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crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
hearthwarming) wrote in crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️
🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
( This is the ill-fated massextinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]
Hello, intrepid adventurer!
I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!
If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!
Sincerely,
Oriphi
[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!
On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]
Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!
[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]
( This is the ill-fated mass
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It's been like this for unmeasurable stretches of time. No feeling, no form, no frame of reference. You know you're you. Or... perhaps... you could have been you. But that's a time that's long since passed.
You can't remember why this is an end. But you don't seem bothered. This is all you know, after all. Feelings aren't made for this form you have, bodyless, purposeless.
You can't even remember your name.
You're not sure when the dark became the dark, or when it was interrupted. But a ripple extends, a pinpoint of light, like the lit flame of a candle in the expanse of nothing.
You feel it calling to you. What do you do?]
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It's the beginning of consciousness, he realizes. But not in a way he remembers. The seed of life came with information. But here, he has nothing. In the haze of this (lower case) dream, he remembers nothing. He is, and perhaps that is good enough. But formless questions nag him, and the pinpoint of light immediately catches his attention.
Can the light ever be bad?
He reaches for it. If not for a way out, but for answers. ]
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The light flickers as a question echoes against you, voiceless, yet echoing like a gong inside of you. It's a request. A fishing lure against the ocean of nothing, bobbing in anticipation.
There is no panic, no urgency. But it is a request nonetheless, precise and firm. It's a call for help. It's a call offering a means for an answer.
A contract.
You have no personal urgency to leave, for you have no urgency at all like this. It's a curiosity amidst the nothing. You cannot call out, as you cannot do anything but exist. But you, as you are, still know you can choose.
Do you answer this contract?]
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A call for help is always answered. Offered answers will always be taken and considered. And if this the contract, he will take it.
Despite his lack of person in general, despite having no way of saying yes, of physically reaching out to get to his destination, he wills it. He concentrates his entire being on this contract to embrace it. ]
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Fight for me.
You feel a surge, as though energy comes from the pinpoint of light directly to you. You feel. You feel. There's form, where moments ago, there was not.
Below you, inside you, thumps a sudden, unending rhythm. It startles you. You feel the rhythm, the intensity, the rush of something in and out and in again. You don't know what it is, or where it's coming from. What's happening? What is this?
Sensation spreads with the rhythm. Heat. You... know this feeling, of heat. Don't you? But how? It flickers and thrums, as a form of no definition spreads under the pulse of blood, an elongation and split, a careful crafting of utility. What once was feeling now has movement, like millions of pins pressing into the skin at once, and your form reflexively jolts.
You feel. You see, a sudden blurring mass of dark and shapes and the bright, bright pinpoint. You can't define anything, and your eyes squeeze close. You hear, hear the thrum, the rhythm, the distant and sharp thwack, the crackling, the thrum thrum thrum thrum--
You feel, when your lips part, where a mouth had not been. Your throat dry, jaw unused, tongue frozen from words you know but can't produce. You feel, feel, feel, and heat builds in your chest, in your head, a rapid spiralling.
You feel feel feel feel feel feel feel feel feel--
You hear. A cold, vicious sensation, as your mouth opens, as your chest expands. A weight detaches from your throat with a croak that you're not sure came from you, a resonating, almost anguishing sensation.
You feel. You remember. Only glimpses, flashes of senses you've never had before, of red, red, red, of heat, of pressure, of the scent of smoke and the roar of flames and the thundering rumbles of the ground, of pain pain pain pain pain--
You need to scream
You need to scream
You need to--
What do you do?
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It is foreign. The thrumming within him hurts--that is foreign. The heat--that is foreign. The sudden, overwhelming sensation of sight, of sounds, of feeling. He is becoming. Soon there will be a spot in this world that he will occupy, where one had been empty before, but the transition is painful.
The feeling rushes over like a deluge. He wills his mouth open to make noise, but he is not entirely sure if he's successful. He wills his limbs to grasp onto something, anything, nearby, but he isn't sure if he has those yet. His mind searches for a way to escape the heat, the pain, and he forces the air out of his newfound lungs--
--He needs to scream. If this is birth, then he cannot imagine the pain that comes with life. ]
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It's a haunting, unidentifiable wail of a sound that rips from your throat, in the space between being and not being, falling on no one's ears but your own. There is no echo, no call back, for the space you occupy is nothing. But you still feel as your chest empties and tightens, as the muscles you now have tense and contract, the cold feel of moisture against the skin, the curling of fingers and toes in tight protest.
The red and the flames and the overwhelming pain dies away in your mind's eye, a filing of reality vs memory, as your sentience rearranges. A mind that thinks. A body that pains. A heart that aches. You feel, and feel, and so many things that don't have a label come crawling into your heart like termites to wood, settling into your bones.
To one hand, you feel a weight of extension - as real as the body and the mind, a sensation of existence that feels familiar. The pole is so heavy. So unbearably heavy. But it stays in your grip as it shapes itself, to the tang of the blade, the groove in the center, the pyramid of the shape as metal extends for centimeter after centimeter.
You remember this. Though... you've never seen it. Not like this.
The light and the nothing start to dissolve. Your bare skin feels the weight of cloth and leather and metal, the warm cushion of hair against your skull, the press of your feet against something solid. A space. A ringing in your ears, washed out like the wind. Shades of sepia and green, and a figure with their face covered--
Your knees nearly buckle as the air leaves your lungs, a stumble forward with only your polearm to catch you. The figure in front of you keeps a distance, not interfering, but a small yellow shape darts to your feet. It makes noise you can't understand.
Where... are you? WHO are you?
You've never had to use language before. But your tongue feels looser in its foreign space in your foreign mouth between foreign breaths of air.
You look toward the figure, who slowly comes into focus. A human. Dressed in robes of no consequence, their arms tucked against them, their face obscured by a white cloth. They watch you carefully, purposefully. You feel... it's not a pleasant feeling, a tightness in your mind and twisting in your stomach, a sensation of many, many empty places in the puzzle of your open mind. You don't like this feeling.
The human and fox wait in anticipation. What do you do?]
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Awakening from the Dream was nothing like this. The Dream came with knowledge--of the land, of who he is, of language, of expectation. And so stepping out into Tyria for the first time felt more like coming into being in a land oft seen in picturebooks. Textbooks. Trahearne had the knowledge, only lacked experience.
But here, he lacks everything, save the painful process of being without warning.
He looks bewildered between the human and the fox. His mouth gapes, trying to find his voice and the words that come with it. The tongue inside feels too big for the space, uncomfortable. How is he meant to speak like this?
The hand on the spear--the one certain thing in this entire situation--tightens. It keeps him grounded.
At last, a voice croaks from his throat; he is startled it is not his own. ]
...Why?
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"To fight, you must understand." A male, older, with a streak of warmth behind the force of his authority. "To feel the weight of existence is a necessary evil for your understanding."
A beat passes. After another exhale, the voice behind the mask softens.
"Take in a breath, my Touken Danshi." A Touken Danshi -- a sword warrior? "You are here now. And you must have many questions."]
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In a way, he supposes so. With life and experience comes pain, and that pain can ripen into evil, inflicted onto the self or others. But perhaps...in a way, knowing evil allows one to know what to fight for. Perhaps it is not exactly the meaning behind the man's words, but it is how Trahearne's deeply rooted sylvari sensibilities connect the dots.
It is a foreign word to his ears, yet he's surprised when he instinctively understands what it means. That is what he is, isn't he? Memories in his mind conflict with this fact, but he accepts it.
He does as he's told and breathes, feeling the strange stretch of lungs against his ribs.
He certainly has questions. ]
Must I fight?
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There are some wars that cannot be won through words, and this is one of them. You have been summoned for this purpose."
This, at least, you feel yourself accepting rather easily in the throes of your confusion. You know you're made to fight. You've just... never been able to do so before. Not on your own.
Memories slip into place in hazy succession. Days, months, decades. Comfort in the firm hands of another, entirely reliant. A life without autonomy.
What year was it in your last recollection...? You can't quite pin it down yet.
The fox pipes up from its seat on the floor, a young, succinct burst of information. For some reason, it's not a surprise that he can talk. "This is not a task the saniwa asks of you to do on your own. This citadel is full of other Touken Danshi, under the same pledge as yourself.
Humanity needs your help. History itself is at stake."]
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Still, as the feeling of being settles in and he grows used to the cacophony of sensations coming from his new body, he feels better equipped to listen and process to the information presented to him. ]
I must fight to...save human history?
[ The voice that comes out of his mouth is...familiar. But there is too much going on at one time for him to really think about who this memory belongs to. Though things are slowly slotting into place. ]
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There is an enormous army who have obtained the ability to travel to the past. While their ultimate goals remain unclear, we know they continually aim to rechart history for their own means. This is too dangerous a fight to undertake with a normal army.
The saniwa of this citadel has been thus gifted the ability to contract with Touken Danshi, such as yourself, to form a countermeasure against this threat."
While the fox is an encyclopedia, the saniwa - your master - stands in quiet contrast, waiting for the fox to slow to a stop before he adds:
"Nothing knows the importance of history more than a spirit shaped by its touch. What you remember and feel are important to keeping the flow of time as it should be."
It's a statement that you... don't like. Is that the feeling? It is another unpleasant one, though not the same as the firsy. Why can't you be how you've always been? This body, the feelings that churn within, the thumping of your pulse in your chest... They're reminders that you are alive, but not in the way you should be. Not like the weapon in your hand.
But the longer you think on it... The more you feel the rising sensation that you're not sure you would have had an alternate option. Memories slot in, one after the other - you've been around since 1570, you remember that clearly - and yet the gap that still exists is so vast... something important is missing.
Your memories stop.]
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Ah. This is Otegine's memory.
As Otegine's recollections slot into place, as do Trahearne's, creating a rift in consciousness as the sylvari's mind struggles to fit around the touken danshi's. He understands now. He sees why Otegine was so concerned with history--it is why he was made. To preserve it. The logical part of his mind doesn't quite understand how that is possible, but the body he inhabits does.
Along with the unpleasant dislike.
He blinks as he feels memories flash in his mind's eye, with each beat of the heart. He stares at the two before him, desperately yearning for the void whence he came. ]
What good is my task to preserve the past if I cannot even recall my own?
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"Do you remember your name?"]
...Yes. Otegine. One of the Three Great Spears
["Do you remember when you came into service?"]
Yes. 1570. Gojou Yoshisuke, Shimadashi. [You barely remember the warmth, the folding, the hammer, the sharpening... but you remember Becoming under the chisel of his blade, carving his name.
"And after? What is it you do not recall, Touken Danshi?"
It takes considerable thought. You have hundreds of years of memories...
Focusing on anything past the year 1945 proves to be impossible. You don't remember what happened that year. You... were in storage.
...]
Aruji. [Master.] What... year is it?
[It's eerie, to not see your master's face in times like this, when he gives ample pause.
"2205."
You have a gap of two hundred and sixty years. You don't remember why... but there's only so many explanations.
Your mind, for a second, remembers nothing but red. You don't know why. It takes a moment to shake yourself out of it.]
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The gap of time is unfathomable to the eldest sylvari. He can scarcely conceptualize 30 years, much less hundreds. He can feel his expression widen in surprise, he feels Otegine's mind scramble for scraps of memory only to come across--
He feels his throat and chest tighten in panic. This is a sensation he's familiar with. Heat, red, fire--
There's a gasp as he snaps back to reality, and he looks between the two in bewilderment. ]
What...happened to me?
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"What do you mean?"
Your brow tightens as you try to describe what floats through your head, with images you don't understand.]
I... there's something in my eyes I can't shake, you know?? Something... I don't know why, but it's... dark, and red... and...
[It makes your hands clench against your polearm just thinking about it. But the more you talk, the more it feels like you're speaking nonsense, the details barely there like a dream you just can't remember anymore, and you quickly grow embarrassed when it doesn't seem either of the others are able to answer.]
...I... n-no, never mind. That doesn't make any sense, does it? Hah...
Sorry.
[Maybe it's better to keep this to yourself. You don't like how distressed dwelling on this image makes you.
...
The saniwa snaps you back again with a hand to one of your arms, making you jump.
"...Otegine.
We cannot fill in your history, nor can we change it. You will learn to accept what you can remember in time. But you are here now, just as many other Touken who can no longer recall the past.
This does not change your capabilities to me, nor my expectations of what you can do. Understood?"
There's a numb moment of realization. You were lost. Broken. You just don't remember how... and it doesn't look like your saniwa is able to give you that information just yet.]
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And so, dazed, Trahearne nods at the saniwa's words. ]
My past does not change what I am meant to do. [ He summarizes, voice deliberately calm in an attempt to steady himself, and concentrate on the present.
That still does not mean he's accepted, or moved past the horrible feeling the image gave him. ]
I understand. I...am ready.
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This is temporary. Your contract isn't meant to last forever. Once the war is over... like all wars... there will be no need for weapons. The lucky ones rest in museums, restoration centers, private collections.
What about the rest?
What about the ones who have nothing to go back to?
...
It's a second chance you can't squander. A spear that no longer has a history, but still aches with a desire to be useful. One more time, one more time, please, let your master think you're useful. You fight the new emotions in your chest daily. You hate the disappointment that you feel settle when you can't do anything right. When you don't know. When you don't remember.
It's better, isn't it... to stick to what you know? You do best at that. You always did. Maybe... maybe you can keep being useful, so long as you insist. Maybe Aruji will have praise. Maybe you won't be left to disappear again, in the red red red red
Maybe.
Maybe.
...
...
The memory ends, a muffled noise of thoughts and feelings with no resolution.
Trahearne is Trahearne once again.]