Who told you so, dilly dilly, Who told you so? ‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, That told me so.
ouch is one of the most intimate, romantic ways to be close to someone else. The Town knows this very well -- the Town wants everyone to be as close as possible.
Perhaps that's why this bonding is so...aggressive.
Because you're in for quite the shock on this otherwise peaceful day when you brush against the next person on your path.
Maybe you're going out of your way to touch people. Maybe you've got a terrible urge to just see what's lurking in someone's heart. Maybe you trip over a conveniently placed rock -- whatever the cause, you're getting an up close and personal look into someone else's heart.
Welcome to Awash's eighteenth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. You are welcome to make your own logs and posts for this event!
If there are any questions, please ask them here. Thank you!
[ Her brow knits. Chroma often like to throw them into things that require them to find some sort of solution-- but with this? She doesn't know where to start.
How does one even begin to undo the damage that's been done to that castle, anyway? ] ...Maybe it is, but we can't just stand by. [ She tells him. ]
If there are people in there-- even if they are illusions-- we have to help them.
[ And look, he does. It only causes his frown to deepen, and he grumbles to himself before taking long strides past the gate. ]
There is no other path for us to take. Let us proceed.
[ The castle grounds is no different from the outside. Then the very air around them suddenly bends, replacing the decrepit image with the same austere buildings at their peak—tall and whole, standing majestically over the mended earth—until a blink of their eyes steals the glory away like a whisper in the wind. Fissures rake all over the broken land, though one section of the path that empties into another part of the castle remains relatively whole. ]
[ How cruel it is to be shown the castle as it once was, all for its splendorous image to wash away like water off wax. She glances at him, catching his frown before he walks ahead.
She follows, watching him press onward as they come upon the unmarred path diverging from the rest. ] ...Was this place your home?
[ Just as he'd predicted, not a soul dots the stretch of cleaved land. Berkut and Pyra are alone, though he nearly forgets her presence until she poses him that question. ]
This? Yes, I suppose . . . in its true state. What you see here is a false likeness.
I'm sorry to have to see it in this state. [ This is his home; no one would like seeing their home ruined. ]
Maybe... [ She thinks for a moment. Chroma often likes to throw things at them. Sometimes it's a matter of waiting things out. Other times, there's a solution, much like there are to the quests. ] Maybe there is something we must find here, to restore it to how you remember it as.
[ A part of him doubts that as well, but he has no other recourse to offer in Pyra's stead. The feeling of loss that enters him is deep and vast, clinging to his very being, as he gives their surroundings the once-over. ]
What do you suppose that might be? The last castle we explored yielded no clear solution.
[ ....Well, from what she knows about him-- which, admittedly, is very little-- ]
...Bring us to the war room of this castle. [ Her next guess on the Most Interesting Places to search in this fortress-castle would be the throne room, but uh. One thing at a time. ] We should start there.
[ While he is not fond of being told where to go, Pyra's suggestion is sound enough that he complies without complaint. He knows the castle like the back of his hand. So he takes the lead, stepping over a thinning fissure to enter the castle interior through the nearest entrance.
Inside, the stone floor is relatively smooth and even, for the cracks in the earth outside have not yet spread this far. The corridor they traverse is empty and colder still—even if people were to be roaming about, that detached chill would have lingered. ]
[ Once they enter the chamber, she'll be looking for any sort of clue or sign that something significant to him has taken place here. If there is a map of his word upon the table, if there are figures of camps and armed units and cavalry upon it, if there are any notable points of interest-- or even if a fissure has torn the entire war room in two-- she will try to piece together what once was.
[ All things considered, the war room is in excellent condition in spite of the aged pillars supporting the walls and ceiling. The table is bare, however, save for a faded map of Valentia that doesn't appear out of the ordinary; Rigel is drawn to the north, while Zofia's territories line the south. The figures are scattered along the muddled borders of a fluid war, although one wouldn't think there's an ongoing battle from the look of the castle.
Berkut gives the chamber a cursory once-over before he turns back around. ]
[ They need not walk far. The moment Berkut pushes the doors open and steps inside, an authoritative voice rumbles throughout the dark hall: Back so soon, Berkut?
His eyes widen as he stops mid step; his breath, audibly catching. The throne room is even emptier than the war room. And though it is now silent, Berkut's shoulders remain taut from the unexpected greeting. ]
[ There are a few key tells in the dialogue: one, that the voice is causing Berkut to freeze in his tracts, although she can not be certain of it’s out of surprise of hearing it at all or because of its commanding tone alone; and two, that the voice refers to him by name, and name alone. This voice, whomever it belongs to, could very well be of a position equal to Berkut, if not above him entirely.
As such Pyra remains standing respectfully a few paces behind him, bowing her head... although she will be glancing up to see if she might see who is speaking. ]
[ Pyra and Berkut stand alone in the throne room. The empty space around them declines to say more, until a new voice—oozing in derision with every sound that it makes—cuts through the dust in the air: Our own lord Berkut, broken by a band of farmers and cowhands. Did you mean to drag your knights' honor through the dung whilst playing?
Berkut says nothing in response. Fury is writ across his face as he whirls around and stomps out of the throne room.
Only here, a woman's voice chimes in: I pray you fare well in your battle at the border. For should you lose . . . well, I doubt your uncle would give you a third chance. Or is this the fourth?
He can't stay here. Without checking in on Pyra, Berkut marches back to the castle grounds, where the voices and their cursed words cannot follow him. His fists are clenched tightly, and his teeth ache from being ground so hard together. ]
[ She doesn't need to recognize the voices to know what they might mean to him. One is mocking, the other seems concerned. It's clear that he has not always been victorious in battle. ] ....Lord Berkut. [ She watches as he storms from the room, and it's only after a glance back to the empty throne that she follows him out. If there is something to be found within that grand hall, she won't be able to find it without him.
But if it is too hard for him to face, maybe there is another way out.
She'll give him a few moments to himself before stepping forward. ] Were they... part of your court? Your family? [ She inquires, quietly. ]
[ Concern, indeed—if with thinly veiled ridicule underlining those otherwise innocuous words. The castle has yet to offer a shred of kindness to either Berkut or Pyra. It's a wonder if they'll find any, at this rate. ]
My family? [ He echoes with humorless mirth. His gaze wanders, refusing to meet Pyra's. ] They are members of the Faithful—fools who supplicate to Duma for cheap handouts. They disgust me.
[ She looks upon him sympathetically. ] Yet, even though you say that.... [ That they disgust him. ] ...You still protect them, don't you? And fight for them. Both you and your men.
[ She feels she needs to point this out to him. He may be a prideful man-- and she certainly gets the feeling that it's all too easy for him to look down on others, but-- ] Even if they ridicule you, even if they don't know how difficult a battle or war might be, you are still fighting for your empire, whether or not those within it are grateful. [ And whether or not he wins a battle for them or not. ]
...That makes you honorable, I think. [ He might not be looking at her, but her tone carries her smile and reassurance. ]
[ But does it really, he wonders. The words bring with them a rush of his most recent memories before awakening in Chroma, and his pride stings from each recollection. ]
I fight to prove myself worthy of the throne . . . I care not what befalls those fools.
[ Any protection granted to them is by pure coincidence. Because his knights take the role of vanguard, the Faithful so happen to be all the safer for it. He abhors their practice, and he'd be just as glad to watch their corrupt faith sputter out like a dying fire.
In the end, it's every man for himself in Rigel. ]
This might be too bold of me to say, Lord Berkut, but...
[ Berkut is... very different from the prince she used to travel with so long ago. Very, very different. But hearing the voices back in the chamber reminds her of so many of the Tornan councils that had ridiculed her own prince. ]
Perhaps none of those in that throne room might see you as worthy no matter what you do, [ Whether winning battles or losing them. ] from how they sounded.
[ A pause, and she takes another step towards him. ] I'm under the impression you are fighting a war for your empire-- [ She looks at him. ] But are you at the front of the war within it as well?
[ He bristles. Too bold, indeed! Jedah and Nuibaba don't matter, but the first voice in that throne room had belonged to someone who does. And she claims that that person might never see him as worthy? Who is she to utter those false words?
Spurred on by his anger, Berkut locks eyes with Pyra. ]
Hmph. What country does not have a war within? This is why I must gather my might. The citizens of Rigel bow to the strong, and I shall claim my place at the Empire's summit. Then even the Faithful, who cower behind the name of their god, will have no choice but to bend their knees.
[ She meets his gaze evenly, quickly saying back: ] Then you leaving the throne room like that, when all they did was bring up a few lost battles-- would that be considered strong?
[ She cringes, pausing for a moment, but-- no. She doesn't want to be silent on this. They have to get out of here, and even if it's unpleasant for him to face, he just might have to. ]
You're right... I don't know.
[ She brings a hand to her chest. ]
But what I do know is that you are far stronger than that, than the Faithful's ridicule-- you aren't a coward.
[ She looks upon him sadly; truly, she wishes there was another way. ] You have to face them.
[ To his surprise, she relents. It dampens some of the fire raging within him, and he looks aside again. ]
What good will that do? The Faithful are . . .
[ He trails off. At best, they're always in the periphery of his vision and being a general nuisance by mouthing off—not so important that actually cares to face them personally. ]
They mean nothing to me.
[ If she believes that this is the key to quitting this place, he doesn't share her sentiment. ]
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ouch is one of the most intimate, romantic ways to be close to someone else. The Town knows this very well -- the Town wants everyone to be as close as possible.
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How does one even begin to undo the damage that's been done to that castle, anyway? ] ...Maybe it is, but we can't just stand by. [ She tells him. ]
If there are people in there-- even if they are illusions-- we have to help them.
no subject
I doubt it. Look—the castle is clearly deserted.
[ And look, he does. It only causes his frown to deepen, and he grumbles to himself before taking long strides past the gate. ]
There is no other path for us to take. Let us proceed.
[ The castle grounds is no different from the outside. Then the very air around them suddenly bends, replacing the decrepit image with the same austere buildings at their peak—tall and whole, standing majestically over the mended earth—until a blink of their eyes steals the glory away like a whisper in the wind. Fissures rake all over the broken land, though one section of the path that empties into another part of the castle remains relatively whole. ]
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She follows, watching him press onward as they come upon the unmarred path diverging from the rest. ] ...Was this place your home?
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This? Yes, I suppose . . . in its true state. What you see here is a false likeness.
no subject
Maybe... [ She thinks for a moment. Chroma often likes to throw things at them. Sometimes it's a matter of waiting things out. Other times, there's a solution, much like there are to the quests. ] Maybe there is something we must find here, to restore it to how you remember it as.
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What do you suppose that might be? The last castle we explored yielded no clear solution.
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...Bring us to the war room of this castle. [ Her next guess on the Most Interesting Places to search in this fortress-castle would be the throne room, but uh. One thing at a time. ] We should start there.
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[ While he is not fond of being told where to go, Pyra's suggestion is sound enough that he complies without complaint. He knows the castle like the back of his hand. So he takes the lead, stepping over a thinning fissure to enter the castle interior through the nearest entrance.
Inside, the stone floor is relatively smooth and even, for the cracks in the earth outside have not yet spread this far. The corridor they traverse is empty and colder still—even if people were to be roaming about, that detached chill would have lingered. ]
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Just what will she gleam once she sees there? ]
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Berkut gives the chamber a cursory once-over before he turns back around. ]
No. Whatever it is, we will not find it here.
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How many fathers, brothers, and sons have been lost to this war? ]
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His eyes widen as he stops mid step; his breath, audibly catching. The throne room is even emptier than the war room. And though it is now silent, Berkut's shoulders remain taut from the unexpected greeting. ]
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As such Pyra remains standing respectfully a few paces behind him, bowing her head... although she will be glancing up to see if she might see who is speaking. ]
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Berkut says nothing in response. Fury is writ across his face as he whirls around and stomps out of the throne room.
Only here, a woman's voice chimes in: I pray you fare well in your battle at the border. For should you lose . . . well, I doubt your uncle would give you a third chance. Or is this the fourth?
He can't stay here. Without checking in on Pyra, Berkut marches back to the castle grounds, where the voices and their cursed words cannot follow him. His fists are clenched tightly, and his teeth ache from being ground so hard together. ]
no subject
But if it is too hard for him to face, maybe there is another way out.
She'll give him a few moments to himself before stepping forward. ] Were they... part of your court? Your family? [ She inquires, quietly. ]
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My family? [ He echoes with humorless mirth. His gaze wanders, refusing to meet Pyra's. ] They are members of the Faithful—fools who supplicate to Duma for cheap handouts. They disgust me.
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[ She feels she needs to point this out to him. He may be a prideful man-- and she certainly gets the feeling that it's all too easy for him to look down on others, but-- ] Even if they ridicule you, even if they don't know how difficult a battle or war might be, you are still fighting for your empire, whether or not those within it are grateful. [ And whether or not he wins a battle for them or not. ]
...That makes you honorable, I think. [ He might not be looking at her, but her tone carries her smile and reassurance. ]
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I fight to prove myself worthy of the throne . . . I care not what befalls those fools.
[ Any protection granted to them is by pure coincidence. Because his knights take the role of vanguard, the Faithful so happen to be all the safer for it. He abhors their practice, and he'd be just as glad to watch their corrupt faith sputter out like a dying fire.
In the end, it's every man for himself in Rigel. ]
no subject
[ Berkut is... very different from the prince she used to travel with so long ago. Very, very different. But hearing the voices back in the chamber reminds her of so many of the Tornan councils that had ridiculed her own prince. ]
Perhaps none of those in that throne room might see you as worthy no matter what you do, [ Whether winning battles or losing them. ] from how they sounded.
[ A pause, and she takes another step towards him. ] I'm under the impression you are fighting a war for your empire-- [ She looks at him. ] But are you at the front of the war within it as well?
no subject
Spurred on by his anger, Berkut locks eyes with Pyra. ]
Hmph. What country does not have a war within? This is why I must gather my might. The citizens of Rigel bow to the strong, and I shall claim my place at the Empire's summit. Then even the Faithful, who cower behind the name of their god, will have no choice but to bend their knees.
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Silence! You dare address a knight of Rigel this way? You know nothing.
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You're right... I don't know.
[ She brings a hand to her chest. ]
But what I do know is that you are far stronger than that, than the Faithful's ridicule-- you aren't a coward.
[ She looks upon him sadly; truly, she wishes there was another way. ] You have to face them.
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What good will that do? The Faithful are . . .
[ He trails off. At best, they're always in the periphery of his vision and being a general nuisance by mouthing off—not so important that actually cares to face them personally. ]
They mean nothing to me.
[ If she believes that this is the key to quitting this place, he doesn't share her sentiment. ]
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