lucetilogs | Possession Event

Entry tags:

Possession Event

Who: People in Luceti
What: Spiritual possession
When: The 26th to the 1st
Where: Luceti!
Summary: Check out the previous mod post.
Rating: If it gets smutty, move it somewhere private.

Starting at midnight on the 26th, Luceti and its inhabitants will find itself the focus of the Filial spirits, usually quiet and reclusive, now stepping out to deal with one of their own.

As promised, here is some additional information to help figure out how to play around with the spirits and interacting with similarly possessed people.

First off, each spirit has a certain time or place when they are at their most powerful. Consequently, characters possessed by them will enjoy these boosts and this in itself can be a deciding factor in what would otherwise be a stalemate. Here’s a quick run down:

Sona - She’s most powerful around lakes, rivers, and the ocean. Mostly this is concentrated at the southern lake.

Kipinn - He’s most powerful in high places, like mountain tops and the roofs of community buildings.

Faeren - She’s most powerful in the farmlands alongside things that grow.

Tsinku - He’s most powerful in the village itself, where technology thrives.

Eferin - He’s most powerful in the center of the forest where his heat may cause trees to burn. In fact, the upcoming forest fire may cause some trouble if his followers get too rowdy.

Hyt - It’s most powerful during the daytime under a bright sky.

Twila - It’s most powerful during the night time.

Nala- She has no domain and is generally welcome wherever she goes.

How possessed characters will deal with other possessed characters will depend on the interactions of the spirits themselves. A useful spreadsheet sums up these relationships. Those that have a friendly attitude to one another will generally allow ‘trespassers’ into their domain, but those they are not so friendly with may cause conflict.

Finally, to elaborate on Twila-possessed characters. Those with a natural affinity for darkness are likely to be possessed first. Once they have, they can try to recruit others less-compatible candidates to ‘join the cause’. Their goal is numbers. The more who are working with Twila, the better. Once they do, they’ll be inclined to act in their own self interest and if necessary, deal with others who try to get in their way. In the long term, the spirit Twila wants to stay this way, bonded to the Lucetians as hybrids, that way it cannot be imprisoned again. Think of it as pure survival instinct of an animal that’s spent way too long in a cage.

All isn’t lost. The other spirits may not be able to cage it again, but they won’t accept Twila reacting in this manner. Though it’s hard to tell what their beef with Twila is, they have an instinctive familiarity with the dark spirit and seem to act as its jail keepers.

They have the power to free people from Twila, but given their poor communication skills, figuring that out might just be a challenge. After all, the spirits can only communicate in shades of feeling and intentions, but not actually verbalize directions or marching orders. However, there will be a Malnosso post mid-event that will give everyone, possessed or otherwise, the info they need to turn things around.

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[Flitting around the the air is much more tiring than it looks, thinner air and exertion and the pervasive weariness of pulling upon the spirit's magic conspiring to make what looks effortless actually quite a strain. So Jack can be forgiven for not seeing the coalescing darkness below him, the way it gains volume and shape and coils below him. The spring is so quick that he only sees it at the last moment and spins in midair, yelping as the creature gets a mouthful of fluffy, chartreuse coverts and he loses lift abruptly. On instinct alone he spins as he plummets, grabbing for the thing to wrench it off of himself.

[The snake is aggressive and mockingly playful, nipping and twisting and striving to tangle itself around Jack as fingers grip and begin to pry its coils loose.

Head tilted skyward, a pursed-lipped smile of roguish triumph curls Isaac's lips. This is far more entertaining – and for a fraction of a second he debates whether or not he should simply stand back and await a brutal landing. At least, such is what he anticipates. But impenetrable shadows burgeon, manipulated with no small measure of satisfaction to form a hovering curtain meant to absorb the shock of his fall, if there is to be one.]

[The snake is more than enough to preoccupy Jack, twisting around him with the eerie liquid, jackknifing twists of a true constrictor, and he can hear himself screaming anger-tinted fear as he batters and pulls at it. The sound is lost in the wind whipping up past him as he tumbles unevenly, one wing throbbing pain and the other half-pinned to him. Both flap wildly, flipping him through hard, jerking twists, and it's only with the darkened field zooming up toward him that he desperately torques himself to face it and wills-needs-begs the force riding him with a single blinding burst of intention.

The answering updraft surges in his face hard enough to bend a wing at an angle that punches another harsh sound of pain from him, but he slows and almost-stops before the blast of wind peters out, lightly dropping him to the shadowy canopy from a matter of feet above it.]

[An admirable struggle, he thinks, amused by the desperate energy Jack brings to it. The layer of darkness acts as a dense, plush cushion beneath him, every bit a soft and inviting place for a tired body to sink into and rest. It remains afloat, drifting lazily towards the Forgemaster.]

Ah… Jack, is that you~? [Isaac lilts, his tone amiable and tinged with an almost-honest warmth as if he were greeting a dear friend. The snake slides free, leaping to the forest floor like a thread of spilled ink and winding to his feet with impossible swiftness.]

You ought to be more mindful of who and what it is you share the skies with. But I suppose I shall forgive you your carelessness for interfering. [A crooked little smile twists his lips, the amusement not quite reaching his eyes.]

...You are but human, after all.

[A beat, and a glimpse of something raw under the surface before he lays on playfulness and cool politesse more thickly.]

Did it hurt you?

[Jack drops to the softness of the whatever-it-is that's under him, breathing hard with exertion and panic, eyes flitting as he at least gets his head up to look around himself. The thing he landed on is moving toward a familiar figure, pale skin and fine features set before the darkness of his wings like the delicate portrait of a cameo brooch backed with onyx. He's still ready to bolt, even when the shadowy snake returns to its apparent master, and he feels his gut clench with tension and cold as he pushes himself in a position to bolt into the air.

It's a new aspect of Isaac, this. Their interactions have never been sunny, and he knows the man has a penchant for violence and a cruel streak. But it's never gone half as far as this, open and unprovoked assault, swatting him out of the air just to prove that he could-

Jack swallows against a shimmering wave of fresh fear that comes with thinking of what a fall from that height could have done. He balls it tight and shoves it under the building anger, buoying it up, especially when Isaac asks that last insulting question. He ignores entirely, bristling and snapping back, just as wound-up and hurting and upset as Isaac is unruffled and cool.]

Interfering ? That thing came up after me, you psycho! [It's not smart to mouth off to people who have proven they could kill you, but Jack's not thinking smart, nor is the presence twined up with him and vibrating discordantly with the sensation of Isaac nearby. He flares his wings with the intention to catch a summoned burst of air and flap back, off the mat of darkness and onto solid ground.]

[While he knows not what ‘psycho’ means in this context, he understands its intent as it's thrown at him like a knife - and as he stands before him, smiling gently with the air of a man who had all the time in the world to spend savouring the little moments of spirited defiance, he can’t help but be pleased with having evoked such a vicious response without great effort on his part.]

You were merely in its way. [He explains matter-of-factly, deathly calm. The creature stretches, fondly nuzzling its head into his open, gloved palm.] Perhaps I should have let you fall instead, for it would seem you would have preferred it. [He laughs – a low, rumbling chuckle - at the thought of oozing blood and splintered bones, a sad wreck of a man lying near his feet.]

A fine mess you would have made. Ah... but such a waste.

[Jack alights on the ground, only to feel the unwelcome sensation of his legs trembling under him. His adrenaline is still running high, but there's terror snapping around its edges, like hyenas around some towering beast. It's not enough that he just went into an unplanned freefall from a few dozen metres up in the air. He's unarmed, and he has no idea where Isaac's head is at to send things out to attack him and then keep him from becoming an untidy stain on the dirt.

He can probably outpace him. Or could, if he hadn't been exhausting himself. Alone. Without any quick or reliable way to call for help and damn it, this isn't good. He does his best to level his voice, to communicate that he is not something to be played with or swatted around.]

What do you want, Isaac.

[He sucks his breath in sharply through his teeth and twists his face to one side as if he’d been slapped.] Ooh. [He knits his brows.] I'm afraid I do not quite appreciate that tone of yours.

[Something deeper and darker than mischief plays about his features as he regards Jack through glazed, hooded eyes and his act falls away.]

I want you to join me and be reborn.

[The focus of his gaze shifts a fraction to the right, his arch, dangerous smile suddenly fading as something cold squirms deep in the pit of his stomach. It’s an earring identical to the ones in his possession; the ones Zevran had pushed into his hands in a bloodied pouch, desperate that it not be left unguarded.

Oh.

He shuts his eyes and just breathes and breathes, memories flashing through his daze. Zevran and Jack in the rain, close and touching while awaiting Eugene’s return; the earrings in his own palm; the long hours spent in his study, awaiting word. Something.

‘...that was not yours to discard as you willed, Isaac. What did you do with it?’ No; no. Of course it wasn’t. He was simply meant to keep it safe for someone else.]

How pretty…

[He remarks hollowly under his breath after a long moment, swallowing thickly. A subdued shade of his former self.]

It suits you.

Edited (OKAY NO MORE) 2013-06-02 22:34 (UTC)

[Whether Isaac appreciates his tone or not is immaterial to Jack, at the moment, since he himself does not appreciate being tackled out of the air by giant snakes made of darkness. It's an even score, as far as he's concerned. Things don't really get creepy until that 'reborn,' stuff, and he traces a foot back, less than a proper step but the beginnings of a stance that is ready to wheel and bolt. He stills, though, when Isaac gaze flits and his expression drops, and the man's hardly closed his eyes before he looks over his right shoulder for the source of what's unsettled him.

There's nothing behind him, nothing around them - nothing but the trees and the wind, nothing on his shoulder, nothing at all but Isaac and himself. He's watching him, bewildered and tense, when the man opens his eyes again. And compliments him.

He doesn't know what he means for a second. Then he remembers the little bit of metal and stone in his ear, and his fingers move up to it, tracing the contours as he nods slightly.]

Ah . . . thanks. [He has no idea what to do, with Isaac being so mild, with the relatively new token and its meaning pulled into focus between them.] It's from Zev.

[He dimly remembers, only then, Zevran mentioning something when he returned to them. A brandy-soaked ramble and Isaac's name, talk of sweaty dalliances and mercy-killing alike, a mention of something never quite solidifying between them. It prickles down his spine, like the sensation of a thunderstorm coming miles off.]

[Isaac half-absently chews on the inside of his cheek and it's a while before he manages an answer, his attention sharply focused on the nagging, deepening ache in his chest. Yet he can't leave this alone. He wants to hear more, to know more, to poke and prod and at this wound and see just how much more it could hurt with how right his gut instinct had been.]

Mn.

[He nods and for a while that's the most he can say, though the hard set of his jaw and his distant, inward-turned look suggests more than enough. Hundreds of sussuration voices wake in the back of his mind and fade slowly into awareness.

Your place is not here, one coos liltingly. You are not welcome.

I told you, demon, that you are only a tool to those you meet. Did you honestly believe you could be anything more? I was right. I was right and I had only wanted to protect you. But you brought this upon yourself and now you must lie in it.]

He is a man of good taste.

[A dry chuckle rattles from his chest. But it’s too late to save face, too late to muster an unfazed grin and have it seem genuine. Having had many years to perfect the strategy of hiding himself and lying as much through his features as in his words while under intense scrutiny, it is almost believable. Almost.]

Edited 2013-06-02 23:26 (UTC)

[Whatever in Isaac had been glimmering and dangerous as cut glass, it's gone out of sight for now, leaving Jack all too aware of how lost he is in its absence. He doesn't know Isaac, not really, even if he knows what he looks like without his clothes off. He's had hints and clues, heard what trusted opinions have to say about the man, but at the end of the day none of that is solid.

Right now though, he looks . . . troubled? Which is confusing to Jack, as all that's changed is the mention of Zevran and the earring, and he'd been led to believe that it was Isaac's choice that he and Zevran not settle down into anything serious. In the end he can't make heads or tails of it, so he just nods, and murmurs assent.]

He is.

[There's a beat of silence when he could try to leave, but curiosity compels him to stay. Curiosity, and a bit more. Something he didn't have in mind and wouldn't have said anyway, the last time they met.]

Thanks, by the way. For . . . for taking care of him. During the draft.

[Reeling, he tears himself away from searching, puzzled looks and words of gratitude and turns his back, his eyes wild and blindly searching the forest as if for something to throw. It’s hard to think, to breathe while his chest tightens, hot, bubbling blood slamming against his eardrums. On one hand, he knows better than anyone else that he’s responsible for this, at least in part. He knows he doesn’t deserve a thing. But did it have to be –

The vehement push and pull of his emotions has his hands trembling slightly, and as his dried lips peel apart, he’s caught between conflicting urges to speak, and to pull in a shallow breath, and to empty to contents of his stomach. Such disgusting weakness. He hates it. He hates them all.

No. He doesn’t.

There’s steel in his eyes again when he wets his lips and twists around, struggling in Twila's embrace. The shadow creature sways and ripples and grows in size.]

I miss it... [The Forgemaster says at last, too steady and smooth in his delivery. And he smiles softly with fondness.] The feeling of the knife sliding between his ribs; his life in my hands alone. My only regret... is -- [He breaks off with a grunt, jerking in a stiff, unnatural way as if something were kicking at him from the inside. The smile twitches into a snarling grimace for but an instant before twisting itself back into shape.] Is... that he died too quickly.

[He steps closer, patches of grass instantly yellowing underfoot.]

Will you join me? Or shall you be next?

[Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Jack opens his mouth to try something else, to explain - then holds his tongue, at a loss for words and still with no idea as to what Isaac is doing. But in dealing with the man before, he's never been steered wrong by patience. So he waits.

Until it becomes obvious, in the seconds after Isaac turns to him again, that waiting had also been the wrong choice.

He doesn't care in that moment, that it's cowardly. That the very man they're talking about would laugh at him, going pale to hear the simple description of a man so neatly killed. Isaac is talking about Zevran, about the deep wound that streamed even when he was lying dead and cold and bare to efforts to wash the worst of the gore off. He's smiling about Zevran, reminiscing about him, as if a ugly necessity were some kind of treasure. Jack's ready to bolt when he sees that first ugly jerk, half of his mind already back in a world where human shapes moved in those inhuman ways. Then Isaac advances on him and he wheels, mind a white roar of fear drowning the fury and the dread and the old dessicated grief. He runs, and he flaps, and he fights to summon whatever wind will get him home.]

[The answer he is given is less disappointing than it should be at the thought of what comes next.

Black-feathered wings beat and the resulting powerful rush of air thrusts him forward, galvanized and grinning savagely with the thrill of the chase, all adrenaline and bloodlust and ruthless determination. Like an uncocked spring the snake launches itself at Jack, untethered by logic as it whips and slithers for his legs.]

[For a moment, a single moment, Jack feels himself escaping. A gusting force catches his wings and his feet leave the ground and there's a sudden glorious surge of lift.

Then weight snarls around his legs and the already-bitten wing buckles, for all that it matters with his focus snapped and the magic going with it. The ground rushes up at him and hits home in an explosion of black-red and pain and the taste of blood, dazing him for a moment, slowing him as he tries to jerk onto his back despite the snake entangling him. He's breathing hard, stinging sharp over his brow and cheekbone, but he has to at least see what's coming. He needs to.]

[Then, he leaps with abandon – leaps, as if caught and thrown by the heat and force of an explosion –, gracefully fanned wings eclipsing the sun for a brief moment before he drops, every muscle and sinew suffused with a sense of purpose and primed for this very moment. He all but slams bodily into Jack, leading arm-first and viciously thrusting his palm into his chest to pin him down, softening his own landing with a cushion of shadow only to spare himself injury to his knees before swiftly straddling him.

He has always favoured a more intimate death, hungry for the defiance in a man’s flaring nostrils and the stern line of his jaw, for the thinly veiled, abject terror. An unhinged laugh bubbles up from his throat, cock twitching at the thought – and a slight curling of his upper lip is all the warning he inadvertently gives before metal flashes from his boot and he draws back his arm sharply, driving it down. But the dagger judders to a halt mid-swing, the point wavering.

The skin around Isaac’s fierce, narrowed eyes twitches, his breath coming hard and fast through clenched teeth shining with spit. And for an eternity, he struggles desperately against himself, his gloved hand creaking tighter around the hilt while his glare bores into the eyes of the man he feels he has every reason to hate and with every fibre of his being.

They all laugh at you Isaac no one will ever respect you

(shut up)

kill him before he kills you

Thoughts race wildly, his pulse racing faster, and he forces himself to blink. Staring back with the blank-faced intensity of a child told his life as he knew it was a lie. His eyes widen slightly, some genuine emotion deeper than rage clouding them as he desperately searches Jack's face for some truth he doesn't want to recognize. Then the dagger arcs low, promptly forced into his own leg.

Snarling, Isaac pushes himself away, the raw jolt of pain monopolizing his attention. Giving him something to cling onto, to focus on.

all that you touch you ruin]

Get out!! [He roars between ragged, panting breaths as much to Twila as to Jack, and for an instant his trembling wings flash a deep red.]

[Time is moving too fast when the snake brings him down, everything a blur and Jack is barely facing the sky before his vision is all Isaac, black feathers and skin crawling with tattoos and devil-red hair. He moves inhumanly, too crisp-quick, all purpose and hunger. And then time judders and shivers and grinds to a creep, when he lands with an impact that knocks the breath out of Jack's lungs.

The intimacy isn't lost on him, and for a stunned few seconds he's overwhelmed by the deja-vu of all of it, Isaac over him and pinning him down, radiating delight in a minor key. Every fiber of him is screaming that he's going to die, so loud that his limbs are clumsy with it, the arm not already in the snake's coils pushing pointlessly against Isaac's chest. He doesn't have a way to fight him; even without the magic or the shadows the man is uncannily strong and fast. And the flash of steel, whether it stops briefly or not, only confirms Jack's panicked certainty as he tenses back, breath strangled by impact and fear into thready little jerks of his lungs as he hunts in Isaac's eyes for something, anything that might think he should live instead. In that moment there's no such thing as Luceti, no reversible fatalities. With a knife trembling over him and a strong arm ready to drive it down, death is death, and he's not ready.

He thinks maybe he sees what he needs, for a moment, as the grimace of hate melts into another of those uncannily empty looks. His voice catches and strangles on a soft, wet-edged note of uncertainty, because hope hurts and hope is dangerous and hope is exactly what he does again, even with a dagger ready to go into his head. And there's no word for the way that feeling collapses in on itself, when Isaac's arm blurs down too fast to see.

Then he lurches away, and for a moment Jack can only stare, convinced he's been stabbed until he sees the hilt of the dagger sticking out Isaac's thigh. His brain spins on its last remaining cylinder, eyes tracing stupidly between his own undamaged body and Isaac sagging over him, only jolted from the untethered and drifting moment by a command and high volume.

Whether he believes it or not, he's alive. And by the time he realizes it, he's already racing for home, nothing but wind and desperation and nightmares at his back.]

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