hadriel_logs | Event Log: End of Arc 2

Entry tags:

Event Log: End of Arc 2

Who: All characters
What: The event log for the End of Arc 2
Where: All over the city
When: November 25th-December 12th
Warnings: A full-scale battle, including character death, NPC death, and various other ways to suffer

It was bound to happen. The Null warned you, after all, and this has been building for awhile - and now it's here. First comes the initial attack, the agents of the Null attacking Hope's temple. Then, an SOS, warning the city of what's happened: a betrayal, and Hope being injured. Luckily for everyone, thanks to the actions of his guards Hope survives the attack. Unluckily, his attacker, the goddess Delight, escapes and lets the Null in.

Flooding into the cave, the Null will attack anyone who they believe is resisting them. They'll destroy buildings and deploy dangerous crowd control weapons, in addition to their sheer strength and speed. Confusion empties the monsters in the tunnels into the city, to help distract the Null. Some gods fight, others provide safe havens, but everyone is in danger.

After about a week and a half of the attack, Fear summons enough power to teleport the city. This stops any new Null from arriving through the tunnels, but the remaining Null must be hunted down and destroyed, or else they'll signal their location to the rest of their species. The danger will lessen as Null are taken out, but things won't really be safe until Fear moves the city again, so don't get too comfortable.

What will you do? Run and hide? Fight? Help the fighters? Turn on the gods yourself? Whatever you do, it's time to make a decision.

► This log covers November 25th-December 12th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you get taken out by the Null, please let us know here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh god oh shit he's going to get eaten by a.... Something. How stupid is it that he's going to die by the hand of something he can't even name? He has a biology degree, he shouldn't- Wait. He knows that voice.

Michael stares, fascinated, as the beast melts away to reveal Carlisle. That sure is some trick.]

Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack. [He props himself up into a sitting position.] Yeah, that's me. I'm- I think it was one of the tunnel monsters?

[He thinks about the second half of the question, and about the mass of torn metal he sees in the Visitor's wake.]

I'm pretty sure the robots don't bleed.

Th- they might, for all I know. Constructs are not exactly my area of exper- expertise.

[Just looking at the pieces all around them is making the skittish clergyman shake more and more. His fingers continue to twitch as he pulls the hood of his cloak, smoothing his hair back as best he can once it's off.]

Did you do this, then? Destroy all these technological beings?

If it's any consolation, I think they're all dead already.

[Michael has noticed Carlisle's nerves and is hoping he's not about to make it worse. The question is a tough one to answer, but half the town has to know by now, so there isn't much point in lying. If Carlisle doesn't hear about it from Michael, he could very well hear about it from someone else who has less of an understanding of the situation.]

Not, um, not exactly. I'm responsible, but I didn't technically do it. Something else did. [He rubs at his eyes under his glasses, realizing this is maybe not the best direction to approach this subject from.]

You have magic where you're from, obviously- do you have like, summoning or whatever?

[That's not what this is, but it's a good jumping off point.]

[A good jumping off point for comparison, but maybe not for those nerves, if the way Carlisle rattles off a handful of questions is any indication.]

Summoning? Yes, yes of course we do. Evocation and what have you. Why? I- I thought you hadn't any experience with magic, save for what you've seen here.

[Yeah, this was maybe not the best direction.]

I don't, no, this isn't really magic. It's like I'm just... letting something out.

[That's not really adequate. But what is? He's nervous to explain the full situation, Carlisle having that Thing about dead stuff. He sort of mumbles the next part, but they're close enough that Carlisle can probably make it out.]

I'm maybe kind of possessed by something.

[On the other hand, explaining it as 'magic' is probably preferable to 'a possession' when dealing with a guy who works for a church.

Carlisle leans back as though Michael suddenly turned into a venomous snake, his fingers curling, eyes narrowing in mild confusion. The slimmer they get, the brighter his eyes seem to glow.]

Maybe... kind of possessed.

[His glance goes up and down the other man, looking for obvious signs of the bodily changes that sometimes accompany a possession. Has he had any personality changes? No, it doesn't seem so, but perhaps he's been possessed this entire time, and Carlisle has been talking to a demonic entity without ever—

He cuts that thought off, his back stiffening as he pulls in a breath.]

Are you in need of an exorcism?

[Michael realizes his mistake immediately. He tenses up, shoulders hunching as he leans back away from Carlisle. He puts his hands up in front of him, defensively. It's fine, Carlisle's a good guy, he's not going to do something against Michael's will. And yet he finds himself backpedaling at the speed of light, his words practically running over each other.]

No, no. I don't. It's only kind of because it's not- possession is a bad word for it. Definitely too strong. It's more like inhabited than possessed, I mean it's still there but it's not like- I'm in control, okay? I promise.

[And he is, for the most part. The Visitor directs his actions sometimes, but only because he lets it. Or maybe that's just what he tells himself. Either way, that is his story and he is sticking to it.]

Exorcism wouldn't work anyway. [At least that's how the story goes. Please believe him.]

[Carlisle continues to stare Michael down, the glow in his eyes intensifying as he tries to determine whether that is Michael talking, or the entity possessing him. Phrases like I'm in control are generally spoken by people who are anything but -- and Carlisle would know, given the nature of—]

Are you cursed, then?

[The glow unsettles him. It's uncomfortable to be stared down by lights of that color, especially considering the point of contention here.]

Cursed. [Like he's testing that out, maybe.] Yeah. I guess I am.

[It's a better word than "possessed", at least.]

[And just like that, Carlisle's look softens with some mixture of conflict and commiseration. It's not a look of pity, but one of unfortunate understanding; it twists his glare into an expression of utter sympathy.]

Ah.

[That is unfortunate, isn't it? Would Michael liked to be blamed for his condition any more than Carlisle with his own? How much of what they do is on their hands, and how much is the cruelty of existence working against them? It's impossible to know, it seems.

He does his best to look as unaffected by this confession as possible, but when it comes to cursed individuals, Carlisle cannot help but wear his heart on his sleeve.]

Is there anything that can be done? Now, or otherwise?

[Michael watches Carlisle's reaction very closely, but as the other man's expression goes from suspicious to sympathetic, he finds himself relaxing a bit. It's maybe a little weird that Carlisle is so instantly won over by this "cursed" thing, but his brain's too busy catching up to "we're not in danger" to have quite worked out that particular mystery.

Besides, now he's working on a different question.]

No, not that I know of. According to the stories, it's pretty hard to get rid of.

[Unless he dies, but then, that doesn't get rid of the thing itself, just gets it out of him, and that wouldn't exactly do him much good.]

And anyway, it would probably just move on to someone else. So... better someone who knows how to deal with it, at least.

I'm sorry. I—

[Carlisle stops, his gut churning, the words in his throat refusing to budge. The burden of a curse is one he is painfully familiar with, and as aware as he is that it shows on his features, the clergyman cannot help how he feels, certainly not when he's tired, stressed, and more uncertain in the current chaos of the city than he's been in some time.

Speaking of his own condition isn't always easy, though. People he's healed have seen him coughing up ink, but few know the true weight his affliction places upon both his mortal and spiritual frames. Perhaps he should explain more with the short time he has left, but... that should be for another day. Not now, not when the city is a mess.]

Have you any need for a healer, at least? It would settle me to feel a modicum of use for you, since I can do nothing for your particular condition.

Edited 2017-12-25 09:07 (UTC)

[There's something else hiding behind Carlisle's hesitation, and Michael wants to ask, but he's not sure if this is the time. Maybe if they live through this, though invading someone else's privacy is perhaps not the best motivation. Whatever.]

You don't need to apologize. [That is his job anyway???] But uh, I could maybe use some help with this leg situation.

[He gestures back to the probably-monster-induced injury. It's not bleeding as freely now, but it still doesn't look great. He wipes at it with his sleeve, trying to move some of the blood, revealing what is likely not a permanently debilitating wound, but still kind of a deep one, across his thigh, just above his knee.]

[Carlisle flinches at the sight of the wound, tugging at his gloves, his hands still shaking.]

Cisth, why didn't you say something sooner? [Probably because of the whole curse thing.] Stop touching it, goodness. Staining your clothes even more than they already are.

[Carlisle's priorities are back in place, it seems. He gestures for Michael to sit down, his eyes taking in the wound as he figures out where best to place his hands.]

[Yeah, it was entirely the whole curse thing.

Michael doesn't think his clothes are a priority at the moment, covered as they are in dust, ash, metal shavings, and, well, blood, but he obediently pulls his hands back out of the way and settles down on some stable-looking rubble.

He tries to be a good patient but he's actually a terrible patient, and sitting still while someone focuses on him makes him nervous, which makes him chatter. He latches quickly onto the first subject that crosses his mind.]

So, uh, your eyes. I never noticed before. That they kinda glow.

[Carlisle kneels beside Michael, preparing to pool energy into his hands.]

Yes yes, so I have been told. It only appears when I'm channeling energy, as I'm about to do.

[... wait.]

Wait, what?

[Uh oh. Was he not supposed to notice that?]

The uh. The blue... stuff.

[He's not sure how else to describe it, really.]

Blue stuff?

[Sounding more uncertain with every word, Carlisle digs through his bag, trying to find anything mirrored -- his knife will do in a pinch, and though the image isn't clear, the two blobs of blue from his eyes in his reflection are enough to fill in the mental image. He turns on the light when he enters the bathroom at his home, and generally avoids mirrors most of the time. In the darkness of his room, he's most often with his partner, and has always assumed the hint of blue light to be something from the alien, not himself.

He drops the knife, his hands shaking.]

Wh—

[Is it his affliction? Is he losing more energy through his eyes, as well? Is the cavernous maw of the aural tear spreading? What is that?]

It must be the Mote. [That's him talking to himself there, his fingers twitching as he picks up the blade and shoves it back into his bag.] I- I don't feel as though I'm— but- but why would it—?

[And more importantly, what other changes might he not know about? He forces himself to worry about that later and focus on what he does know and understand. He can't panic -- not now, not here.]

Right. Right right right. Sorry lad, I- I didn't know.

[Oh, oops. On the one hand, at least Michael's not hallucinating. On the other, it seems clear that Carlisle had no idea his eyes were doing that, and seeing it seems to scare him. Like a lot.

He knows he's terrible at being helpful with this sort of thing (and he's proven as much with Carlisle specifically in the past), but he can't just say nothing.]

Hey, don't apologize. Maybe it's something the gods are doing? Or maybe it's because you've used too much, uh, magic? [???] Or- What's the Mote?

It's— [Oh boy, how does he explain that?] It's a manifestation of my partner's soul, like a piece of it, but not? And— [Just terrible.] Th-th-that has to be it, though. I don't- I don't feel as though I've used too much.

[And though he's been coughing up ink, it's not dripping out of other places just yet, which is usually the case when he's reaching his limit. Or stressed. Or didn't sleep well. Is panicking. On second thought, there are lots of reasons he might be expelling the black bile, but he's not, so none of them matter right now, right?]

Your leg. Let's handle your leg first, then this.

[He's talking to himself again, trying to get his mind in order as he puts his hands on Michael's thigh and channels energy into him without so much as a warning that it's likely going to feel as though his veins are filled with white-hot fire during the healing process.]

Oh. [There's some recognition, there. Glacius sure is blue, so that... makes sense? He doesn't know how aliens work.] Yeah, it's probably that.

[And if Michael has any more thoughts on the matter, they are quickly incinerated along with what feels like his entire leg. He stiffens up, hissing in a breath and sort of instinctively latching onto Carlisle's shoulder with one hand. If he's gripping too hard, he doesn't notice.

Shit that hurts. A heads-up would've been nice. It takes some effort not to try and crawl away.]

[Yeah, Michael's grip is a little hard, but not enough to jar Carlisle out of his channel; though the flow of energy tries to slip from his grasp, he manages to maintain it, albeit with a grunt and a couple of colloquial swears uttered beneath his breath. Not wanting Michael to have to suffer for much longer than he needs to, Carlisle keeps his work brief, mending the muscles and tissues steadily rather than reaching through the other man's body and searching for any other, less visible injuries. Besides that, he knows better than to go prodding too far into the frame of a possessed individual, no matter how not-possessed said individual may claim to be.

It takes less than a minute and probably a fair amount of searing pain, but the wound closes, the flesh like new. As his energy recedes, his voice gets louder.]

Let go let go let go let go!

[He means his shoulder, Michael.]

[The pain is enough to temporarily stir the Visitor out of its lazy, post-violence state, but once it makes the quick determination that they aren't in mortal danger, its attention fades back to... well, wherever it is that it goes. It's not like Michael would have the strength to let it out a second time anyway, so he's not sure why it bothered.

At least it gives him something to focus on until the pain eases up. At which point he realizes he is practically crushing Carlisle's shoulder. Whoops. He lets go immediately, retracting his hand up against his chest.]

Sorry, god. Sorry.

[As his energy pulls away, Carlisle is sure he almost feels something abnormal, but finds himself entirely too distracted by the iron grip on his shoulder to really question it. Michael can be surprisingly strong, much more so than he looks. The clergyman doesn't want to think too hard on that, frankly, given what he learned about the fellow but moments ago.]

It's fine. [He rubs at his own shoulder, his channel cycling back through him to soothe away any potential bruising without any conscious effort -- that's... also something he should probably worry about.] Your leg. How is your leg?

[He knows -- he can see the unmarred flesh he mended just fine -- but the question serves as a distraction.]

[Michael doesn't think it's fine, but he doesn't want to make it worse, so he'll just let Carlisle do his thing for now.]

It's, uh. [He bothers to look down, finally, and is maybe a little surprised.] It's... good.

[He expected healing magic to be, well, magic, but he didn't expect this level of repair. He prods at it, like he's expecting it to hurt.]

God, that's kind of amazing, actually.

Event Log: End of Arc 2

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cw blood

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when u type out the tag and then accidentally delete it

I know this feel. :/

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