ercookies | TDM 006: SPECTRAL SPECTACLE

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TDM 006: SPECTRAL SPECTACLE

00. Arrival

This time, you come out of the water, the Nameless Island's own inherent energy drawing people in. It's like being suspended between realities and abruptly pushed from behind through a rift in dimensions. It may make you sick, or that might be the motion of the ocean, lifting you to the surface and carrying you to shore.

Waterlogged and covered in sand, new arrivals will be greeted by robots who welcome them with towels and bracelet devices. The A5 card is already loaded up. Feel free to explore the Island, though there isn’t much to see. Most of the buildings are abandoned and in dire need of repair, and beyond the city lingers a thick fog that obscures much of the wilderness from view. Wander too far into this fog, and you will find yourself mysteriously looping back to where you began, your memories of what you were doing and how you got there erased.

With that in mind, it may be wise to stake your claim on a rundown apartment, a tent on the beach, or a bed in the “comfortable” new barracks. Your inventory will be found a day later, wrapped up haphazardly and delivered to each person's makeshift home.

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I. The Dragon's Matchmaking

Welcome to the Island, cherub dragons! The auspicious actions of your fellow Islanders have foreseen the reintroduction of dragons to the world. Unlike the hulking, possessive creatures of ancient lore (and recent hot springs), these well-meaning little critters love to help. Their small size and roly-poly frames make them unsuited to laborious tasks, but they will be the perfect companion to any residents who endeavor to pick up a small item, wish for their lunch to be delivered to an absolute stranger, or need a fire started from a tiny, flaming sneeze in their drafty homes. If a cherub dragon sees an Islander they perceive in need of their assistance, they will zip right in and refuse to scram until they’ve done the job!

No visible struggles? No problem! The little dragons also love to play matchmaker. Persistent dragons will gleefully nudge together Islanders they believe will have chemistry, and sometimes they aren’t wrong! Of course, even if sparks fail to fly, the dragons’ trilling songs are known to kindle romantic feelings between strangers and long-time lovers alike.

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II. Ruins

While the Islanders have been enjoying their autumn relaxation, the ‘bots of Erku have been hard at work clearing the surrounding forests of dangers for their guests’ safe habitation. If you are of deft hand with monster slaying, forestry, or even just hauling debris and weed picking, the robots will gladly exchange credits for help with reconstructing the recently unearthed mountain temple grounds from the rubble that remains there. Just follow the path of gently glowing mushrooms to the site of the temple ruins. Beware of lurking creatures, grabby plants, and falling rocks!

The temple ruins are tall and breathtaking, despite the eerie chill of the fog that lingers just beyond. Or is it the fog that sends a shiver up your spine? After all, this place was very spiritually important to the original inhabitants of the Island, the robots say to anyone curious enough to ask. Although their own programming does not include religious worship, the Augur believes the restoration of this place to be vital to the continued augmentation of Eros energy.

When questioned about the strange shadows that seem to slip from tree to tree, or the unsettling feeling of ghostly hands that seem to nudge volunteers deeper into the grounds, the robots respond with nothing but bafflement. Their sensors detect no unknown organic presence afoot.

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III. Ritual

Islanders who chase those mysterious shadows may find themselves particularly drawn to a structure that lay deeper within the ruins, beyond where the robots have made the most progress. Three sets of crumbling, moss-covered stairs join to form a central platform, which - despite the overcast skies - seems to emit a soft glow. Those who step onto the platform may begin to hear a quiet, compelling voice, which urges them to be free of their inhibitions and to offer their energy to the spirits to be multiplied hundredfold. Visions of naked bodies in the throes of carnal worship dance before the eyes. Those who are especially spiritually sensitive - or perhaps, just lucky - may feel as if possessed by a consciousness that is not their own, and that consciousness is filled with a burning sexual desire.

Leaving the platform is an option if alone, but the intense and overwhelming urge to seek companionship will persist until an Auspicious Act is completed. Those who are fortunate to be joined by company within the temple will feel compelled to worship right then and there, no matter the risk of being seen. Within the walls of the temple, Eros energy is enhanced such that any erotic act - big or small - will be enough to break the spell.

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N A V I G A T I O N

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Arrival:
[He's always loved the sea. The crisp salt-laden breeze, the reassuring rush of the waves, the way the water sparkles under the sunlight, the warm memories of happiness and home..... One way or another, he always seems to find his way back to it, the better to find his way back to himself.

Even so, he can't say he's entirely pleased to find himself underwater without so much as a by-your-leave. By the time Seteth flounders his way to shore, every scrap of dignity he's accustomed to has been washed away, leaving behind litle more than a muddy, drowned green rat. Ugh. He's too distracted scrubbing sand from his face to even question the new jewelry slipped onto his wrist--and by the time he can see, too busy staring at the robots in flat bewilderment to give it any real thought. They're not golems, obviously, and they're clearly not trying to murder him--not yet, at any rate. So what--? Why--?

Well, this may as well be happening. Why not? It isn't as though his life has seen enough upheaval as of late.]

I take it this is..... a common occurence here?

Dragon's Matchmaking:
Not taking no for an answer, are we?

[A tiny blue dragonling has latched onto Seteth's dust rag, wings buzzing as it attempts to steal it in the most one-sided tug-of-war he's ever seen. He had been hard at work helping to clean up this ramshackle apartment building; now he's just giving his new self-proclaimed assistant a bemused look, growing increasingly skeptical the longer it pulls. This thing is smaller than the rag itself, after all, what could it possibly manage to even do with it? Still, such a work ethic is commendable, he supposes. It at least deserves the chance to try.]

Oh, very well. If you insist on helping, you may as well work on what I can't reach. Understood?

[He lets the cloth go as the dragonling chirps in triumph--and promptly hurtles backwards as its momentum goes unchecked, on a collision course straight for someone's face. Are you just passing by on your way home? Here to help him clean? Either way, you may want to duck.]

Runs:
[As fussy about cleanliness and order as he tends to be, it's clear he's needed out here far more. Out where monsters prowl that should give even metal men pause, and tangled (and tangling) undergrowth clutches the tumbled ruins of temple walls. Of course, even those seem to pale in comparison to the cold, unsettled feelings that linger, when the shadows seem to fall in ways they shouldn't.]

Perhaps I'm misinformed, but our hosts no longer worship the gods this place was dedicated to, correct? Leaving aside the matter of physical restoration, do records of how to reconsecrate it even remain?

[Focus on the practical matters at hand. Think about what needs to come next. After all, he can't stab a spirit or shadow, can he?]

Ritual:
[While his domain is the earthly needs of the Church, Seteth is still a devout man. He knows quite well that higher powers exist, that spirits can linger. They can yearn, they can suffer--and perhaps they can be soothed and guided, given a sensitive enough audience and delicate handling. Isn't that the whole reason so much work is being poured into this restoration project, after all? To heal the scars that have been left behind, to rededicate this place to whatever god it once paid homage to?

Although he's guided deeper into the ruins readily enough, he's still wary, gripping his spear tightly and hesitating at the foot of the stairs upon sight of the platform's gentle glow. That sort of light typically means active magic of some sort, doesn't it? Why isn't there an altar here, if it's such a clearly significant space? He's not a magical scholar on par with Hanneman, not gifted enough to determine what it is at a glance--but he's not entirely sure he wants to get close enough to study it, either. Who knows what disrupting that sort of energy could cause?]

Has this enchantment been active the entire time? For a spell to be powerful enough to persist for centuries.....

Wildcard:
[You know the drill, this is here for different angles on the prompts or miscellaneous stuff the prompts don't cover. Hit me with your ideas, we'll figure something out. And this time, I'll attempt to remember that apps are a Thing.]

[To see a cherubic dragon hurtling towards his face, Glenn's first instinct is not to duck, but to carefully catch it before it can collide into his face. Holding onto the little creature, a very faint, bemused smile curls his lips, and once he's sure it's ready to fly again, he lets it go.]

Be mindful, little one. Not all have reflexes like mine.

[His gaze slides up to Seteth's, the color of his irises flickering from the coloration of the dragon's scales to the color of Seteth's eyes, for a moment.]

Beg pardon. I did not intend to intrude.

[As if the dragon hurtling towards his face was his fault.

[That said, Seteth may notice that the stranger's clothing is more like a skintight one-piece of something, the material pitch black and glossy, and leaving very little to the imagination. With boots with thick treads and gloves that seem to have additional padding at the fingertips.]

[The dragonling lays in Glenn's palm for a moment, stubby legs flailing as it attempts to untangle itself from the rag. Once it flounders its way to freedom, it wastes no time in circling the pair with its prize, whistling excitedly. Look at what it's got! All three of them should clean together! They can all help each other!

Seteth just sighs and shakes his head at the energetic display; better to watch their little friend than let his gaze linger too long on..... well. On whatever you would call that scandalous outfit Glenn is wearing. Normal cloth isn't nearly so shiny, and doesn't..... cling like that, at least not while dry. He hadn't arrived in something so immodest, had he? Surely he'd found that clothing here somewhere; it seems like the sort of thing the locals might offer.]

I'm not sure one can really intrude on a public space like this, to be fair. So long as neither of you are hurt, all is well.

I would not know - personal space bubbles are variable. Some people prefer to keep others at a fair distance.

[He gives a little shrug, watching the little dragonling flutter around. Looking around, he also notices other rags, as well as the placement of lingering dust.]

It appears you were cleaning-- would you like assistance? I can reach the high places without a problem.

[He certainly does not appear to be even remotely uncomfortable in his current attire.]

I would appreciate the assistance, if you are so inclined. I wish I could do more to improve the state of this place, but unfortunately, I never have been very skilled at repair work.

[Windows and doors to seal properly, cracks and leaks to patch, walls to paint, precarious furniture to mend and reinforce..... Everything here really is in sorry shape. Cyril's assistance would be absolutely invaluable right about now.

How exactly does this young man intend to reach those high places when they're about the same height, though? Even the dragonling is..... well, it's trying, at least. Even if trying means repeatedly bumping against the molding near the ceiling and haphazardly attempting to drag its rag along it as it flies. It's not exactly made for holding things, is it?]

Hmm. My usual method of repairs is too costly in terms of energy at the moment, and worthless on others like fabric, but I can at least do this.

[Picking up a spare rag, his clothing ripples at the shoulder, forming a long tendril about two inches wide, and the end of it rapidly transforms into a hand. With that, Glenn passes a rag to the hand without looking, and the tentacle gets to work with cleaning up the ceiling first. A space near his neck ripples next, forming an eye on a stalk to keep an eye on his actions while his face looks elsewhere, taking stock in the surroundings. Another tentacle and eye rapidly joins in, both hands seamlessly working together despite the fact that it's clear that the clothing-covered flesh has no bones at all between Glenn's shoulder and the wrist of those appendages.]

I am a shapeshifter. And the only humanoid on my ship, so someone needs to clean up, even the high places. So I learned how to do it this way.

[Glenn offers a faint smile, the expression delicate and almost shy.]

Oh. My name is Glenn. Nice to meet you.

Edited 2020-11-14 03:21 (UTC)

[Jasper drifts ahead of Seteth, seeming to be listening to something entirely different than the other man. He pauses, seems to take a long moment to follow the actual words being said before he turns back to look at him, vibrant green eyes gleaming like a predator's in the deep shadows.]

They don't need records. They just need someone that knows how to listen.

[Seteth is no more human than Jasper is. He can smell it on him, thick and musty and vaguely smelling of leaf litter. He smells like mokole. Whatever he is Jasper feels absolutely no inclination to pretend to be anything less than what he is.]

[It feels natural to allow Jasper to take the lead, to fall back and guard the rear. There's just something about the man, something difficult to put into words, but almost palpable nonetheless. The fierce intensity of his gaze, the grace and ease with which he stalks through the forest, the intentness with which he attends to something Seteth can't quite see or hear himself, but can still feel just beneath his skin. There is a power here, a force that Jasper is clearly more sharply attuned to than he.

Let him listen, then. Let him understand, and pass the message on for what it's truly meant to be. Perhaps he should be quiet and let Jasper work?]

Then..... what exactly are we listening to?

[This place..... it doesn't feel like the Goddess' presence, even if She were here instead of Fodlan. He would recognize Her touch anywhere. Is that simply the nature of the gods of this land, or is there more to it than that?]

[ byleth may have only washed up on the beach a few moments prior and isn't in a much better state—trying to get sand out of her hair isn't the most dignified thing—but on hearing that voice, she freezes, turning on her heel. she's dressed in scuffed black armor and a cape, with only splashes of red, blue and gold for color. just below the neck, her gear is marked with the unmistakable twin-headed eagle of the empire.

she levels her decidedly very blue gaze onto seteth. ]

... I hadn't expected to see you again so soon. [ there's something conflicted in her eye, distrustful and hopeful all at once. ]

[The resistance doesn't decorate themselves with the symbols of the Church, or the Alliance. He wears the same uniform as he always has, the same look as he always has, a rock solid constant amidst a storm of change. There's warmth there when he catches sight of Byleth, just for a moment; almost immediately, it flickers and dies like a snuffed candle, drowned under the shock and bewilderment of seeing blue eyes, blue hair, the eagle.

Is this some kind of sick joke? Even if she intended on taking an enemy general's armor for a trophy, to actually wear it is in incredibly poor taste. And more than that, that sense of familiarity and belonging, of home that Byleth had given off, ever since the Goddess had graced her with Her power..... It's nowhere to be found, now.

Better to be cautious until he figures out what happened, at least for now. Seteth inclines his head with as much dignity as he can muster while still dripping wet, tone as cool and formal as it had been the day she and Jeralt had first come to the monastery.]

Nor had I. But it seems neither of us is in any position to attend to our duties in a place like this.

[ something is very, very wrong. that's clear from the moment he looks at her. her posture shifts to wariness. she takes a step back, finally properly looking him over and seeing the vestments that he surely he hasn't worn in months. right?

byleth hadn't wanted to fight seteth and flayn, exactly—cichol and cethleann, she reminds herself, there's no point in allowing any of sothis's children to hide behind the fictions they've constructed anymore and the truth of these two is obvious—even if she had accepted it as necessary. the two of them had treated her as family, cichol had promised to answer all of her questions—

and then the moment she had shown the archbishop that she wouldn't be her perfect and obedient tool, her mother's vessel, cichol treated her nearly as seiros had. a disloyal failure, as if she had ever owed that monster a damned thing.

but with the way things had ended at the church's attempt to retake garreg mach—she had hoped, eventually, to reconcile. at least on a personal level.

so, what in the hell is going on? ]

As I recall, you left your duties behind.

I beg your pardon? I have done no such thing.

[He actually looks downright offended now, in spite of the tense, confused energy of this encounter. Why would she ever accuse him of abandoning his duties, when he's striven so mightily to uphold them--when he'd scoured every inch of Fodlan for her and Rhea for years? When he's dedicated every waking moment to the war effort and supporting her, once she'd finally returned? When he's bound his fate to hers? He's placed his life in her hands in nearly every possible sense of the word, and she's criticizing his loyalty and work ethic? On what grounds is everything he's offered not good enough for her, exactly?]

If I've given you cause to find my service lacking somehow, I would have you tell me. How have I failed you?

[ ... okay. that's weird. her hand goes to rest on the pommel of the sword hanging at her side, but she doesn't go any closer to drawing it. it's a move for her own comfort, if anything.

nothing about this makes any sense. ]

I don't know what you're talking about. You've never served me, your family wanted to use me. I offered you and your daughter mercy, and you left the field.

I-I apologize. This is clearly a simple case of mistaken identity.

[That's not comforting in the slightest. A sword in the hands of a skilled mercenary, and him empty handed? Rhea might be capable of it, but he's no skilled brawler, and no great mage. This could go very wrong, very quickly, if she chose to bare steel.

Even aside from his defenselessness, though..... It's the only explanation that makes sense. Byleth has green hair and eyes now, after all. Of course this couldn't be her, even if the woman before him wasn't an Empire soldier. Blue hair and eyes aren't exactly uncommon, either; surely there are plenty of young women who resemble Byleth in Fodlan. There are no doubt plenty of men who resemble him, as well. Seteth clears his throat, shifting his arms for a proper bow and trying to ignore the way it makes his towel drag on the sand.]

My name is Seteth. I am currently acting as chief aide to the Queen, and provisional leader of the Central Church. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss.....?

[ queen? what queen? fódlan has only its emperor now. the church may still exist, but... is this some weird trick? of course he knows exactly who she is, and vice versa. what could he gain by pleading ignorance now?

it hasn't quite clicked for her that with his implication he serves her, he thinks of byleth as the queen in this case. give it a second. ]

I know who you are. [ but if he insists on playing this game... she'll lean on the scraps of diplomatic protocol it was insisted she learn for meetings during the war. ] I am General Byleth Eisner of the Imperial Adrestian Army, marshal of the Empire and commander of the Black Eagle Strike Force. I serve Her Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Edelgard.

[ the war may be over, but only barely—a matter of days. none of the apparatus she's been placed in command of has been undone. byleth's jaw sets, as she squarely looks him in the eye. ]

As you know, Cichol.

Edited 2020-10-24 22:48 (UTC)

[His expression may stay composed, but there's no disguising the flash of pain and betrayal in his eyes; she may as well have drawn her sword and pierced his heart on the spot. If this is a nightmare, it's a strange one, not to mention a cruel one. But if it's some manner of sorcery instead? If this is somehow indeed her truth, juxtaposed against his own? Even worse. He doesn't want to contemplate the idea that Byleth could be capable of the sort of atrocities he'd witnessed, during those long years of travel--let alone the idea that she could ever work alongside, possibly even command the dastards who had kidnapped and tortured Flayn.

Either way, it's pointless to protest or argue, isn't it? Her certainty in this madness won't be shaken by him merely declaring her wrong. And to anger her without a means to defend himself would be a fool's errand; interrogation is out of the question. Nothing he can do right now could possibly make any difference. Seteth shakes his head, lips pressing into a thin line as he turns to go. Anywhere is fine, at least for now, so long as it's not here.]

.....I see we truly are strangers, after all. If you will excuse me, General, I should be taking my leave.

[ yeah, that's to be expected. byleth had forgotten how seteth can be, but she doesn't want to just let this go. she truly wants to take advantage of this opportunity, even if they both look like drowned rats right now.

byleth removes her hand from her waterlogged swordbelt, holding it up as turns to go. her tone and expression both soften. ]

Seteth, wait. Please. [ she... may as well use that name, if he'll continue to insist upon it. she undoes the clasps for her swordbelt, letting it and the sheathed blade fall to the sand. ] I only want to talk.

Edited 2020-10-25 01:20 (UTC)

What could we possibly have to discuss? It seems I know nothing about you, after all. It only stands to reason, then, that you could know nothing about me.

[The answers they sought together, the impossible battles she had miraculously guided them through, the resolve they shared--in her eyes, they never happened, did they? He's merely an enemy soldier, to be struck down and then spared--perhaps the one moment of compassion she may have shown during the entire campaign of brutal conquest that she commanded.

The soft thump of Byleth's sword hitting the sand is ignored. He should ignore that plea just as soundly, now that he's certain they have nothing to do with each other. So why is he hesitating?]

I'm not the man whose life you spared, General. And you're not the woman I serve. Perhaps we should leave it at that.

... Before the war, I rescued and taught Flayn as one of my students. You had promised me, before the Holy Tomb, that you would help me find answers about myself.

[ she helped him massacre his own devotees to protect his cover, she resists the urge to say. byleth won't pretend that she feels nothing but warmth for him—even placing his own actions aside, it's complicated and overshadowed by the awful tangle of hatred she can't help but feel towards seiros. still, she's reasonably certain that seteth wasn't involved or aware of the full scope of all the archbishop had done over the centuries; her father hadn't known him, after all.

but she can't be sure. ]

I don't know when or where I might see the Seteth I know again. But if you're anything like him, then...

I've done the best I can, given the circumstances.

[But not for her. Not for someone who would both work alongside the Death Knight, and raise her own blade against Flayn. Does she honestly believe this--this other him would be willing to speak with her, after witnessing that? If they had truly been wounded so gravely, he surely would have gone to ground. Somewhere safe and remote where Flayn could recover in peace--perhaps even somewhere outside of Fodlan entirely, to shelter them against the war. How exactly does she think she would find them, to try and force him to make good on his promise?

Goddess, but he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be discussing this. He doesn't even want to think about this hypothetical nightmare scenario. He should be orchestrating reconstruction efforts, not chatting with someone who had evidently helped carry out all that destruction to begin with. Seteth scrubs wearily at his face, circlet knocked askew under his hand.]

Perhaps you should ask your allies about it?

[ she doesn't know what she's hoping to achieve here. and really, when it comes to the seteth at home... she hadn't thought that far ahead.

he's right with one unspoken thing, though. this is pointless. ]

... Perhaps I should. You knew what that monster did to me, protected her every lie—so why should I trust a word you say?

[ the words are cold, clumsy and cruel—but she doesn't care. ]

All your family cares about is control.

All I knew was that you robbed Rhea of her senses. Everything she did concerning you was utterly incomprehensible. We fought over you, did you know that? We almost never fight. I--

[Seteth's voice rises, shriller, strained, not unlike how it had the month Flayn had gone missing. He catches himself now, forces a few deep, steadying breaths to center himself. Getting upset over this won't help either of them, will it?]

.....I know very little about the abhorrent magic that must have created you, and what I do know, I yearn to forget. That is a forbidden knowledge your Agarthan friends may still possess. If you can't trust anything I say, then you're only wasting both our time and breath here. Go to Shambhala, General.

[ agarthan is an unfamiliar term. but it's not hard to guess what he's referring to. ]

After all they've done, all they've taken, you think— [ she's honestly dumbfounded at that. seteth opening up about that is news to her, but— ]

We held them at bay and won the war without them. Those monsters are as much our enemies as the Church was... we just were in no position to move against them in full, before.

Edited 2020-11-01 14:02 (UTC)

They fought for the Imperial army, which means they fought for you, General. You were bedfellows with the men who killed your father, who abducted Flayn, who destroyed Remire Village. Whatever excuses you may have had for not raising your sword against them from the start, that doesn't change the fact that you joined hands with them to slaughter all who opposed the Empire.

[Seteth's lips twist in disgust at that. Hubert's letter had implied the partnership wasn't in good faith, but even so--the idea that Byleth could stomach working with such monsters at all, yet not believe him..... It truly does illustrate how little she must think of him, doesn't it?]

Interrogate their mages, if you want to learn their secrets. Or search their stronghold, if it still stands. It can only be the fruits of their sins that inspired Rhea's madness--she wouldn't answer my questions. Perhaps you'll have better luck.

[ how dare he? how fucking dare he— ]

You don't know what you're talking about.

[ that's... the nicest way she can say that. about most of what seteth just said. still, it comes out like ice. ]

We were forced to endure them while we did the only thing we could to take the world back. I have never commanded them, and the Empire hasn't called on their power since the Holy Tomb.

I joined hands with Edelgard, with my students. With Alois, Shamir, Manuela, Hanneman. With those who saw me as a person, not a thing.

[ max recruitment run baybeeeeee ]

TDM 006: SPECTRAL SPECTACLE

00. Arrival

I. The Dragon's Matchmaking

II. Ruins

III. Ritual

Seteth | FE3H | VW post-game

dergons!!

Re: dergons!!

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Ruins

Re: Ruins

arrival. hello lizard uncle

Hi there~ o/

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