out for any fights, or participate, I'm not your mom -- or feel free to visit the Tomes, where a certain coffee shop has opened up a cart in the largest library in the district, offering drinks to comers and goers, which are becoming quite popular. This particular barista often offers drinks based on their shards, but as a little winter pick-me-up for the denizens of Highstorm, there are several new drinks offered for visitors! They even have a menu on display for bearers to select from!

CHEERS TO A NEW YEAR

• Springstar Sunrise - One using the crushed vines that populate Springstar in their warm season, which makes bearers want to reach out and hold hands.
• Scorching Slowdown - One using water from the Scorching Isles that makes bearers grow cold, and time seems to warp around them. (This one DOES contain a modified touch of the Blight that bearers once healed, but if brought up, an attendant will shake their head, and impress upon the patron a sense of calm. It will not hurt you.)
• Xanadu Xing - that makes bearers feel warm and totally relaxed. A spa in a cup, and you’ll feel like you had a therapy session afterward!
• Worlds Edging - A drink that makes bearers start to feel...amorous. (The Aphro Drink)
• Highstorm Hiccup - A whimsical drink that gives the bearer hiccups! Do they float a little? Yeah, but there’s no fans over your heads, don’t worry
• Pastoral Punch - A fruity concoction, it’s made from the crops in Alenroux (think a Sangria) and when drank, it fills bearers with warm memories, and reverie comes easy.
• Yima Yammer - a tongue-in-cheek drink, it fills a bearer with the uncontrollable urge to talk
• Cyrus Concussion - This drink puts bearers into a deep sleep. They have pleasant, warm dreams.

ALENROUX

The pastoral farmlands of Alenroux are seeing a resurgence of life and community, since the establishment of combined Meridian and Zenith forces, and the subsequent attempts to eliminate or displace the monsters that ravaged the island at night. With a more stable population, some of the workers have established homes, and have started opening their doors in the sunny, lush farmland, which is reachable by cornerstone, and oddly? Alenroux has taken to advertising their new interest in tourism. The small farming village has started establishing shops with wares, crafts, cooking classes, and wine tastings, pretty much an agro-tourist's dream! Drink beverages crafted by refugees from distant worlds, or dishes from other worlds! Bearers are encouraged to visit, and stay the night with a multitude of Alenroux's homes opening their doors for bearers to stay in their Bed and Breakfasts.

However, while the days are 24 hours long, so are the nights. Alenroux natives do not leave their homes, and staying in for a full day's time can feel like an eternity. You'll have time to get to know your hosts, but the night is haunted by the cries and howls of monsters in the distance, particularly on the north end of the island. Should a bearer step outdoors, they will find monsters still roaming. Take one on, if you dare, but watch out! Shadow creatures lurk until you least expect it, and may try to lure you in with a familiar voice, a soft promise, the lingering scent of a loved one. What you find in the woods might be just a run-of-the-mill big monster to fight, or it might be something deadlier, a shadow, mimicking a loved one, trying to draw you into the darkness.

KOWLOON

Though Kowloon is something of an open secret amongst those in Springstar, it was normally left to lay in the belly underneath the sunsoaked city topside, like an afterthought. Only those who already knew where it was, could make their way through the dangerous maze of tunnels and corridors that leads from the Springstar sewers, down into the Below, and then further into Kowloon. The Below is dangerous to all but the most powerful, as in the dark corridors, creatures lurk, and people make dens and nests within. Some will warn new bearers away, citing that there are Dark Things within the tunnels and that they don’t encourage anyone to stay down there for long. If you remain unharmonized, it's recommended that a guide assists you on the way down. Fellow shard-bearers who visit frequently are recommended, but particularly savvy types can find their way down on their own.

Kowloon itself is a thriving little beating heart underground, and much like its namesake, it truly is just a built-up city within a scant few blocks, the buildings are densely packed, and ascend to over 14 stories high. It’s massive, enough to occupy a large number of oddities, such as a hunting ground for monsters, and there are bars, clubs, casinos, and shops with wares from very nearly anywhere. Though if you ask where they get them, the owners of said establishments will dodge the question, or outright threaten you when pressed. Bearers will find that there are varying degrees of openness in Kowloon, after all. Don't ask too many questions, or you may not like how they answer. Kowloon is a place where you can satisfy your every vice, and that is meant truly. There are weapons dealers, drug halls, exotic liquors, and substances that could fill innumerable universes. Every world has its shadowy elements, and every world's shady types have made their way down here.

SETTING UPDATES

In both locations, information passes between all in a forum, spread and disseminated among the masses - it's a good opportunity for city residents, faction loyalists, and interested new parties to share and share alike. Once a day, after the meet-and-greets have concluded, twin missives from both faction leads are read out -- invitations for all present to explore the cities to their heart's content, and warnings about stumbling ill-prepared ( or at all ) into the Below, or worse yet, the Beyond. As Shard-Bearers new and old take in their cities, they'll all see it change throughout the month...

OOC, these are all updates to the setting at large that players both new and old are free to interact with as little or as much as they wish! Feel free to use them as prompts on this post, in your characters' on-going lives and arcs, or just let them go "That's none of my business" and ignore it. The world of Kenos is shaped by our playerbase, and these are some of the wider-reaching effects of various player plots and actions.

TRY TO JOT DOWN A FEW NOTES

As part of New Year's gifts to everybody, Yima and Cyrus gifted bearers with an enchanted notebook. They are embossed with your characters' names, and have some unusual properties. Bearers can now send each other little letters or notes, or they can address the group at large, should they wish to! This essentially serves as a network function. Please check out the AC requirements for more information about these special new gifts.

FRONT PAGE NEWS

After the last Oracle, both cities are abuzz with gossip. Normally, the oracle appearances were wrapped in secrecy, only the bearers themselves were privy to the internal happenings, and accounts tend to be scattered, as it's always relied on what the bearers can share. This time, the oracles were broadcast to the population at large, and bearer opinions have shifted wildly, based on how successful a bearer was. New bearers may hear the off-the-cuff snide comment about some bearers here and there, and they'll notice that the cities are not very welcoming to bearers of the opposite faction. The public opinion seems to be shifting as half of the oracles are captured, and their fates are being written by bearers new and old.

DON'T LOOK TOO CLOSE TO THE SHADOWS

Be wary, bearers. Whatever patches of darkness and shadow you encountered in the Harbinger's Labyrinth, seems to be making its way across Kenos. Things like patches of shadow against a building, the slightest flash of a familiar face rounding a corner, or even hearing your name called by a name long gone. Something is trying to reach you and tempt you to find it. The shadows are hungry. For something, and bearers new and old alike will be fine feasting for whatever reaches from the shadows. Step carefully, and watch your backs.

AAH! REAL MONSTERS

If the cities didn't have enough to deal with, Springstar is taking the most hits. The city of sun may not be dealing with as many patches of darkness (for truly, Meridian's light touches all) but that does not mean that there is no danger within the city of eternal sun. Attacks by people such as vampires, ghouls, and other intelligent, people-eating races are on the rise, and fearful whispers hint that they are coming from the Below, some even suggest that this is the hint that the balance is shifting. Kowloon has always existed with relatively little strife toward Springstar, but that seems to be changing. Be wary on the streets of Springstar, bearers, you may find that lurking around the corner are hungry murderers of varying levels of danger. The attacks are not... constant, but they have begun to increase in frequency. By this time in the month, they are moving to several times a day, and the legionnaires are having difficulty keeping up with the attacks. Even one of the more well-known Meridian higher-ups, Agapitos Voreen, has been seen fighting in the streets, flanked by his second, a large, emerald dragon-born woman. All of these combined efforts have not yet been able to turn the tide, and it's clear that Kowloon was always a threat, but one that until recently, had been kept well in hand.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Kenos! As a reminder, all new players need to submit a request, and proceed through player screening to apply to the game. Apps are now open!

This log is Game Canon. Any characters who are not apped to the game will disappear. If Cyrus or Yima are asked, they’ll explain that this sometimes happens since not every soul has a strong tether to Kenos and sometimes return to the Timestream. They may return to Kenos one day, but for now, weren’t able to make the full journey.

As a note primarily for current players, closed toplevels/prompts are not allowed in this log. If you would like to interact with the setting changes in a way that isn't open to all characters (new and old), we ask that you instead make a log in kenoslogs.

FOR NEW PLAYERS:

When characters emerge from their cocoon/the ground, they may be wearing their normal clothes or nude. Up to you!

At some point in the days after leaving the Tree of Life, new Shard-Bearers will have a dream, even if they're usually not capable of sleeping. All new players should read this post since this details how they'll learn about both factions and their goals and should help them make a decision about which Faction they'd be drawn to.

Characters who arrive and harmonize to Zenith will receive a bonus token!

When meeting with either Cetina or Kathova, along with their shard or sunbeam, they will be given a Kenotebook! Think of this as your text-based comm. (This is also opt-out, so if you want it to not be ready/lost, go for it!) Any AC with the Kenotebook must be doubled, so make sure you are aware of that!

As a reminder, your character has a Shard somewhere on their body that encompasses their soul, so keep note of where you're sticking it on their person for reference! Additionally, they have a tattoo of their Aspect somewhere on their body. Please be mindful this Aspect will be assigned to you upon approval and whatever you choose for the TDM may be temporary (for new characters)!

For the Island Hopping prompts, all locations will be fully open and accessible to all characters once they are freed from their rather harrowing ordeal at the Tree of Life. For prompt ideas and any general information about the cities and what you can find there, please see the Locations section of our Wiki!

New characters will not have access to any canon abilities on the TDM until they Harmonize, AKA make a choice of which faction they choose to support. For some characters, this may be an easy decision, but it make take others time. We just ask you keep this in mind!

CODING

Comments

II

[picketship]

[The grip that jerks him back is not rough, and the hand seems human enough, but there is an implacable solidity to it that is reminiscent of iron, or old, unbending trees. Matt is not released until he has steadied and his attention is fully on his friendly assailant, instead of on the water. Only then does the hand on his shoulder relax, retreating without fanfare.

Standing casually next to him, a tall, thin man observes him without obvious expression—at least until his reply. That earns a small shrug, a quirk of an eyebrow.]

Not me, personally. Manor staff. Probably some of those burly, horned fellows.

[The minotaurs look well-suited to dredging pond bottoms, don’t they? They certainly seem dutiful enough for the task.]

Anyway; the pool’s developed an appetite, apparently—along with the rest of the city. Best not to doze off around it.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt is more or less used to being manhandled, ever since high school where the athletic girls all took turns seeing if they could lift him. But the utter ease with which this person's pulled him back is--unusual, to say the least. Kind of a pleasure to feel, in the sense that Matt appreciates anyone who knows their capabilities with such precision.

He glances towards the Manor staff in question, then back to his rescuer. ]

Minotaurs--is what we'd call them, back home. [ What we would have called them? What we used to call them? Verb tenses pose a problem; Matt's mind skips over the implications like a stone. ] Uh, okay, appetite ... is that ...

[ His apologetic smile resembles a grimace. ]

Please don't be too hard on me if the answer to this is "duh." But does that have anything to do with the sort of ... entropic phase we all find ourselves in?

[picketship]

[Hm—minotaurs. Demeisen absorbs the word neutrally, with a little shrug that implies he might remember for next time, or he might not bother. The manor staff aren’t from Matt’s world, are they? As far as Demeisen can tell, most of the people in Kenos were born right here, which suggests that these bovine-headed people likely have their own word for what they are, and frankly, he hasn’t cared to learn that either.

The topic of hungry shadows is far more interesting, regardless.]

Almost unquestionably, in so much as everything here is related to it in some way. It’s the premise upon which this reality was made, from what I understand.

[He waves his hand—stubby fingered, like it has too few joints—in a vague gesture. There’s something a little off about him, upon inspection. Shoulders and upper spine that seem too hunched; a waist that sits a little too high on his body, leading to startlingly long legs; a face that seems foreign in some unplaceable way.]

But I can only piece together so much. Assuming you’re freshly revented, I’ve been here maybe a couple weeks longer than you.

[semicharmed]

[ "The premise upon which this reality is made" is a mental mouthful for Matt. He wonders if the entirety of Kenos--tree, floating islands, rapacious shadows--was willed into existence purely for the purpose of serving as a staging ground for this conflict. That wouldn't be totally unprecedented, mythologically speaking. When you have enough power, and-or you occupy the right vertex of the cosmos, all you have to do to create a world is say the word.

The waving gesture made by his companion draws Matt's attention first to his hands, then his posture, and at last to his face. He recognizes something--different, perhaps? But it doesn't strike him as uncanny. If anything, he's fascinated. Matt has a soft spot for the physical details that set a person apart. ]

Weeks. [ The word "revented" he parses as possibly synonymous with "reinvented," but in any case, that's not the part of the sentence that makes him feel like he's on a seesaw. ] That sounds like not a long time to me. And I know there are people here who've been here for generations? But it's hard to square that with this whole ... cosmic project. It feels like the kind of thing that should be urgent.

[picketship]

[Demeisen nods.]

My feeling too.

[And certainly there is some sense of urgency about the place, tangled up in the tense way the citizens of the cities here seem to regard each other. Stakes are, ostensibly, quite high. But it’s curious that this war for the fate of reality has also, supposedly, been going on for centuries—maybe even millennia. If someone is orchestrating this grand contest, they don’t seem to be in any rush to get to a conclusion.]

Can’t find anything in the way of records about older generations, though. Supposedly the previous wars wiped them out, but it just seems awfully convenient.

[There’s a wealth of other culture in Kenos’s cities, art and literature and stories from hundreds upon hundreds of places, but not a single surviving account of even the most recent conflict prior to this one? It stinks of artifice.]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt was about to say something about kairos, the gods' time. Not linear or even strictly measurable, it's more like the moment in which an arrow can be loosed with enough force and precision to penetrate its target. But his new companion's remark about conveniently absent records totally distracts him. ]

Huh, [ he says, with feeling. He's about to add something else, but then he realizes they're just sort of standing around at the scene of his near-murder. ] Hey ... do you want to find someplace to sit that isn't-- [ He gestures towards the surface of the pool, currently placid. ] And maybe exchange notes? I don't have a lot of data to offer, but at least I've got fresh eyes and ears.

[picketship]

[Demeisen has no issue with remaining next to the pool while they talk; if anything, it’s convenient to be able to keep half an eye on it, lest it have more surprises in store. But he’s certainly not committed to being night watchman for just this one spot, given that there are plenty of other places around here that are supposedly dangerous. So.]

If you like.

[Regarding the other man briefly, Demeisen decides that perhaps he’s also tired of standing around in the courtyard to enjoy Highstorm’s frigid winter weather. Rather than elbow someone out of the few seating options available around here, then, he decides it might be preferable to head somewhere else.

So, with a nod of his head, he starts walking.]

What’s your name then, kid?

[semicharmed]

[ It is awfully chilly. Matt's grateful to the islanders for offering him adequate clothes for the weather, but he's a California boy at heart. And not the part of California that has desert nights.

He smiles, grateful, and moves to keep pace with Demeisen--but at the word "kid," his lips twitch in bemusement. He's not strictly insulted, but the term does make him wonder if he's done something to seem immature besides almost drown. ]

I'm Matt. Matt Jamison. [ And I'm 25, he considers adding, for context, except he can't think how to not make it sound aggressive. Besides, who knows how aging works where this guy's from. ] How about you?

[picketship]

Demeisen.

[He doesn’t offer any elaboration, which may seem like he’s just being obtuse, but in fairness, he doesn’t have any names other than that one. He could elaborate more—mention his associated ship, at least—but it’s not like Matt volunteered the place he was from either. This appears to be the level of introduction in order for the moment.

Instead of taking them back into the manor, he steers them away, out into the sprawl of broad, calm streets spreading out from the seat of Yima’s power. Away from the forum, the bustle drops off almost immediately.]

I can see you’re still trying to find your legs here. Was the place you arrived from very different from this?

[semicharmed]

Demeisen. Nice to meet you.

[ Matt notes with curiosity that they're not off to some interior wing of the manor, but out of it entirely. He neither shows nor feels alarm; he's very easy to take to second locations. And he can breathe a little easier here in the moon-drenched quiet. Parties are so full of stimulus and expectation.

Though his eyes skim the shadows with suspicion, alert for inky fingers. The sound of his name. ]

... I have to imagine most places are different from this one, [ Matt answers, after a moment. He folds his arms across his chest as they walk. ] That doesn't bother me so much, all hungry shadows aside.

It's the whole picking sides thing.

[picketship]

Well quite.

[Demeisen agrees easily, glancing briefly at Matt as they make their way through the streets. The fellow doesn’t seem pleased about their situation, but then, who would be? A very specific kind of individual, he’d wager.]

Not conscription, technically—understand no one’s been forced to sign up yet—but most around here seem to feel strongly one way or the other. Be surprised if you weren’t leant on until you commit.

[Besides, with a premise like this, it’d be hard for most to stay impartial, at least assuming they accept that dream from the Tree as truth.]

Shit deal for a regular person. I’m not so keen on it myself: going along with things like a good little soldier.

[Whoever dropped him in here fucked up if they thought he’d play along there. But maybe they wanted a loose cannon to run around, turn over rocks and peek behind curtains. Make things interesting. He’s trying not to overthink it.]

[semicharmed]

Thanks for the heads-up.

[ Matt smiles ruefully at "good little soldier." He's not exactly great at following orders, himself. (Except as an extracurricular, and even there his record isn't spotless. Did you mean to be such a brat tonight? at least one partner has asked. Devastating.) ]

Don't get me wrong, I want to help. [ That's part of what makes this whole thing so hard: For Matt, sitting out could never be an option. ] But this decision feels pretty important. [ Spoken with his typical talent for understatement. ] I'm open to more information--I need all the help I can get--but I don't think it'd be right to let somebody pressure me into going one way or the other.

[picketship]

That’s the thing about all-out war, [Demeisen agrees, musing as they continue their walk along the moonlit avenue.] Once all the pieces are out and have started smashifying each other, it’s difficult to put everything back in the box.

[Inherently messy thing, warfare. Messy, violent—and wasteful, as conflict resolution methods go. One reason most polite, enlightened civilizations past a certain point try to avoid having them.

But of course, even the well-meaning end up feeling like they need to dirty their hands sometimes.]

Definitely wouldn’t want to rush into declaring for one side or the other. [He glances at Matt again; grins.] Otherwise, you might do something you’ll regret.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's lips quirk appreciatively for the evocative word "smashifying," though the look of amusement doesn't last long. He feels naive for being surprised Demeisen would classify this conflict as all-out war. A little stupid. What else could it be, after all? Even in myths, the conflicts of the gods are far from bloodless.

He's at risk of sinking down to an ocean floor of his own thoughts, when Demeisen pulls him back from the brink--a talent of his, evidently. Matt laughs in surprise, quick and hoarse, and says, ] I'm definitely going to do something I regret. [ He already regrets being the only person from his world--so far as he knows--to make it here. ] I don't really see a way around that one.

[picketship]

[As wars go, this one has involved relatively little bloodshed so far—but not none, and even then, one has to consider the quite small population of the world involved when thinking of the number of casualties. The disappearances due to inky shadows, for instance, might not be directly related to the conflict between Zenith and Meridian—but the bloody attacks on Springstar’s streets, as Demeisen understands them, almost unquestionably are.

When Matt speaks again, Demeisen fixes him with an interested look.]

That so?

[Evidently he hadn’t expected this to be his mental space already. Conscience is a tricky thing, he’s heard, but he doesn’t really have any direct experience with it.]

Why do you say that?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt smiles, lopsided and rueful. ]

The only choices that come without tradeoffs are the ones that don't mean that much. [ And this one, as he's said, is important. It means pretty close to everything, as far as he can see. Maybe if Matt had the kairos of spellcasting to buoy him, that celestial speed-dial to the heart of things, he'd feel like he was in a position to make the right choice. But he has never felt so finite. ] Maybe things'll change, but right now, I can't see a way to go where I wouldn't sort of wish I'd chosen the other way.

[picketship]

A conscience is such a pesky thing, isn’t it?

[The way Demeisen asks this, it sounds more like wonderment than lamentation—like this is a problem he’s never had and hadn’t ever been directly exposed to. It seems rather ironic, that such a tiny and powerless being would be burdened with such heavy concerns.

As they walk, he turns the two of them toward a tavern bleeding dim orange light onto the snowy street. When he opens the door, the low murmur of occasional voices and the flickering glow of an entire constellation of candles greets them.]

And how do you define what meaningful is?

[semicharmed]

[ Matt hears a degree of remove, perhaps, in Demeisen's observation. But he interprets it as more of a wry joke than literal disconnect from the concept. ]

Oh ... [ Appreciative, for the candles. Every time Matt starts to spin off into moroseness, something new and lovely unveils itself in this place. No matter how small, it's enough to lift his spirits at least for a moment. ] Nice place.

[ He spends the moments of shuffling inside and soaking in the warmth to turn Demeisen's question over in his mind. It's one of those simple questions that's deceptively difficult to answer. ]

In terms of what makes something meaningful, I'd say ... how long after the choice you make do you feel the effects. And how hard. Maybe I'm really invested in what cereal I want for breakfast, in the moment, but by lunch I probably won't remember it. But who I want to marry has all kinds of implications, legal and monetary and otherwise, that if I made that decision, it'd ripple into a lot of places for a long time.

[picketship]

[For Demeisen, the ambiance is a little rustic, but it’s charming, in its own way. He gives Matt a moment to steep in it a little bit, before he sets his sights on a small table by a shelf of differently shaped glass bottles and guides them over to it.]

Sure.

[All that sounds just fine—but it’s just philosophy, which he isn’t really interested in in the abstract. It’s sort of beside the point.]

But that’s all vague. [He waves a hand as he sits down, dismissing the topic.] What are these big choices you’re confronting, that you’re so sure you’re going to regret?

[semicharmed]

Oh, [ Matt says, as he settles into the chair opposite. He scrubs a hand over his cheek, amused. ] That's easier.

If I choose Zenith, I'm worried I'll be violating the rights of everybody in Kenos to have their own world continue. Like, don't the people who are alive have dibs over people who are dead and who might exist in the future?

If I choose Meridian, I'll wonder if I was supposed to take the chance to play a role in creating a better world. If this was the call, and I didn't answer.

And if I don't choose a side at all ... unless I can actually do something to help the situation, I'll worry I'm patting myself on the back for taking the easy way out.

[picketship]

[Demeisen does listen attentively—and for a moment Matt might be fooled into thinking he’s about to receive some kind of deep perspective or helpful advice. Instead though, the other man opens his mouth and says this:]

How the fuck would you ever know the answer to any of that?

[Demeisen isn’t implying there couldn’t be answers to these questions—but could Matt know what they are? Unless he’s wildly misunderstanding his capabilities as a—as far as Demeisen can tell—pretty normal human man, questions about the optimal choice in a complex and volatile situation like a war for the fate of one or more realities seem considerably beyond the scope of what he could be expected to grapple with.]

Pretty presumptuous of you to already be portioning yourself helpings of responsibility when you just got here. Grief. You make all your decisions this way?

[semicharmed]

[ This reaction definitely takes Matt by surprise. It's actually physical: he sits back with a a bewildered expression, kind of like a dog that's just been hit with water from a spray bottle.

The first reply he manages is: ]

I already told you not breakfast cereal.

[ Matt drags a hand through his hair, breathing a disbelieving laugh. ] Um. I mean I would say, I'm not sure how much my "just" getting here really means, or linear time in general, but also--

I'm not saying what effect I'm going to have, but those are the stakes as I understand them. Signing onto a side is signing onto its goals, isn't it?

[picketship]

[It might actually be to Matt’s benefit that he is so obvious with his bewilderment, given how oblivious Demeisen tends to be when it comes to intuiting the feelings of others—but even in this circumstance, the dark-eyed man shows no sign of self-consciousness as he leans back in his chair, slinging one arm over the seat back, the very picture of ease.]

Sure. But you haven’t signed up for anything yet.

[The wave he aims at the server making her way through the bar towards them radiates cheer.]

You seem like a good kid, so why get involved at all? War’s messy, bloody business. Nothing wrong with staying on the sidelines, sticking to choices that matter to you, personally.

[semicharmed]

[ At the back of Matt's brain, he appreciates Demeisen's effortless lounging. He doesn't envy it, exactly, because he's pretty sure he disagrees with him on at least a few major principles. But it's still impressive.

Anyway, he gives the question genuine thought as the server heads over, slipping out of his consideration only to say "I'll have what he's having." Once orders have been taken and they're alone once more, Matt shakes his head. ]

I don't relish the concept of war. And I doubt I'd be much good as a soldier.

But ...

The best way I can explain is with one of the religions from my world. They talk about the whole universe as one big soul. We have our own individual consciousnesses, but that's mainly a product of forgetting what we really are. When that illusion falls away, that's when we realize we're all connected to each other. Intimately. And we realize our fates and our desires and the things that happen to us, they're all intertwined.

So. That is what matters to me. Personally.

[picketship]

[For all his blunt insensitivity, Demeisen is at least perfectly civil, even friendly to the server who comes to take their orders. He rattles off the name of a drink that was recommended to him the last time he was here, and sends her on her way with a cheerful nod.

In contrast, the divergence into religion makes him lift a brow, surprised and not particularly impressed. Religion was not much of a feature among the ships and people with whom he used to spend his time, and he can’t say he has much interest in it. No wonder he doesn’t understand where Matt is coming from.]

Ah— You’re one of those types, then.

[Someone burdened with empathy for a universe far larger and more incomprehensible than the human mind could even really grasp no matter how hard it might try.]

Well, there’s something to be said for working with what you’ve got. The little piece of the universe that you know what to do with. But if you don’t know what that is, then [—he shrugs—] I can’t help you.