#TOAApollyonOuranos2024

[corvuschriisti]

The villagers do not dare disturb the raven's wake, but Ephidel cares not for such selfish mourning. "A pyre is all too fitting. You'd burn the world sooner than let it have him."

Naesala has not looked away once from Reyson's body since he lit it on fire. The gold hair curls and singes, bubbling his skin and eating away at what parts of his body remains.

Reyson was a holy thing, once. Coveted and loved and torn apart for it -- whatever pieces others wish to carve from his flesh will be taken with little resistance. Tibarn would have kept him safe. Naesala could not.

He vows to find the wings. Add them to the fire, if he can.

"Beorc will do such violent things to herons who cannot retaliate," he says, and his voice is cold. "They cannot have him. They don't deserve him."

[atypicalsenerio]

Glowing Up - Team Pi [Sigurd & Soren]

Water Gathering Event Starter for @bxldrsdraumar

Soren wouldn't be surprised if they all died at this rate by something mundane before any monsters or enemy forces would even reach them, but he was going to make every effort to not let that happen. Normally, he'd post himself as the organizer of group resources, but they needed the resources first before any thought of distribution could occur.

People split up to go investigate and he wandered off by himself, staying within earshot of others in case he found something.

It took him back in all the worst ways. However, he wasn't a child anymore, and he had companions- companions whom he hoped would prove to not be hindrances. Expression stony, he headed downhill, searching low for water first thing, not wasting energy by venting fears or frustrations.

What he did find at first could be viewed as a trick of the light, but even in his own shadow, the pool of water before him, just inside the mouth of a cave, glowed a pale blue. Soren shallowly splashed the surface with his palm, feeling it to be exactly as water should be but not trusting the glow. Perhaps he should look deeper, but judging by how the pond was fed, with trickles from further up the cave feeding into it, he could expect more of the same. He frowned, looking for the closest person around.

"You- Sigurd, correct?"

In their previous life, he felt they probably had a neutral-bad relationship, but that didn't matter now. In fact, he may be about to make it worse.

"I've found what I believe is water, but I'm unsure if it's drinkable. It's all that seems to be around. Would you be willing to investigate with me?"

[justices-blade]

do you know what it means to wield caladbolg? — a dear friend asks of you, brimming with wonder. you do not know them; you have known them all your life. — it means you're one of the great heroes of daein! it means you'll be remembered forever! — it means that everything you have gone through hasn't been for nothing. it means that those who come after you will greet the dawn with hope.

your blade drags along the ground, and exhaustion fills each and every limb. but you have made it here, here at last where it all began. just before you collapse, they are there to support you: your friends, closer than the family you never had, wiping sweat from your brow as they lay you down to rest. the wash of healing light, the jokes of affection at your expense. you'll live, they reassure you. your smile is lost to the dimness of sleep.

effigy of the sun, who nurtures the world. that brilliance is barrenness is blindness. with the dawn comes both nascent hope and fresh tears.shine wisely. which path will you grasp with all your might?

Warmth washes over him — In waves, phases, seasons, like the spark and roar of a campfire, first almost burning as it defrosts icy fingers and hands, then comforting as it blazes, gentle as it finally burns out. Even the sun cannot live without fire. Even the sun needs the light, the warmth of it, lest it be no sun at all.

This sun loves with his fire in turn, loves with everything he has. Loves and falls in love with everything in his light, over and over and over. He sees in the purpose, the exhaustion, the love returned the same thing, doesn't realise, at first, that the spark and the embers are choices:

To be a shining beacon, a lodestar supermassive, brilliant and magnetic and unwavering as he always wanted — To be little sparks, cradled with kindness in a familiar, beloved palm, granting that hand what it needs to thrive.

His dear friend asks for a choice. He hears in them every echo of everyone he's ever loved, and it only steels his resolve. He already knows. The sun needs fire, but what is that fire without anyone to kindle it? What are his embers with noone to find them, scoop them out and keep them alight? His hope has never only been found in himself. His hope is nothing without the people that drive him. His hope is nothing without a home to return to.

And home is not four walls, not a nation or a thought. Family is not a mother and a father, though it might have once been a brother. Home is family, that which he has chosen, sworn himself to forever, with blood shed rather than shared. Glory is nothing next to this. This is something he would never regret in a million, million years.

It's simple, really: He can only shine because they've been in his heart every step of the way.

He shines for them. And if they want to do the impossible, the unfathomable, the unbelievably painful, he'll be with them to the end. He'd do it again and again and again, without hesitation, as long as they don't waver. And if they do, he'll be there to catch them, with that nascent hope to rekindle again.

So with a gentle murmur, he lets himself drift into sleep, his head in a warm lap, gentle hands prodding at his hurts and aches, calloused fingers in his hair. He is no far star, just the sun upon the earth, caring not for the rest of the skies. He is a campfire in embers, illuminating the laughter and song, warming hands with fire-baked potatoes. He seizes the answer in his heart, holds it close and bright and bursting with adoration.

Welcome home.

[renaisguy]

Dear Vanessa,

Hey, this is Forde of Renais. I hope my brother found a way to get this letter to you. A lot’s happened recently and I started thinking “hey, I could write to her too!” I’m currently at the officer’s academy in Fodlan, yes that’s the same place Innes is (maybe you should visit eh?), and I’m having a great time.

It’s a shame we drifted apart-

In case you were wondering, I haven’t fallen asleep on a battlefield once since I last saw you! You must be proud I’m sure. I’ve been picking up magic, healing mostly. You said you were always interested right? Well I thought I had no affinity for it until a year ago, you should definitely give it another shot. 

I’ve continued painting, I’ve actually retired from the Renais military now to pursue that. It’s a shame I can’t send them in the mail. 

I hope you’re doing well, and I hope Titania’s doing well. Feel no pressure to respond, but I’d love to hear from you.

Forde

...

Kyle

I’m touched! Extract from letter 9 months ago: “Are you so lazy that you can’t write one letter in 3 months?” Extract from letter 8 months ago: “If you are alive, reply posthaste.” Extract from letter 6 months ago: “Please say you’re alive.” You’ve gone soft. 

I am alive, and I haven’t just been ignoring your letters for the record. I was sent on a mission I volunteered for a dangerous mission, and ended up stuck somewhere where captured and we only escaped this very week. I was one of the lucky ones

I hope my letter finds you well. Seriously. Franz told me how you’ve been acting- I’m sorry that I made you worry- I wouldn’t die and leave you alone.

I missed you too. 

Reply whenever you feel like it. God knows I’ve kept you waiting.

Forde

...

Dear Franz, 

Sorry I haven’t been replying to your letters, I hope you haven’t been too worried. Even though it’s been so long, you never lost hope that I’d be here. I was in tears reading everything- Long story short, the mission lasted a lot longer than I was expecting. But it’s fine, I think. I’m safe now, I think. 

We found ourselves in a village, and we lived with them. I made a lot of friends, one of them was a plant! I went fishing a lot, though it never tasted as good as your fish does. Sir Sigurd was there, I hope you remember him from my previous letter. Mark and Lianna were the other two I got pretty close too. Lovely girls. There was Aphaea, I don’t know where she is now, but she told some great stories! There was Chiron-

5 children died. Minos and Arke succumbed to a flood, before I got to know them. At times I began to forget they’d even existed. Nephele and Brizo were siblings, their mother Euphorie took her own life after they perished. Chiron went fishing with us, just a week before he died. He had such a lovely smile on his face when he caught that fish, and then he was gone

Arke had a mother too, she was distraught when-

Bronte and Eurus also succumbed to the flood.

There were others that died, but they were brought back to life. It’s horrible, but I can’t stop thinking the children should have been revived instead. That is, if they ever existed-

It didn’t feel like a year. I’ve lost a year of my life and I think I just slept through it. Even for me that’s-

It felt like a dream-

I don't understand what happened to us, and I'm terrified-

I haven’t been able to sleep as much, I keep worrying I’ll wake up and I’ll be back there

…

Dear Franz, 

Sorry I haven’t been replying to your letters, I hope you haven’t been too worried. Long story short, the mission lasted a lot longer than I was expecting. But it’s fine, I’m safe now.

How are you? Did you ask that girl out yet? Hope I haven’t missed too much this year. I’m gonna stay at the academy a while longer, but I might try to visit sometime. Send everyone my love, give Kyle a hug from me. (Or if that’s too informal give him a handshake instead)

Love, the best brother in the world (Forde)

Ps. Do you remember Vanessa? The girl I met during the war? If you figure out where she lives, could you give her her letter?

[theofficersacademy]

Once, there was a girl. She had a mother named Helike, a father named Poliades, a brother named Perses, and a home called Lilium. Here, she had lived, and here, she had lost. First, her father to illness. Then her mother to war. One of her mother's comrades-in-arms agreed to take the girl and her brother in, driven in part by guilt, and so a broken family became whole again.

The war with the Nabateans remained an ever-present threat, however. For children, peace was easy to believe in, and the girl had carried that idealized vision of her childhood for as long as she could, until - when the destruction finally reached her - it festered into resentment and hate. A savior in white had come with promises to protect, and she had believed him, idolized him and his ideals, internalized his bitterness toward their enemy, and turned a blind eye to his failings when not even bold ambition could save her home.

A part of her died the day Epimenides urged the people of Lilium to evacuate. From the hill overlooking the city, she saw flames, and stoked her own heart with them. Celephais returned with news that all was lost. Perses, gripped with restless fervor, left for the frontlines. Brokenhearted and despairing, a scattering of refugees sought asylum in a nearby town.

But the Fell Star would not let them rest, and sent a flood to wipe out the rest of Agartha. The girl witnessed the death of friends and family, her own adoptive brother among them, and yet was chained by her helplessness. She could do nothing but move on with the scraps of her family in search of a place to hide where a Goddess could not find them.

Even more starved along the way. Others died to exposure. Celephais relied on her great affinity with magic to give some aid to her hurting countrymen. She developed illusions, painless dreams, places where one could reunite with loved ones again, and then an idea occurred to her: between life and death, they could hide. Nestled deep within the Ruthalia mountains, Celephais perfected the technology that would allow the remnants of her people to finally rest and be happy.

The girl was not happy, however. And eventually, the others trapped in the dream turned restless and unhappy as well. They desired to live. Only one of them managed to escape.

But not completely. The girl, ravaged by loss and hatred, made a deal to satisfy her need for vengeance.

She didn't notice the threads looped around her limbs.

"You have cut them." The book closes. Your vision floods with light.

- - -

You wake up in the ruined remains of Rusalka in the eastern part of Adrestia, far from where you had begun your journey. Most of you are heavily battered, but by some miracle you are all alive. There is one other person in your party now: a thin, weak Pasithee, barely alive as well. There are no signs of the bishops who had led you into the illusion. They have disappeared without a trace, so you gather your belongings and help each other limp back to the monastery with your new prisoner in tow.

  — Apollyon Ouranos, end.

　

Closing Procedures (please read carefully!)

The events of Apollyon Ouranos are over! You have all escaped from the illusion, although your bodies and minds still bear the scars. You feel as if you narrowly escaped death. The tears in the sky have closed and Fódlan appears to have returned to normal. When you return to the monastery, you find that you have a year's worth of letters from home waiting for you. Had this been an illusion this whole time...?

You are free to continue any Apollyon Ouranos threads you have ongoing, and you may start epilogue threads if you wish. These posts will no longer count toward the grand prize though.

　

Discord

All event channels will be closed on February 7th, so save what you want from them before then.

　

Prizes and How to Get Them

PARTICIPATION PRIZE.

All muses who made at least one IC event post automatically received the participation prize described in this post.

GRAND PRIZE.

The prize package below will be awarded to any muse who reached a minimum of 10 IC event posts. As a reminder, pre-departure interactions do not count towards the event.

Be sure that your posts have been tagged appropriately.

Knowledge Gem: A special gemstone that grants a drop of knowledge to the user. (One free skill point towards the user’s skill of choice.)

Two event-limited prizes from this list. (Your muse must have the corresponding rank to claim)

And a special item from the illusion you leave behind: 　　　　— Gospel of Zayin: Grants +0.5 strength/magic 　　　　— Gospel of Pi: Grants +2 speed 　　　　— Gospel of Theta: Grants +2 dexterity 　　　　— Gospel of Tau: Grants +2 max HP

CLAIM SCHEDULE.

Please send the masterlist an ask to claim your event prizes during the allotted days for your team. Claims sent outside their respective windows will be deleted.

2/1-2/2: Regular claims from the January activity point, mastering classes, etc. This does not include ranks gained from the Knowledge Gem, so please wait if your claim requires that. 2/3-2/4: Team Zayin participation, grand prize, knowledge gem ranks. 2/5-2/6: Team Pi participation, grand prize, knowledge gem ranks. 2/7-2/8: Team Theta participation, grand prize, knowledge gem ranks. 2/9-2/10: Team Tau participation, grand prize, knowledge gem ranks. After 2/10: Regular claims resume

The submission period is from 12:00AM EST the first day to 11:59PM EST the second day. We at least need to receive it during this time frame. Use the clock in the Masterlist’s sidebar to double check the date and time if you are not sure.

If you miss your window to claim your Participation or Grand Prize, you forfeit these prizes. Do not procrastinate.

If you missed the initial 2/1-2/2 period to rank up with an activity point, or if you claimed your grand prize but forgot to rank up with the Knowledge Gem, please wait until after 2/10 to send in these regular claims.

HOW TO SEND IN CLAIMS.

When sending claims, please send separate asks for event-specific claims vs. regular claims, even if the regular claim is due to the Knowledge Gem.

Event specific claims: participation prizes (including rank chart picks), personal skills, grand prize claims Regular claims: activity point rank up, knowledge gem point rank up, class access/mastery

As always, please feel free to ask any questions!

- The House Leaders

[allyphase]

bird's opening, smothered mate

Oh, Legends and Gods above, not like this. 

She knows things are going badly, she knows, but there’s always a way out. There’s always a way to solve the puzzle, no game is ever unwinnable. But this? Mark’s knees shake, her eyes well with tears, and the hunger never stops gnawing at her stomach. There is no winning, here. It is all chance, and her odds have always been slim to none. The spectre in front of her wails, reaches out what should be loving hands, and her entire body shudders. 

A bitter taste spreads through her mouth, and her vision begins to blur in front of her. The battle doesn’t stop (of course it doesn’t, it never stopped when an enemy fell, why would now be different?), but she hears shouts of combat turn to worry, and the shapes in her vision (Knoll, and Lachesis, she reminds), begin to reach hands towards her. But as she reaches, her legs give out, and she stumbles back, tears rushing down her burning cheeks. 

She opens her mouth to cry out as she hits the stone floor, but her tongue is too thick in her throat, and the bitterness is overwhelming her senses. She manages only a whine, caught behind her tongue. She gasps, but only manages to choke on what little moisture remains in her mouth. Her body burns, and her legs ache, and her stomach gnaws, and her heart is so, so heavy.

Does it always take this long to die? 

She closes her eyes, blinking tears onto the stone below her, and thinks of those she loves, of her allies, of the people counting on her. She can hear the disappointment (not grief, no, never for her), she can feel them turning away from her. And it’s all she can do to choke out their names, call desperately for Lyn, Kent, Sain... 

The names never make it through her lips, only whining and coughing and the taste of blood, deep in her chest. Her breathing quickens, and the battle rages on, and she wonders how long it will take for them to forget her name. 

“It’s Mark. My name is Mark.” 

The Watcher’s deal finally is struck, as awareness fades from the tactician’s eyes, but there is no life left to give her. There is only weight on her chest, on her eyelids, and in her very core, as she quivers, cries, then, after far too long, falls quiet. Restless feet, never to find home, finally fall still.

“Don’t worry, I always find myself wandering this way. We’ll see each other again, I know.” 

[enarmor]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

There is something you can't do without.

O Knight, with such love and candor in your spirit,

Will you starve, or will you succumb to a heartless world?

It’s rather lonely to converse with your sleep paralysis demon, isn’t it?

But as Sain blinks, rubs the back of his neck with his hand and more importantly moves, he realizes this is no dream. It’s the dual edge of the crescent moon–gleaming white and stygian black. He could cloak himself in the splendor or fall into the pit in his own stomach. Quite the poetic fork in his road, he thinks. His eyes flare to life with excitement.

“Might I ask you something first?”

His gauntlet slides off his hand as he waits for a reply. He gets none. Fingers reach for food–grazing off a fowl’s bone and the flaky flesh of some fish–before silence is taken to mean ‘yes’.

One day, that habit will land him in trouble.

“You haven’t brought any to-go boxes, have you?” The air of their conversation flies like a harp’s song before slapping the Watcher in the face. Sain's question is asked in a high note, with a gentle turn of his head–as if he had even considered this a choice. “Because a feast is hardly complete without friends! There are a few I’d like to share this with.”

No response, again. This time, he chooses to interpret differently. “…No? Ah, what a shame,” the beast is poked on the nose, and Sain offers a parting shot before turning to leave, “I’ll take my chances on my own, then.”

[carefreemonk]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

O vessel of indifference,

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you forever more lose sight of the stars?

He'd been meditating. Must have dozed off.

The smell of delicious food is a lovely panacea for any weary soul. An effective alarum, too, worth more than any ol' rooster crowing at the top of its tiny lungs.

And so, Azama stirs.

This feels, he senses at once, eerily reminiscent of a vision he once had, when dearest papa had exiled him to a pilgrimmage through the mountains. Some gentle voice speaking down to him, whispering sweet nothings of death and oblivion...

Except, the last time, the voice had been trying to convince him that the gods were real, and not the other way around.

He already knows his answer.

His entire personality, his entire sense of self, is like to fall apart without his faith, after all.

He smiles at The Watcher.

"Pray, allow me to further meditate on it, yes~?"

And that in itself proves his answer. If the voice wants an answer, they're going to have wait a long, long time.

[twistedisciple]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

Wayward lamb, lost but found,

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you renounce your faith in its entirety?

For as long as Griss can remember, there has only been pain. Bruises. Broken bones. Cut palms. Scraped knees. Bloody mouths. Black eyes. Then hunger. Neglect. Rejection. Abandonment. Failure and its punishment.

In the beginning, he didn't have a choice - he was subject to the whims of people who didn't like him much. Those that had brought him into this world. Those that had bought him. Those that had saved him. Bruises and lacerations came all the same from the back of a cold hand. To rise for each day was to stand on flaming coals until granted rest, a Sisyphean existence bleak enough to break anyone.

But Griss had wanted to live.

"Your suffering will be recognized by Lord Sombron."

With those words, pain had meaning. His life had meaning.

So he surveys the spread laid out before him: honey-glazed hocks, red and green apples with bright, unblemished skin, a whole hog's head wreathed with greens freshly picked from a garden, slabs of venison still red in the middle, savory pastries golden and crispy, spiced fruit fragrant with cinnamon, and more filling every empty space on the impossibly long table. All of this could be his. His stomach turned painfully to remind him of how little it had had these past several days. Griss had never needed an invitation to take what was given to him for free.

His hand hovers over the charred bone jutting from a slab of ham.

But this wouldn't be free.

He retracts it.

"I'll suffer for as long as it takes," he says resolutely, and lowers to his knees before the spread. He bows his head to offer the table up to someone else.

"For Lord Sombron."

[bxldrsdraumar]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

O proud knight, standing tall,

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you carry on knowing betrayal is that which awaits around every single turn?

"So, it's been you all along, has it?"

He looked up form where he hunched, seated, back to a wall, curled around his lance. His fingers rested loose around the haft, tremoring gently, as though having released from a long grip as his strength sapped from him.

The sleep hadn't helped - could never, not from the dull ache that had seeped into every inch of him, from the loosening fibers of his wasting muscles to the pinch of dehydration behind his eyes to the cavernous shearing in his gut. He suspected that many of his comrades may have found the discomfort shocking, deeply-seated and impassable, a pain insurmountable.

Sigurd had felt worse pain, only once before. He had never counted himself lucky over it, and yet now the benchmark brought him some semblance of solidity.

He stood, using his lance to prop him upright - proud knight, standing tall might have been an endearment or a taunt, but if nothing else he would not disappoint, if it were within his control - and he peered into the dark for a better look at this Watcher.

"Have you had your fill, then? Gotten from us what you can for yourself? It is easy to be powerful when everyone else has been weakened, isn't it?"

He took the barb in stride - these betrayals that it dangled in front of him, as though it knew him, as though it thought he could be reasoned with. The turns had stung, of course - emotions high and tight and aching desperately for commiseration - but it was not who these people were at their core.

So too their worst, the best is what makes them. He had to hold fast, had to have the hope that if he believed in those around him, that they would believe in him in kind.

"I'm afraid that if you want me to beg, it would be easier to kill me outright." It was said with no venom, no pointed vitriol nor bared teeth - almost pity, for it was a mistake that most only made the once. An easy mistake to make, for a normal man, he supposed.

"You may go," he said, and his grip about his lance tightened once more, the look in his eye glinting steel in the night. "If you return, I do not believe we will meet again under such friendly terms."

[misericordel]

"Lady Veyle."

He was torn. She had gotten badly injured after their last conversation—the very thing he worried about when she told him, so earnestly, that she wished to take action with her own hands, for the people of Lilium. All he could do was respect her wishes at the time, and the unwavering resolve she had shown.

And yet, part of him wonders: would she have ended up in this state, had he decided to accompany her? To join the fight as well?

Those questions continued to hound him even now. As he considers leaving again, to search for a truth that seemed so close, yet well beyond their reach.

"I'll be going to look for more information on the Upright Man. To try and get to the root of all... this." A pause, and then, "Please. Take care of yourself? Don't risk your health—don't do anything too dangerous."

He doesn't mean to coddle, or tell her what to do. But surely, she would remember their promise. Remember that she also had loved ones waiting for her back home.

"diamant." she regards him wearily in return. she is happy to see him alive and well of course, but she knows far too well that she has betrayed the promise she made with him. certainly she had come back like she said she would.

but sitting in the infirmary with a blanket on her lap, she recognizes that she had come far closer to death than she should have chanced. she had broken their promise, to an extent. "mm." she nods softly with her hands in her lap, pressing her thumbs against each other. he has the right to be angrier with her, but there is none of that frustration she expects in his voice.

veyle does not address her own shortcomings, avoiding speaking of them entirely. he does not ask, so she does not answer.

"be careful." she looks up at him with a worried gaze, inquiring of his safety instead. "pasithee is more of a threat than any of us could have first thought so just…" she pauses, considering how to word this. "don't do anything without thinking about it first. you have to come back again."

[frauleindermorgen]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

Little bird, wings once clipped,

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you carry on, eternally cast from the hearts of those dearest to you?

Here it was, a meeting she had anticipated but never desired. Hunger gnaws at her persistently but so too does hope.

all partings lead to endings. All endings to new beginnings...

“I always thought I should leave first, but back then it wasn't because I wanted to hurt him. It was because I was afraid to be hurt. Do you understand?”

It didn't matter if the creature did, really; she steadies herself and turns away.

"I could trick myself into thinking that by eating now I could regain enough strength to return to Sothe, to everyone. But I don't think it will work like that…” no, that would be too easy.

"Even if Sothe and the Brigade forget our bonds or Pelleas my promise, I will remember. That is enough.”

She did not like it but before this she had accepted that eventually those memories were the only things she would have left to hold.

[sorcerese]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

You taste ash on your tongue.

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you succumb to a life devoid of the world's many little gifts? Will you go on, knowing all paths lead to the same, bland end?

yesterday’s dust falls out of the sky as silver on her eyelids : blink it away or don’t/undo the silence or don’t/hold your breath. blink once. no, twice. " what? " a raspy yawn draws out her voice. her vision blurred by the feathering ends of her lashes. what a sick joke. " are you serious? what kind of dung-filled choice is that? " she spits out a scoff as her other arm slings over her head, stretching herself out.

what else would you expect ? would she really let them fill her life with saltwater dreams and a sink full of lemons? ... not that she never understood those kinds of phrases in the first place — it felt like she speaking in only abstract. a foreign concept of sorts. ashes. it's unfamiliar to her ears / was this some sort of roundabout threat? she smirks.

it whispered back in her rosé - stuffed ears ; a lack of words formed and collapsed. " hah... " a laugh that dried up like desert rose. surely, it's not literal. even if it was did it even matter anymore. it pissed her off enough that one would unjustly pin a sort of conviction to her throat without a decent trial. if praying for an ambitious and fruitful life was a sin then so be it, she'll become one with the flames that she once wielded.

" who are you to say where my paths lead? i can step off the beaten paths that you'd think i'd take. or what if i never took them in the first place... " she clicks her tongue as her tone shifted with bitterness pressing against her tongue. " as a matter of fact, that's what i've always done. i'll do as i please, however i please. i don't have to follow anything or anyone. nor do i plan on EVER changing that. " she declares, clearly caught between two of the seven cardinal sins. wrath and pride vied for attention and it took a moment to remember which she needed more. the bites of scarlet deepening her already torn and dry lips. becomes too unbearable to dismiss. the emotions spread wider through her lungs growing from her ribs and coiling around her heart.

" you aren't in a position to tell me what i can and can't do, after all, you're not god. hells, even if you say you are, i don't have to believe it. you have no say in what my life will bring. if my dead gods couldn't influence me with all their power then neither can you. " the mage sticks out her tongue and pulls her eyelids down. " so, even if this was real and not a figment of my super duper tired imagination, i would rather starve than listen to whatever bullplop you're tainting my ears with, so kindly go away before i beat the living daylight out of you myself. " the mage sticks out her tongue and pulls her eyelids downwards before walking off with little to no care left in her.

[liaytolisia]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

O inquisitive creature…

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you give up each of your words, one by one?

She was hungry. She'd tried to hold out for the group. She never complained, she accepted the choices made by the group. She did her best to keep the peace in the group. But... it didn't matter in the end, did it? Brizo, Chiron, Nephele and Euphorie had all died. She was too weak to hold her sword properly. Forde had been snatched because of her own stupid idea to hunt down the shadow, and she had been snatched herself. Useless.

This wasn't Aytolis. She wasn't fighting a massive dragon that threatened to destroy everything she loved. Yet this was somehow worse. Starvation made desperate beasts out of all of them, she wasn't even certain if the feast before her or the Watcher were real, maybe she was hallucinating and this was the end. In the end she was useless. Rowan wasn't at her side, and everything she had learned she could rely on, everything she tried to accomplish out here, failed.

"What use are words anymore?" Lianna asked tiredly. She dropped to her knees before this cruel being, before the feast it offered, all her hopeful optimism shattered on the ground around her. "What good are words anymore?"

Tears broke free from her eyes... as she accepted the feast.

[renaisguy]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

O, creative spirit forged in strokes of brush and blade...

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you forge on forever alone - forsaking all and forsaken by all? Will you welcome the abyss?

Forde has an answer as soon as The Watcher is done talking. Then he thinks about it for a few more seconds, and decides his instincts were correct. A life alone isn’t worth living.

“As you said, there are some things I can’t live without. Thanks for the offer though.” He waves The Watcher goodbye, then turns over to go back to sleep. The presence doesn’t fade.

“What, do you want something else?” He’s a little snappy, but can you blame him? “You can’t expect a guy to get all introspective when he’s starving.”

[aimlessarchery]

Sleep offers little respite against the pains of the waking world. You drift off, and always you feel as though you are being scrutinized, but when you drift back into consciousness, the feeling fades, not unlike the coming and going of the tide.

One restless night, you are at last approached by The Watcher.

"You have a decision to make."

A feast materializes before you. You can smell it, can nearly taste it, you can feel the warmth and care put into every bite.

You already know, whatever the decision ahead, you can only choose one.

O weary, restless soul,

There is something you can't do without.

Will you starve, or will you partake in his wretched ending over and over again?

"Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?" Python laughs, sharp and utterly humorless. The venom on his tongue overpowers the tantalizing scents from the spread before him and turns them wretched and sour. "Flaunting all your riches and demanding my suffering to get a measly taste of it? I hate people like you." He doesn't have to ask whose end he would have to suffer. A creature who moves through nightmares and restless nights may well already know the main features of his own: viridescent green painted with scarlet, a righteous lance shattered to pieces. One option promises that nightmare, unending. The other at least offers an end. To present them each as viable choices is insulting. He spits at the floor by The Watcher's feet. "Get out of my sight."