Let's do the Test Drive Again

[wolof]

I. 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 looking down, and they spill forth as if 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.

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. 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.

You wake with a start, cradled by soft, velvety plants, and sticky with a sap that smells faintly of honey and iron. 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.

II. BOUGH-BREAKER, ROOT-QUAKER

There are new Shard-Bearers at the Tree of Life, and Yima has asked that their elders return to the Tree to greet them, to bring them forth and answer their questions. She warns that it will be unlike the last time, for the Dryad's presence has gone -- the root-caverns of the Tree are damaged, the previous actions of some of the Shard-Bearers have left it injured, blackened by ill intent. Be careful, Commune where you must, but be aware that the Tree has reacted to its injury and will seek out the space within your Communions to make its agonies known.

All will experience the consequences to the actions of the few.

Whether awakening within or descending once more into the cavernous, root layer of the Tree of life is precarious; passages are maze-like, with claustrophobic squeezes and sudden chasms. Worse yet, is the miasma that hovers in the atmosphere. It leaches into your eyes, your skin, the space below your fingernails and drags through your lungs with every inhalation. Images of explosions, of fire and the sensation of shrapnel tearing through you begin to spark like fireworks within your mind. The pain builds, souring as it does.

The ambiance here is revolting. Great chasms have opened in the environment, threatening to pour inattentive Shard-Bearers into the Tree's deeper underbelly. The cloying, dark vapors around everyone dull the senses, until those you may have entered with are gone, or perhaps new bodies have joined you in the rancid space. The miasma urges you towards your baser desires, your desperate violence, and even as the Tree's pain evokes a sense of desperate self-defense, your Shard warms upon your body.

Somehow, the Tree still seeks to Commune with all -- pressing its need upon you: a single flame. A roaring pyre. A chilled ember.

THE GAME IS AFOOT

The Tree of Life cannot communicate but in abstract images and sounds, but the general gist of its need is eventually grasped by all Shard-Bearers: the miasma present is the result of an attack upon the Dryad that once lived among the roots of the Tree. Actions taken by other Shard-Bearers have left the Tree in dire straits, deeply wounded and unable to prevent itself from naturally lashing out in its own defense as it dies. It cannot let go of those it has imprisoned, until they have revealed their nature to it - until it knows it can finally, finally let go.

Characters can decide amongst themselves how to deal with the threat of miasma. It's easy to figure out, as your shards will naturally want to absorb what's similar to discord within your shards, but just like with discord, holding hands, or joining together in some way will allow the pain to be shared amongst everyone in the group. There's no such thing as failure, but if a character decides for the group, there may be the opportunity for intervention…

• Characters may choose to take on the role of a martyr, accepting the Tree's miasma ( its pain ) upon themselves as the sole sufferant. They will experience excruciating pain and lasting effects, but will spare others from this trauma.
• Characters may also choose to share the pain among themselves, though doing so will require Communion to be shared between all parties -- this will result in the temporary collapse of boundaries and barricades, and emotions and memories may flow against their will into others.
• Characters may also decide to do nothing at all, whereupon their decision to take no action will result in the miasma growing stronger, denser and more cloying until they are rendered unconscious and ejected from the roots of the tree.
• Have you a choice unique to your character that wasn't mentioned? Might you try to heal the tree's pain, or perhaps harm it further? If you're making the attempt, make sure your group is aware and submit your record of action to the link included below!

This can be done in groups of 2 to 4 players, and three is a recommendation - if you can swing it! It’s more fun when you get into philosophical debates, right? Regardless, when your group comes to a decision, please record it here. These don’t have to be fully threaded out to be recorded, so the conclusion can be discussed OOC if you prefer. Actions can be submitted until JANUARY 9TH, after which a tally will be taken of decision and filed away for later, devious uses.

III. TWO CITIES, ALIKE IN DIGNITY BUT WE ALL KNOW YIMOMMY'S WHERE IT'S AT

Having just celebrated the dual-natured festivities known as the Year's End Festival and Qiasu, Springstar and Highstorm ( respectively ) are wrapping up the period of time where Kenos a celebrates unity and togetherness, coming together with friends and family, to be kind to others and share in one’s wealth - whether that comes in the form of knowledge, monetary gains, or the exchange of gifts and one’s time. While the core festivities are over, many of the residents of Kenos are still caught up in the celebratory mood; those who are not, have begun to fret and whisper about a rumor that has spread throughout both cities.

( Many more residents are attempting to get rid of their excess stock, and may attempt to pawn off kitschy goods and, strangely, unclaimed gifts for people they claim they have no memory of, or simply do not exist. )

With the new Shard-Bearers present or en route, it is Kathova and Cetina that 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 small, casual meet-and-greet to be held before the new Shard-Bearers are unleashed upon Kenos as a whole.

Additionally, as Springstar and Highstorm are holding their events on different days, it is possible for the knowledge-hungry to participate in both informational sessions -- the tones and opinions held by both cities are doubtless to differ, and some Shard-Bearers who have chosen to harmonize with either faction may even find their way to the opposing faction's session as well. After all, the year's end is still lingering in the air, and cooperation is the current name of the game.

SPRINGSTAR, αιώνιος ήλιος

In Springstar, the seat of the Tribune becomes available for such a forum. 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.

Tables draped in white-and-gold-trimmed fabrics fare filled with fare common to Springstar's warmer climate -- fruits and wines, savory smoked meats and roasted vegetables, a series of meze platters and souvlaki skewers have been lain out to encourage forum participants to snack as they speak. The atmosphere is light, ambient with informality and friendliness, though topics will inevitably stray towards philosophic, Springstar's meeting grounds are decorated with handsome chaise lounges and slouching klismos chairs in small, intimate groupings.

HIGHSTORM, луны-близнецы

Eternally in opposition, Highstorm provides the Manor's courtyard as the setting for their informational meeting. Here, formality is of utmost importance, with attending Zenith loyalists and residents dressed in beautiful, albeit austere attire -- they are, after all, standing before Lady Yima's home. A buffet-style luncheon is spread alongside one of the largest reflecting pools, wherein you may gaze and find your memories revealed in retrospect upon the water's surface.

There are few places to be seated in the Manor's courtyard, resulting in a milling of bodies 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.

RUMOR MILL

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 the meet-and-greet has concluded, twin missives from both of the 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.

No matter how conversations between player characters go, everyone will walk away with the following knowledge to ensure new players do not feel "behind" in terms of what has previously happened on Kenos TV.

• Cyrus, the head of the Meridian faction is a native aristocrat of Springstar, who provides characters with an iliachtida, or sunbeam. This item tethers a character to their world, ensuring it does not fully disappear. His stance involves the idea that, using Meridian's light, worlds can be restored and you may return home.
• In contrast, the head of the Zenith faction is Yima, who has been the head of Highstorm since - arguably - its inception. She provides characters with a Shard of that they love most, to protect and hold. Yima believes former worlds to be lost, and looks to the future instead.
• While Harmonization occurs as the characters' Shard ( literally the manifestation of a character's soul! ) accrues the natural energies generated by Meridian or Zenith, Discord is also as natural an occurrence -- a symptom, in fact, of that process. Discord is best reduced by someone from the opposite faction, and is also influenced by the Aspect of one's character.
• Cyrus likes enchiladas.
• Many individuals recommend the following locations to new arrivals, as a means of enjoyment, involvement or further information-seeking: Highstorm's Court at Yima's Manor remains a great area for reflection and self-discovery, while the Tomes - a series of libraries - possess a magnitude of amassed knowledge, both foreign and relative to yourself. Heliopolis, the capital of Springstar, is the core of government and administration, and houses many avenues towards involvement in the goings-on of the city. Likewise, the Psychagogía District is the beating heart of entertainment within an island known for its passions.
• Rumors of past exploits linger on the lips of many. Did you know that one of Meridian's Harmonized slew one of Zenith's before the eyes of countless bystanders? That there was an expedition of Meri and Zenite Shard-Bearers dispatched to Alenroux, and some came back brutalized! Did you hear that the Shard of a Zenite is being held hostage by the Meridians?
• The new marking that has appeared upon your character's body is known as their sign of Aspect, and supposedly correlates to the fundamental truths of their soul. A Shard also exists, and is known as the characters' soul itself.

NOTES

Welcome to Kenos! As a reminder, all new players need an invite to play in the game, which 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 happens sometimes, since not every soul has a strong tether to Kenos and sometimes return to the Timestream. They’re fine and may even return to Kenos one day, but for now weren’t able to make the full journey.

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 Highstorm and Springstar prompts, both cities will be fully open and accessible to all characters once they are saved 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 Navigation page and check out the locations!

FOR NEW PLAYERS:

When characters emerge from their cocoon/the ground, characters may be wearing their normal clothes, or they might be 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 in which Faction they'd be drawn to.

New characters will not have access to any canon abilities on the TDM.

Your character will be offered temporary housing either at the Heliopolis district or Yima's manor for the first few weeks after their arrival. They will also be given a stipend for basic supplies like clothing and personal effects, and food is served in the cantina (Heliopolis) and at regular meal times in the Dining Room (Yima's manor). Once they Harmonize, they will get personal permanent chambers and a fancy retainer in their Faction's city. Wow! 🌈

CODING

Comments

ashiya douman | fate/ grand order.

[ragou]

I-II. BREAKING BAD (ROOTS).

[ There's a void where the idyllic dream would be; in a pulsing, heartbeat darkness, a would-be womb at the end of the world, Douman drifts comfortably with the rot of the universe clinging to his hair, picks the cartilage of destruction from out under his nails.

"I'm sorry," a disembodied woman eventually murmurs, cutting through the white-noise din of the hollow, and he laughs in return: oh no, why should you be? This is quite ideal.

He hangs in that balance, suspended in the limbo of his namesake, when the soil starts to claim him. Dirt in his eyes, dirt in his mouth, dirt where that corpse-sweet death used to be.

Set dressing. What follows is the same as any other newcomer's arrival: a slow unearthing, ending in an undignified mess, culminating in:

a.
Raucous laughter. The fuck. Do you ever see a six and a half foot tall man who is just, so unhinged. He spits out a pebble mid-chuckle (gross), and doubles over on soil-soft ground, long clawed fingers digging into where he'd been recently entombed. ]

Of all the thingsー [ he dissolves into a fit again, his grin grotesque. ] ーMmmm, I expected resurrection to be less claustrophobic! [ This is not the actual reason Douman feels Insane ™, but whatever. He's extending a hand to someone nearby, regardless of whether or not they need it (or want it??? please don't touch him, he's awful.) ] But how lucky, how lucky for us all.

[ b.
A giant of a man, hovering, pale but serene in the midst of the tree's miasma. He's definitely in the "I-will-do-nothing-until-someone-says-something" camp, nose lifted to the scent of the decay and melted metal, smiling but expressionless.

Helpfully: ] Perhaps we should burn it. [ The tree, he means. Like, why not. ]

III. TWO CITIES.

[ The RNG has spoken: it says that, as Douman wanders the streets of his new environment, he's met by a resident who thrusts a "skull of a creature that nobody can recognize" into his non-waiting arms.

Hm. ]

Ah...? [ O... kay??? ? ? Does he really look like someone who collects pieces of dead people as a hobby, he wonders. (He does, thanks for the callout, RNG.) Once again, there are two options here:

a.
He'll note someone watching the exchange happening and look appropriately sheepish, even if the sentiment never reaches his eyes. ]

Hmm, hmmm... a gift is a gift, but this one is a bit troubling, isn't it? [ What the fuck is he supposed to do with a skull???? (Actually........) That said, he doesn't actually sound like he's having a Bad Time. He brandishes the thing to whoever cares to approach him. ] Ah, perhaps you'd know better than this humble priest about what locals do with the bones of their deceased.

[ b.
Motherfucker is sitting on a bench, cheerfully chatting. To the skull. Get close enough, and people would be able to hear: ]

ーand we may be able to find your soul somewhere, yet.

[ lmfao this guy is crazy ]

WILDCARD.

[ let me write a customer starter for ya! feel free to PM this journal or PP me at vinsmoke. ♥ ]

iii-a

[zauneyete]

Excuse me?

[ He's been passing by, easily navigating familiar streets in Springstar -- there's a single path that he takes daily through the streets, and most give the man with wide berth. Perhaps it's the pop of his collar, or perhaps it's the swagger, the way the man seemed to occupy more space than his frankly lean frame took up. It could be the foul stench of the cigar that followed in his wake, but more likely than anything else, it was the dual-toned, unblinking gaze that washed over the crowd, like he was on alert, on the lookout.

That was, until someone shoved a skull in his face, and Silco took two steps back, as if to get out of the way of the offensive item in his face. ]

If it were me, I would just burn the blasted thing.

[ There, he had his bearings, offered an answer, and he lifted his cigar to his mouth, stopped in the crowd -- who all gave the two of them a wide berth -- before he inhaled, and then blew smoke outwards, directly at the skull. ]

Why not ask a local, if you're curious?

[ragou]

[ Ahー a man of stature, of status. Sharp-collared, with warnings written in the slant of his features, his posture. Douman sees Silco, ash-gray eyes near-black in the backlight of the sun as he spreads his smile wide like a budding bruise.

The smoke from Silco's cigar is acrid. Douman finds it repulsive, but his aversion doesn't show on his face; his smile is passably affable, if slightly theatric. ]

A sensible course of action, yes, to be sure.

[ To ask, Douman means. His voice lilts. ]

But, mmmー surely you'd appreciate the bashful stumbles of a newcomer in a new land. I simply, simply couldn't bear asking a native something so potentially gauche about their dead, especially in the midst of all this celebration!

ーThough I suppose you could've been a local as well. Silly me, silly me, to assume from something as banal as seeing how the others avoided you.

[zauneyete]

[ There's a brief, silent moment. Silco regarded him with silence, looked him up and down -- one eye blinked -- and then his lip curled into the ghost of a smile, before it vanished as quick as it lit across his face. ]

Ah, so when one is avoided, they're not a local?

[ He asked, and gestured out at the rest of the folks rushing by in a wide berth. ]

It's lucky you did not find me in Highstorm, you would have never known I wasn't a local, then. You must be one of our... [ Hands spread, now, gesturing magnanimously. ] freshly harvested newcomers, then?

[ It's posed as a question, but the man's searching, too-piercing gaze says, very clearly, that he knows he's right. After all, he knows most of who's here. He's clearly the kind of person to be in the know. ]

iii-b

[cutlery]

[ you know what good for him ]

[ As Sebastian draws closer, it’s definitely the man’s appearance that first catches his eye. Kenos may be full of unusual folk, but that doesn’t mean that they’re any less interesting to him. Also, he’s just kind of nosy, but. Once he’s close enough to hear Douman talking, his curiosity is also colored with amusement. He’s certainly not one to judge for holding a conversation with a skull, after all! ]

My, my… [ He speaks up and gives a little nod as he approaches, perfectly friendly in his smile and tone ] I must say, it looks as if they may have lost it quite a while ago, sir.

[ragou]

[ Sebastian is right to judge Douman for his choices, notably the bad one that inspired him to dress like a six-foot five Christmas tree with bells in his hair. This man screams "I am a Mistake".

The (debatably) human-shaped mistake swivels his attention sideways when spoken to, and laughs in time to the tinny chime of his decorations. ]

Perhaps! But it may be just as likely that the flesh is dead, but the soul persists in the everlasting hell of saṃsāra.

[ he might as well just wear a sign that says "avoid at all costs" ]

This world seems to be a fan of housing wayward spirits, at any rate.

[cutlery]

[ There is absolutely a moment of “wow this guy is a real weirdo”, but luckily (?), Sebastian isn’t exactly much better. After all, the response more than interests him since it combines matters of the soul with a curiosity. He may be an ancient demon, but he’s one not well-versed in all cultures of the world. ]

Oh, does it? [ A rhetorical question, but it’s also just as light as if this were a normal conversation. ] Do pardon my ignorance of the matter. The word is familiar, but only just that I heard it mentioned in conversation… It is a conception of afterlife or something of the sort, yes?

[ It’s what he had picked up in spending time with Prince Soma and Agni literal worlds ago at this point, but the skull is also a helpful context clue here… He does give a light nod as the genuine curiosity softens a tad into explanation. ]

Ah, but yes, it does indeed. Kenos seems to have quite the knack for collecting all sorts. Perhaps not wayward by their choice, but wayward all the same by circumstance.

iiia

[comelately]

[ if he weren't a jojo, he might find the appearance of this enormous man in wacky clothing concerning; however, he is, and as such, this is just a regular day ending in y for him. Holding a skull and talking to it? Less normal. Johnny is out doing a few errands, astride his white horse, as usual - which, unfortunately, makes it incredibly obvious when he slows down to stare at this dude talking to the remains of some unfortunate creature.

Uh. He better say something to make this less weird. ]

You - uh, is that talking to you...?

[ mission failed immediately ]

[ragou]

[ God bless you, Johnny, no one deserves you. It is just so incredibly unfortunate for him that he runs across Douman, who is kind of Diego-lite in the sense that he, too, has a bad personality (sorry Diego, we love you), but worse, because he thinks he has a sense of humor.

Douman flicks his gaze up, reptilian, from where he'd cast it down to the skull poised on the crest of his knee. His smile is serrated, but knowing; something intimate dances around the edge of it, and the index finger he presses to the curve of his lips is as sharp as his expression. ]

Discussing the secrets of the universe, I'm afraid.

[ Liar!!!! A lying liar who lies!!!!! He's just delighted that Johnny looks freaked out, that's the long and short of it. ] Would you like your fortune read by it, young master?

[comelately]

[ are you suggesting that diego's awful snake jokes aren't the product of an incredible sense of humor........ nonsssssssense

the weird-looking guy immediately looks both weirder and more sketchy the minute he meets Johnny's eyes, and his gut tells him pretty quickly that he should have just eaten the awkward moment and kept moving. Gyro wouldn't have stopped, he's sure. Being called "young master" adds a bonus layer of bitter memories to the situation, which Johnny is swift to shove back to the dusty corners of his mind. ]

Don't call me that, [ he inserts decisively before continuing on with his reply. ] And I don't wanna know my fortune.

[ he already knows it! it's bad! probably forever! ]

Is that how you're trying to earn money?

iiia!

[sanguinary]

[me as the beyonce meme just going FRESHY?????

Anyway, wow! That's a skull. Matsui hadn't even been approaching Douman so much as just walking in that general direction, but considering he has yet to master the human art of Not Staring Like A Weirdo At Things That Intrigue Him Or Catch His Interest... well. Being addressed isn't all that surprising. And what a weirdo this is!

He looks between this apparent humble priest's big meaty claws and the skull in hand, back and forward once or twice. The expression on his own face is decidedly difficult to read, less so intentionally and moreso in the way of an alien who simply hasn't exercised their facial muscles very much just yet.]

I do not know. [Though as a resident spirit-god-thing himself, he surely can't overlook this...] But the locals do seem open to the customs of many of us who were taken in, so perhaps a more familiar ceremony would be fine enough?

[MAYBE HE SHOULD ASK WHERE THIS SKULL CAME FROM FIRST AND YET.]

[ragou]

[ please do not perceive this horrific character choice, this is how i decided to jumpstart 2k23

A small island of good luck in this sea of misfortune: Douman is de-powered right now, and can't sense that Matsui is a tsukumogami, which might've started a conversation that became way too invasive, way too fast. Instead, they're talking about death ceremonies, which is

actually the same brand of Way Too Much, Way Too Quickly. Hm. ]

Interesting, interesting. In that case, it may be prudent to bury thisー [ he tosses the skull up and catches it, which is disrespectful as hell???? ] ーgiven that it seems far too late to start a funeral pyre.

[ Douman please just be normal ] Though, I wonder... this skull being passed around like so much common refuse. It may be cursed, if no one's thought to do the obvious with it. [ DOUMAN BE NORMAL!!! ]

[sanguinary]

[i perceive... i love douman unfortunately.........

Anyway, it's fine! That good luck probably won't last long anyway, considering Matsui's very open about being a sword now that he knows the time government isn't going to come kill his ass about it.

Hm. The disrespect in this chili's, though. There's a barely-there knit at Matsui's brow, there and gone in a blink as he watches the skull FLY UP and then be caught. That's fine, probably. He seems to consider this very normal statement, head canting to the side as he thinks.

Eventually, with a nod:] It may be, if you believe it to have passed through many hands until this point. [NO ONE HERE IS NORMAL. To prove this lack of normalcy, he just holds a hand out...] May I see it?

for 'warmare'.

[ragou]

[ In all his lives and non-lives, Douman has never once been severed from the one thing he'd believed inherent to himself: his connection to the balance of the world, the invisible threads and tethers extending from his spirit to every other thing in the living universe, their ebbs and flows.

The lack here, on this planet, feels degenerate. From the moment he'd broken the surface of his peat-soaked prison, all he'd felt is this absence, this fury, this hatred; revulsion has clawed its way through every inch of him, threatened to bare fangs in every stray interaction, left him feeling wild under the plaster of his affable smile.

(he remembers being in court, remembers the polite twitch of his mouth at every mention of Seimei, of his shadow growing longer the deeper he bowed his head.)

Socializing becomes untenable. Eventually, Douman displaces himself from the raucous din of festivities in favor of the familiar tranquility of nature, its laws familiar even in a place as alien as this: he counts the pulse of the wind, finds the susurrous rhythm of grass under his feet, the rustle of creatures too small for him to currently track.

Farther still, away, awayー

ーthe hum-whizz of an arrow in flight. Instinct has him tracking the root of the sound, long strides meandering until he finds the half-woman, half-mare with her weapon drawn, cutting graceful lines with the angles of her body. Douman barely notes the unfamiliarity of her shape; he knows what monsters look like, and she doesn't fit the bill.

So. He claps. There's a certain holiness to archery that allows him to allocate reverence, even if something about Douman always screams insincerity. ]

Wonderful, wonderful.

[warmare]

[Harmonizing with Meridian had not helped Hayame view this place at a "home". For all the citizens of Springstar urged her to enjoy herself, to join their community, to accept that, at least for now, she was trapped in this world... It was impossible. She did not know how to accept kindness, she could not trust these people... and more importantly, she could not let go of her tight grip on the anger and hatred that had kept her alive for this long, through Horos and now to this new, equally foreign world.

If she did... she would fall. And the shards in their bodies refused to allow even the dignity of a slit-belly being the end of it all.

So she spends her days largely apart, nursing her grudges and holding desperately to her hopes in private. She trains, over and over and over- enough that her hooves have worn a path of barren dirt at the makeshift target run on the outskirts of the city she uses to attempt and return her skills to the level they had been before a demon had plucked an eye from her head. Yabusame was a vital skill for a warrior... and she had been her stable master's best. She might no longer gallop down the run with vibrant silk sleeves fluttering behind her and ceremonial tassels strung over the expanse of her muscular equine chest, but for just a moment, as she runs and fires, the wind blowing her ink-black mane behind her... She almost longs for the days when she had been a mare awaiting sale.

At least then she had known her place, in a world that made sense.

But this round, after she has fired her arrows and they have all hit the target (though not as cleanly as she would like)... there is a man. Her momentary escape broken by reality, Hayame comes to a halt, drawing up to her full height with a flick of her tail, her six foot length bow still held at the ready, fingers brushing over the fletching of an arrow, ever on guard.]

- Who says so?

[ragou]

[ Ashiya Douman has seen beauty in every form possible, from the grotesque to the benign, from sunrises in Harima to gilded, nestlike byobu in court; beauty doesn't move him, but he can see it in the way the stranger shifts to meet him, crow-black hair like polished lacquer in the dimming light.

She could kill him. The thought makes his currently-useless blood stir, fear and admiration and anger in one heartbeat, but the serene smile on his face betrays none of it. ]

Ah, my apologies. How uncouth of me to clap during a warrior's training.

[ A sweeping bow, creasing the loose fabric of his bastardized priest's garb. Too colorful and garish to be traditional, but with the same fundamental silhouette. When he straightens, relaxed despite the obvious threat, the bells attached to his hairs twinkle. ]

Forgive me my bad manners, and I'll gladly keep my mouth shut. [ this is a lie!!!!!!!!!!!! he never shuts up!!!!!! ]

i-a!

[epiprocta]

[ To be honest, he doesn't really give a shit about the newcomers. More people end up here, more people crawl out of the dirt and have a bunch of questions to ask, then they eventually end up licking the boots of one leader or another. Big whoop. What he does care about is checking on that tree again, to make sure the wretched thing that he caused him and his companions last time really has been vanquished. And if he happens to run into any newcomers along the way and manages to get them indebted to him a bit -- well, that, he won't object to.

That's the main reason he doesn't just do a 180 and walk away when he happens upon an enormous, ridiculous-looking man crawling out of the dirt and laughing like a psycho.

Instead, what he does do is watch in silence for a moment from where he's standing a few paces away -- he'd admittedly given a hard flinch when Douman had just about exploded into view -- before giving a hard huff and striding forth. His boots grit against the dirt with each decisive stomp, and he doesn't hesitate at all in approaching Douman. Maybe it's a little impressive in its bravery. (It's mostly stupid.)

Then he slaps him across the face.

Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to jolt him to his senses. Or at least, that's the main intention. His voice is sharp when he barks, ]

Snap out of it. [ Gen narrows his eyes as he studies Douman from tip to toe. The hell kind of weirdo freak is this guy? (Says the young man currently sporting pointy dog ears and missing his left arm under the drape of his heavy jacket. Don't worry about it.) ] If you're gonna lose your shit, then save it for later. S'probably best not to stay here for long, so -- get up.

[ Just look at the impeccable manners on this one. ]

[ragou]

[ Palm, meet face.

The slap is alarming in a way that Douman doesn't anticipateー not because it hurts, but because of the sheer audacity of the gesture. Skin on skin, the lukewarm revulsion of someone touching him with the flat of their hand; Douman, currently depowered and running on fumes, feels the sting against his cheek, and freezes.

For a secondー one that lingers and hangs, a corpselike silence swinging from an invisible treeー there's absolutely nothing written on the angles of Douman's face. Blank gray eyes framed by strong features, set with deathlike tranquility. For a moment, he becomes a void.

(he winds his fingers around this little whelp's throat, and squeezes; his claws rend into the sockets of the boy's skull and tear out soft, circular globes; he sinks his teeth into something tearable, tastes copper on the flat of his tongue.)

The black hole recedes. In its place is a smile too wide for comfort, still. ]

Ah... ah. [ He straightens, all six feet of him, still dusted with dirt and death. ] Apologies, apologies. It isn't often that one experiences the death of all things as he knows it.

[ The smile spreads like a stain. ] Lossー so much loss. Will you walk with me and help me shed this grief as you have, young master?

[epiprocta]

[ To his meager credit, Gen stands his ground and meets Douman's gaze without flinching, even as his nerves crawl; his instincts are sharper than his conscious mind, and he gets the unmistakable gut feeling that this man is dangerous. And that's not even going into the fact that he's ... huge. What is it with people here being so huge. The petty, juvenile side of him, accustomed to being the tallest person around back home, can't help being deeply irked that so many people here dwarf him.

But however many flavors of displeasure are prickling through his mind, Gen doesn't really express them, other than letting his brow lower. His tone of voice remains a petulant drawl when he deadpans, ]

Don't call me that.

[ 'Young master,' he means. It sounds ridiculous. Does he provide an alternative this stranger can use? Of course not, because that would actually be helpful.

Again, to his meager credit, he takes a step to the side before turning his back; he knows better than bare his back head-on to a man like this. But otherwise, he gestures for Douman to follow as he simply starts striding off into one of the dark corridors that surround them. ]

And we've all been through the same thing, so save me that 'woe is me' bullshit. You can freak out, or keep acting like a fucking creep, or whatever once we're out of here. [ He frowns to himself, providing no gentle segue into his next subject: ] You can't use any abilities or anything right now, can you. If you have any.

II-b... I hope this is okay!!

[gravings]

[ Gray came here to help the new Shard-Bearers, knowing very well that they have cause to be upset and overwhelmed with their new circumstances, and thinking that in this small way she can still make herself useful. There was a time when she was terribly afraid of strangers and wouldn't dream of seeking them out on her own, but by now she's experienced enough unrest in her life that she feels at least a little qualified to lend a hand to others going through their own unrest. In fact, she's come to find that the people who get pulled from their worlds and arrive as "Shard-Bearers" are overwhelmingly kind, if sometimes rough around the edges, and it's usually rewarding to get to know them.

But maybe not this time.

There is something fundamentally harrowing about the man in front of her even if he hasn't yet done anything to earn her anxiety. It has less to do with his actions and everything to do with Gray's extreme spiritual sensitivity. His presence crushes her in a way that even Faker didn't; a Servant, a devil, a god, she can't say what he is, maybe all, but maybe none. His monstrous aura bleeds into her bones until they become saturated and then flooded, until they're tatters of tissue ripping apart under a hurricane.

But somehow her skeleton remains solid, and though she's frozen and trembling with fear, she remains standing. She yearns for someone to explain the existence of this man to her, but Lord El-Melloi II has been gone for a long time.

Distantly, she hears the man say something about burning. As menacing as that sounds, she realizes he's talking about the tree. He isn't her enemy... that she knows of, and it's that fragile thought that keeps her on the functional side of panic. ]

N-No.

[ She's amazed she's even able to say that much, though her soft voice is edged with tension. ]

The situation is this bad... because the tree was hurt before. It'll probably get worse if you try to kill it.

gray...!!!! it's perfect, thank you ♥️

[ragou]

[ Defanged on arrival, Douman is powerless and deranged; still fundamentally the same chimeric mess that differentiates his unique Saint Graph from every other possible permutation of "Ashiya Douman", but unable to tap into that spiritual well for any purpose but existing in it.

He's malevolent. That choice is written everywhere on the planes of his body, invisible but insidious. ]

Mmm, assuredly so. If we fail as a consequence of trying, that is.

[ He turns on his heels to face the young woman and her tension-taut posture, his coal eyes scanning her from feet to head. Zero powers mean zero sensitivity: for the time being, she remains just a girl.

It's infuriating. He keeps a tight lid on that rage, and turns his attention back to the tree. ]

But none of us have the power to cleanse it, and its pain is too great. What benefit is there in keeping it alive? If you see a mouse with its neck half-broken by a trap, would it not be kinder to give it release?

[gravings]

[ Gray is just a normal girl with the body and holy lance of King Arthur, there's nothing to see here...

Because she doesn't have the option of scurrying away like her body is telling her to, she has no choice but to face the man, her normally shy gaze sharply alert in the way a mouse might eye a looming cat. Her hood is low over her face, her stance squared and depressed under the soft outline of her cloak.

She isn't much of a debater, instead much more prone to accepting what other people say, so his logic doesn't feel immediately wrong to her. If something is already on its way to dying, then a mercy kill makes sense. But she knows enough about the ways of the people here that she has to slowly shake her head, scrounging for words as she quietly drowns in the malevolence of the man's presence. She has Add hidden under cloak, but she has to wonder if even he would be enough to combat whatever this man is. It's not a rational fear when he's probably as powerless as she was when she first arrived, but she trusts innately in her instincts. ]

The Tree is very important to the people here. If you tried to destroy it, I think you'd be... in a fair amount of trouble.

[ And as a newcomer — he must be one, she would've noticed a presence like his ages ago — surely he doesn't want to immediately get on the bad side of the entire populace? Right?? ]

iii-a. I had to

[prizeneck]

[Wow, this batch sure is a doozy.

Mamoru, however, has something in his grasp, weird as all hell (thanks RNG), which he can't wait to get rid of it.

He sets a small bunch of grapes carved from a dark red crystal on a ledge. Licking them or placing them in your mouth will give you the flavor of grapes, but no sustenance.

Not that Mamoru knows that, he ain't licking weirdly shaped rocks.]

What did people do where you're from?

lick the rocks mams

[ragou]

[ Douman spares the rocks a sideways glanceー nice, uh, ornaments??? let's just call them ornamentsー before straightening and humming under his breath. ]

Mmm, it all depended on the circumstance, I suppose. [ "Where you're from" can mean a lot of things to Douman at any given time, but he's not about to say that. Yet. So: ] Burials were common, but I'd always preferred the purity of the funeral pyre.

[ Is this bullshit, is this the truth, who cares. ] A bit too late for this one, though, for the fire.

you lick the rocks

[prizeneck]

[Bullshit or not, it all seems so commonplace that Mamoru would even believe that.

He simply arches an eyebrow.] Then I guess you gotta use the alternative.