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!
[ 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. ]
If they mean nothing to you, then who or what does in this place? [ She asks, determined. ] It is there we must go.
[ He may be be proud, but no one has nothing that they care about Or, well, she's only met one person who didn't, but he's not here. As for Berkut, she had been guessing the throne room had been significant to him, which seems straightforward enough given that he is next in line to succeed the crown. ]
[ Something in the air bends, as if in response to Pyra's suggestions. Berkut lifts his head toward the path they'd stood by earlier, where a single fissure narrows into the distance. What lies there is nothing of significance that he can recall, but who can say for this realm?
He takes a step that way. Pyra can follow or stay. Right now, he doesn't much care, and he's too wounded to speak.
The arch beneath the walkway stretches beyond the castle's conceivable outer bailey, creating the illusion of a tunnel. Upon reaching the other side, they'll be greeted by a beautiful silver garden, as well as a warmth in the air that seems to wrap around them like a ghostly embrace. ]
[ Seeing as that this is a manifestation of his... memories, emotions, heart, whatever it is, she finds it best to stay with him. Pyra follows after Berkut quietly as he walks along the path, eventually leading them both to the garden.
...Or, can it even be called that? She's never seen a garden quite like this, all silver and glimmering in the light. It looks much more like a jewelry box than anything natural, and for all she knows it isn't. It could very well be magical. ]
It's beautiful....
[ And she feels... foolish, suddenly. This is the last place she would have expected Berkut to bring them. Her next guess would honestly have been the barracks. ]
[ The garden's warmth is like balm on his soul. Berkut glances around, taking in the sight of the colorful flowers in full bloom. Nature's beauty is nothing too extraordinary for him, yet some of the tension in his shoulders seeps away as he continues to walk along the vibrant path.
Only, it doesn't last. Near the back of the gardens, the same gloom that's overtaken the castle has begun to spread. The flowers are wilted here; the water in the nearby fountain, stagnant. Berkut scowls. ]
[ When she sees the wilted flowers in the garden, she cannot help but think of the thorn-covered castle that appeared a few weeks ago, how that place, too, seemed to be in a state overtaken by a curse that encroached on the vibrancy of life and color.
She walks along the other side of the small hedge, peering closer to one of the blooms. ]
What... happened here? [ She asks him, as if he might know. Perhaps he will, or maybe this is something entirely new to how the castle and garden presents itself from his heart. ]
[ Crouching down, he picks up a dead flower. A close inspection gains him no answers, however, and he sets it back down before rising. ]
I don't know.
[ The rot has only made its mark on this section of the garden. Everywhere else is abloom, and fresh water trickles down the fountains to travel the uniform ridges on the ground. Berkut hasn't the faintest idea.
But there is one more area of interest to check. The centerpiece, a pergola, houses what appears to be an ornate mirror in the middle. Upon further inspection, they'll discover that the entire surface of the dark mirror is cracked. ]
[ She comes upon the mirror, looking over it skeptically. As decorated as its frame appears to be, it looks like an ordinary mirror to her, with the only extraordinary thing besides its cracked surface being that it is outside in this garden rather than in someone's room.
She reaches out to it, fingers tracing over the side of its frame. The surface is so cracked, she can hardly make out her reflection. ] Do you recognize this?
[ Berkut comes up to Pyra from behind, studying the mirror over her shoulder. He opens his mouth to reply when a deep, imposing voice rumbles: Call to me. Then a sharp noise cuts through the garden's serenity. The cracks along the mirror's surface have started to grow at an alarming rate.
His eyes widening, Berkut jerks back—violently. ]
Get away from that mirror!
[ The glass shards fall to the ground one by one, shattering upon impact. The entire garden begins to shake when dozens of clawed ashen hands break through the earth to reach for Pyra and Berkut. Radiating an unholy power, they mean to drag their victims down into the abyss. ]
[ She raises her arms up just in time when more of the mirrors breaks and shatters before her, shielding her from the spray of glass, and she leaps back-- only to find herself almost stumbling.
Her gaze whips down, shock crossing her expression briefly when she sees a hand gripping around her ankle. With a shout she tears herself free of its grip, leaping to-- higher ground, hopefully, a bench, the fountain, a tree-- anything that still remains stable. Is the ground cracking out in all directions, is the abyss all-consuming?
Well, more importantly, she looks to see if Berkut is all right or in need of help. She already has a flame ignited in one of the palms of her hands, ready to fire at one of those hands if he can't break free of it himself. ] --Lord Berkut!
[ The crack in the ground that had started under the pergola spreads, uprooting the area. Large chunks of the garden fall into the inky darkness and give rise to more ghastly hands from its depths. Who can say where the abyss leads? Decay eats away at what remains above ground.
Berkut, who'd evaded the initial pull of his person, stands off to the edge. He stares at the mass of hands, mumbling as if in a daze. ]
It's the same . . . Don't bother. Unless you wield a divine power, there is nothing you can do.
[ Hands loop around his legs and left arm, tugging. With a grunt, he strains to stay standing. ]
[ Seeing the ground give way to a void... she immediately looks to him, concern wrought on her expression. From her experience in others' visions, she knows that the destruction of the place means that the person to whom this world belongs might feel pain. What she doesn't know is what might happen if nothing can be salvaged-- but she isn't willing to give up just yet.
A divine power, he says.
Her fingers go to her chest, curling around the crystal there-- yes, she knows it well. Being tethered to such a thing, that incomprehensible might, that ominous perfection... She... ]
Then we have to find something in this world that does, if we are to stop it. [ She leaps over the void, landing near him. Pyra wants to believe that whatever darkness resides in his heart can also be dispelled by whatever light remains within it as well-- and hurriedly, she pulls at the limbs that reach to restrain him, tearing them away. She flings out her hand towards him, kicking one of the limbs from her. ]
[ As the hands snap off of him, so too does he out of his trance. Berkut's gaze lands on Pyra's outstretched hand, seemingly processing the meaning behind the gesture when the same voice from earlier rumbles: You who thirst for power . . . Call to me.
Slowly, a deep frown overtakes Berkut's face. He straightens and draws back from Pyra, unconcerned by the disaster unfolding around them. ]
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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.
no subject
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. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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?
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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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[ He may be be proud, but no one has nothing that they care about Or, well, she's only met one person who didn't, but he's not here. As for Berkut, she had been guessing the throne room had been significant to him, which seems straightforward enough given that he is next in line to succeed the crown. ]
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If it's not the war room, if these "Faithful" in the throne room don't either, then-- what, the scullery? The gardens? [ There has to be something! ]
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He takes a step that way. Pyra can follow or stay. Right now, he doesn't much care, and he's too wounded to speak.
The arch beneath the walkway stretches beyond the castle's conceivable outer bailey, creating the illusion of a tunnel. Upon reaching the other side, they'll be greeted by a beautiful silver garden, as well as a warmth in the air that seems to wrap around them like a ghostly embrace. ]
no subject
...Or, can it even be called that? She's never seen a garden quite like this, all silver and glimmering in the light. It looks much more like a jewelry box than anything natural, and for all she knows it isn't. It could very well be magical. ]
It's beautiful....
[ And she feels... foolish, suddenly. This is the last place she would have expected Berkut to bring them. Her next guess would honestly have been the barracks. ]
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Only, it doesn't last. Near the back of the gardens, the same gloom that's overtaken the castle has begun to spread. The flowers are wilted here; the water in the nearby fountain, stagnant. Berkut scowls. ]
Here, too . . .
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She walks along the other side of the small hedge, peering closer to one of the blooms. ]
What... happened here? [ She asks him, as if he might know. Perhaps he will, or maybe this is something entirely new to how the castle and garden presents itself from his heart. ]
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I don't know.
[ The rot has only made its mark on this section of the garden. Everywhere else is abloom, and fresh water trickles down the fountains to travel the uniform ridges on the ground. Berkut hasn't the faintest idea.
But there is one more area of interest to check. The centerpiece, a pergola, houses what appears to be an ornate mirror in the middle. Upon further inspection, they'll discover that the entire surface of the dark mirror is cracked. ]
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She reaches out to it, fingers tracing over the side of its frame. The surface is so cracked, she can hardly make out her reflection. ] Do you recognize this?
[ Work with her, here!! ]
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His eyes widening, Berkut jerks back—violently. ]
Get away from that mirror!
[ The glass shards fall to the ground one by one, shattering upon impact. The entire garden begins to shake when dozens of clawed ashen hands break through the earth to reach for Pyra and Berkut. Radiating an unholy power, they mean to drag their victims down into the abyss. ]
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Her gaze whips down, shock crossing her expression briefly when she sees a hand gripping around her ankle. With a shout she tears herself free of its grip, leaping to-- higher ground, hopefully, a bench, the fountain, a tree-- anything that still remains stable. Is the ground cracking out in all directions, is the abyss all-consuming?
Well, more importantly, she looks to see if Berkut is all right or in need of help. She already has a flame ignited in one of the palms of her hands, ready to fire at one of those hands if he can't break free of it himself. ] --Lord Berkut!
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Berkut, who'd evaded the initial pull of his person, stands off to the edge. He stares at the mass of hands, mumbling as if in a daze. ]
It's the same . . . Don't bother. Unless you wield a divine power, there is nothing you can do.
[ Hands loop around his legs and left arm, tugging. With a grunt, he strains to stay standing. ]
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A divine power, he says.
Her fingers go to her chest, curling around the crystal there-- yes, she knows it well. Being tethered to such a thing, that incomprehensible might, that ominous perfection... She... ]
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Then we have to find something in this world that does, if we are to stop it. [ She leaps over the void, landing near him. Pyra wants to believe that whatever darkness resides in his heart can also be dispelled by whatever light remains within it as well-- and hurriedly, she pulls at the limbs that reach to restrain him, tearing them away. She flings out her hand towards him, kicking one of the limbs from her. ]
--Take my hand!
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Slowly, a deep frown overtakes Berkut's face. He straightens and draws back from Pyra, unconcerned by the disaster unfolding around them. ]
I don't need your help.
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