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villagelogs2021-06-05 08:19 pm
villagemod) wrote in villagelogs2021-06-05 08:19 pm
Entry tags:
063-064 » no matter how much / part ii (group B)
WHO: Group B members only.
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 063-064
WHAT: Matthias becomes a little larger and a little smaller at the same time.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!
RECOMMENDED ♫ DEADLY AVENGER "Raiju"
CONDITIONS UPDATE
OOC NOTES
navigation | faq | locations | report updates
WHERE: Mathias Township proper
WHEN: Days 063-064
WHAT: Matthias becomes a little larger and a little smaller at the same time.
WARNINGS: (PM this account to have a warning added!)
NOTES: Plotting post over here!
RECOMMENDED ♫ DEADLY AVENGER "Raiju"
DAY 063-064
NO MATTER HOW MUCH“No matter how much suffering you went through,
you never wanted to let go of those memories.”
— Haruki Murakami
At first, in the calm following the storm, nothing seems amiss. When the residents awake, it is to another glorious morning dawning in the unsettling paradise that is Mathias Township. Indeed, it does seem rather glorious that morning, for there is sunshine in a blue sky that has been cleared of any remnant of the angry storm clouds from the day before. But before long, residents will start to notice signs of something being not quite right.
It should be a familiar sensation to most by now.
It begins as just a feeling, a strange hint of something in the air, a nagging voice at the back of the mind. They can't quite put their finger on it but there is something. Something wrong, something that shouldn't be — which is quite a statement in a town where everything shouldn't be. But then the pieces will begin to come together.
A person has gone who ought to be there. This in itself is not a strange occurrence, for many have vanished and then returned, or not. This time, though, it is one person, and then two and three... A dozen people or more have gone, with no trace of their whereabouts to be found.
No resident is alone, thankfully. There are others who also remain: friends, acquaintances, strangers. Others who are just as trapped in this nightmarish place.
As the hours stretch on and residents begin to venture beyond their self-claimed shelters and move about the town, they will find that their fellow captives are not the only things that have vanished. The Chasm is gone as well, the crack in the earth that once stretched across and cut off the western part of town. There is not even the smallest mark to show where it had once been; it has gone so completely that some might wonder if they had merely imagined it.THE NEW ARRIVALS
The newest arrivals to Mathias will wake up on the lawn of Town Hall, at the center of the little town square. There are shops all around them, with houses just beyond, and at first glance, everything seems almost picturesque. Except for the silence that is at times so complete as to be maddening... Welcome to Mathias.
ABOUT THE NEW LOCATIONS
POPPY COTTAGE This bed and breakfast has a sense of casual elegance with the elusive quality of being both sophisticated and comfortable at the same time. Aside from being covered in dust and grime, of course.
PENHEW HOUSE Perhaps familiar to some in Mathias, this grand house is different from any of the others the residents have entered. It looks... new. Fresh. Clean. The usual thick layers of dust and grime that would be caked onto every visible surface are nowhere in sight; this absence may be a relief for some and unsettling to others. There are certainly other unsettling things to be found in this location.
THE OLD CHURCH Barely more than ruins, the property is marked by a crumbled stone outline that has no roof and only partial walls, nothing left inside besides a broken cobblestone floor.
BANEBERRY HALL From the outside, Baneberry Hall seems like your average rich person's house, but one would be mistaken to assume anything of the sort. Even the baneberries that cover the back lawn leading to the forest treeline are deceptive, for they appear harmless but are fatal to any human foolish enough to eat them.
The building is decaying from within. The rooms have begun to rot, from the parlors and libraries still done up in grand and expensive style to the bedrooms that have locks on the doors and bars on the windows. There are restraints in some of those bedrooms, while others are bereft of sharp objects. In the hall closets, there are identical sets of white pajamas of all sizes, and the offices have locked cabinets (that may be picked) full of a rainbow of sedatives (that will not replenish). The names on doors and in logbook lists are all smudged beyond legibility, and all paperwork has been water-damaged and weathered, leaving no indication of who may have been kept in those bedrooms or why. But within each room, there is an item that may be familiar to one of the residents now wandering its halls. As caked in dust and grime as anything else, each item is placed as if it belongs there, as if it might have been there for years. But it couldn't have been... could it?ABOUT THE ITEMS FROM HOME
Within the unsettling walls of Baneberry Hall, residents may find OBJECTS that are uncomfortably familiar to them. Each item has one singular memory attached to it that, when touched in any way, will be experienced first hand, as if the person receiving it had lived it themselves. This person will endure all of the associated emotions and psychological reactions to the memory that the memory's owner experienced.— Items may only be found within Baneberry Hall. These items from home are not all in one room or a specific location but instead are scattered throughout the bedrooms. (Only the items on this list are available to this group.)
— Ownership and possession of the item are important elements to this event. While the item is in possession of someone who is not its owner, it will continue to infect all who touch it with the memory that belonged to its owner. The item will also, before long, begin to make the possessor ill, both physically and emotionally uncomfortable and upset. This only occurs until the item is reunited with its owner, or until it is no longer in someone else's possession. (For example, if Person A finds Person B's teddy bear and carries it with them, they will continue to experience the bear's associated memory until they no longer have it in their possession, whether this means they have left it somewhere or it has been returned to Person B.)
— Recipients of memories will retain those memories even after the event has ended.
— When the owner of an item finds their item or has it returned to them, they will also experience the memory once themselves, having it returned to them as if they had just lived those moments again. The memory is only replayed once in their minds and then the memory effect of the object is gone. After this point, the item can be held by the owner or any others without consequence.
— If a person removes an item from its room in Baneberry Hall but does not remove the item from the property entirely, the item will be mysteriously returned to its original location when no one is looking. This is so that people do not have to keep close track of where items are going in the possible changing of hands, so the original owners can still easily locate the item without having to plan in great detail. Once an item is removed from the property, it will not return to its original location even if it is discarded by the possessor before reaching its original owner. Instances such as this should be planned among all involved parties, including the owner of the item.
— Once an item is removed from the property, please comment below so that information may be updated. Items that are not removed by the end of the event may reappear at a later time, so accurate records are essential.
— Before an item's memory is viewed by someone other than the owner, permission must be granted or requested for that memory to be viewed by another character. Because the experience is an uncomfortable one for the other characters, the viewing of memories not their own should ideally be kept to a small number.
— THE WEATHER conditions remain fairly typical for early fall: warm days and cool nights. It feels almost like spring arriving except that there fewer red and orange leaves on the ground and more of them oddly returning to the trees and slowly fading to green. It's like watching one of those nature documentaries that have a timelapse of the seasons, only it's going in reverse.
— THE FOG has new boundaries.— Residents may now wander the southern stretch of the forest surrounding Mathias Township — it is possible to leave the paths but potentially unwise to do so.
— The fog has also retreated from the western section of town entirely.
— Access to the northern section of the forest is still blocked beginning a few dozen yards past the treeline; this section of fog will urge residents to stay huddled within the town proper by inducing a physical reaction of panic and fear.
— DISAPPEARANCES AND DEATHS continue! Yennefer, Number Five, and Tony Stark have vanished and Ellie is still missing, though this may be difficult to tell with half the town also seemingly having vanished. Will Graham's body may be found within the ruins of the Old Church; he appears to have been frightened to death. (If someone decides to take care of the body, please report it below. For in-game reasons, this does not need to be coordinated across groups.)
— ALCOHOL supplies have run dry, save for any dregs that have been squirreled away by individual residents. Moonshine can still be acquired by those in desperate need.
— NEW MAP Thanks so much to Scy for yet another amazing new map of Mathias!
— UPDATES Don't forget to report updates as they come up! Changes to locations (like toppling a few bookshelves in the library), big plots you have coming up that will affect the game (parties, major property destruction, etc), or exciting discoveries that may tie into the game's mythology (even the things provided by the mod) are very helpful to have in one place so relevant page updates can be made. IC events are also helpful to know about in advance so they can be included in the log write-ups.
— MOD STATUS For those who don't know, I run a summer program that is set to start in just 2 weeks. We've only recently been given the green light to go ahead in person, so it's a scramble to get everything pulled together in time. My non-RP life is going to be busy and chaotic for the next while and I am thus asking for your forgiveness and understanding as things continue to be slow, as I cannot guarantee timely mod responses beyond weekends, and even that is not guaranteed.
— NEXT LOG Because of the aforementioned real-life chaos, the next log will be more relaxed and free form with everyone coming back together again and having a few chill days. It would be very much appreciated if some of the more intense investigations could be saved to take place in future logs, as the new locations that are opening up in this log will remain open in the next few at least and there will be plenty of time to explore all their mysteries.
— ITEMS FROM HOME The items from home remaining in Baneberry Hall will not be available past this log, at least not in this form, so if you would like to play with these elements, you should not sleep on this opportunity. More things may show up in the future but, for now, this is the main event.
— DW NOTIFS Back at the beginning of the year, the issue of missing email notifs was discussed in a code push plurk by Mark of the DW admin team. For those who missed it, the gist is that the issue with missing notifs is not going to be fixed anytime soon. The issue is so sporadic that the dev team has concluded the only way to possibly fix it is to redo the notification system entirely. This issue does not extend to DW's internal inbox, so short of checking every thread you're involved in, the DW inbox is the best way to make sure you're not missing things.
— ACTIVITY CHECK Beginning with June's AC (posted at the start of July), all tags that consist of only dialogue will count as 0.5 comments, not just those that occur in an inbox thread. This applies to both AC and AP totals.
The Darkling | Grishaverse
Day 63 - closed to Elena Gilbert
[ The necklace is ornate enough that it catches his attention. It's a pretty thing, a delicate trinket, nestled on a vanity next to some tarnished silver rings that look like they have far less value. Even if the Darkling didn't have an aesthetic eye, it would jump out like a sore thumb. He thinks perhaps Alina would like it, a simple gesture for a strained relationship. He enters the room, sparing the rest of the room a simple glance before deft fingers pick up the locket, a small frown on his face as he examines the piece of jewelry.
The Darkling is met with force. He barely has time to grip at the vanity before the memory comes flooding in--fire, an unfamiliar magic that seems far too familiar for him--no, not him. Her. The overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, powerlessness courses through him. A sacrifice from someone she--he--loves. The anger that surfaces is something intimately familiar to the Darkling and he swears, just for a moment, that he can taste it as he watches the death of someone she loves.
When the memory ends, the Darkling's grip on the locket is tight, knuckles white. He casts a glance around the room before placing it in his pocket, unaware his jaw has been clenched just as tightly as his hands until he exhales softly. It had been real. A memory, perhaps, and the Darkling would view the situation in a stranger light if half of the town hadn't disappeared and the village itself is constantly in a state of strange. A heads-up had been given, but this is his first time experiencing it. The memory had been raw, real, like it had been happening to him. He thinks of those teeth, the heat of the flames. A ritual? Something from this place, perhaps, a glimpse into its sordid past?
Regardless, it's the type of event that leaves one unwilling to spend too much time in the room it occurs in. He exits the room and continues his idle search, the weight of the locket barely noticable in his kefta.
It's not long before he finds the girl in the memory, so much so he has to wonder if the necklace itself is guiding him. The Darkling isn't sure why he knows it's her--it had been from her perspective, there certainly hadn't been a mirror to glance at himself among the fire, among the grief of losing a loved one, powerless to stop it--but there's a strange clarity the moment they lock eyes in the dingy hallway. It's her, and he knows it.
The Darkling imposing, tall and dressed in all black. He reaches into the pocket of his long embroidered coat, producing the locket. He lets the pendant part drop, allowing it to swing from the silver chain in his fingers. ]
Yours?
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at least the town hasn't split itself in half and buried most of the residents of the town. while she's spied a few people that she knows, it gives her a strange sense of comfort to know that there's a new face. that means the town hasn't barricaded itself and played a secret game of lord of the flies with the town's missing people. it's being strange, like it often is. it's easy to discern perhaps it's playing a game of splitting people up again… even if that opens a can of too many questions.
when she thinks he's only tugging his hand from his pocket as a gesture of hello, what she doesn't imagine he'd pull from his pocket is something incredibly familiar. without even thought, she lifts her hand to her collarbones as if expecting to feel it press against her skin. it's not there. like it's been for the last several weeks, she's been without her necklace, without that one piece of home that she would've been happy to have found within the first hour of arriving. ]
That's…
[ if she looks a little dumbfounded, it's because she is. after finding strange things around town, really… she shouldn't be surprised. ]
Mine.
[ stupid, she knows. elena shakes her head after realising that. isn't that what he had asked?
her brows furrow together as she peers up at him in disbelief—and smiles incredulously. the one thing she wants… she won't let herself think stefan's here. ]
Where did you find it?
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His face remains impassive, as if the entire situation is akin to waiting for food to arrive in a busy tavern instead of a slightly dilapidated former asylum. There's a slight bend of his lips pressing into a thin line. Take if it you'd like, Elena. ]
Who was the blonde?
[ The locket is some sort of memory. It stands that the other's aware of this, since it's hers. ]
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at his question, she has to wonder which blonde he's referring to. there's caroline and jenna, and there's a few blondes she hasn't spoken to since her parents' death. she sincerely doubts mathias would show him the girls she doesn't recall the last thing she said to.
her brows furrow together as she looks at him curiously—and a little in fear. ]
What did you see?
[ any thought of asking for her necklace back takes a backseat. ]
dreamwidth's notifs didn't work on this one, love that for us. : ' )
A ritual. Your... aunt... [ His head cants to the side as he searches for the words--the memory had been vivid, sharp. He had truly felt like he was there, like he was her. It's obtrusive. He continues anyway. ]
It appears your memory is linked to this. To my knowledge, I'm the only one that's found it--take it. [ Another pause as the Darkling's gaze dips downwards, taking a small breath, lips parted. ] Had I known what it was and what would happen, I wouldn't have picked it up, I assure you.
Day 64, Penhew House - OTA
[ It's clean. That's the first thing the Darkling notices once he finds his way into the crisp, almost too-white place: it's spotless. It's refreshing, a far cry from the grime and dust that seems to be a permanent presence within the community. It's also slightly unsettling. He's vaguely aware he should be more worried about the smaller differences, how it could be a sign, how it means that this one stands out from the rest, but he remains steadfast in his belief that whatever strangeness is thrown his way, he can handle it with ease. The vast majority of people here are otkazat'sya, after all.
The upper level seems to confirm this place's oddness, though the Darkling does reach a hand out to run along a bedsheet, feeling the cool, clean blue linen. A gift in comparison to everything else, and he has half a mind to lay down after he explores the rest of the place. The mirror catches his attention, and, with a small furrow of his brow and a slight cant of his head, he moves towards it in order to examine it. There's other people. Shadowy figures directly behind him with their back to him, and after looking over his shoulder to confirm they aren't actually there, his eyes narrow.
It's easy to find him eerily still, staring at a mirror, far too close to the reflective surface to be examining himself--he'll remain that way for a long time. The Darkling looks as if he's in a trance as he tries to pick out what he swears he's seen.
When he does try to use his own powers, it's extremely noticable. The light flickers and dims in the bedroom he inhabits, the hallway by the entrance of the room darkening considerably as well. The people tucked away in the mirror are shadows, why not manipulate them to turn around?
He concentrates, bringing his hands up to focus. While the entire room darkens, vein-like tendrils of shadow congregating on the mirror's shiny surface, he comes to a conclusion: these shadows are ones he cannot control. Despite being able to suppress most of the light in this area, despite enveloping the entire place and himself in a cloak of darkness, he can do nothing.
His fist clenches, jaw tight. ]
Impossible.
ii. Wildcard;
[ The Darkling will also be at Baneberry Hall when he's not getting completely frustrated with the shadow people in the mirrors over at Penhew--feel free to have him skulking about and lurking if your character needs a scare or someone to take a look at their memories! If you want a customized starter feel free to hit me up via DM or on plurk at
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Jeff enters the house, moving upstairs to check out the bedrooms-- again, in search of clues about the former residents. Are the shadowy figures all that remain of them, or are they just things that haunted them?
When he sees the lights dimming in the hall, his first thought is: fuck, they got out of the mirror! A sensible person would probably run.
Jeff's not a sensible person.
He follows the darkness (story of his life, huh) and peeks into the bedroom, squinting, trying to make out the silhouette standing in front of the mirror. At least he recognizes the voice, once the man speaks. Kirigan, right?
"Iiiii would be careful, dude," he says carefully. "I don't know if you want what's in there to notice you." Speaking from experience, with different things in different mirrors. "Plus, magic's totally on the fritz!"
As if the other man wouldn't have noticed. But hey, maybe he hasn't! Jeff's just being helpful here!
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It's all very sensible, sound advice, even if it's said in a nonchalant manner. The man with the guitar, the one who looks so very similar to the one man in the village he's truly wary about. He straightens his back, moving away from the mirror, though the lack of light remains. The shadows are both a comfort to the Darkling and so natural to him he hardly realizes there's a difference in the rooms at this point. He doesn't think to remove them for Jeff's peace of mind.
"Mr. Calhoun," he greets, and while his voice is still even, there's an edge to it. He's frustrated, and while most of his clothing has been replaced (it's black slacks now, a black button up done all the way), his boots and kefta remain. "I assure you the first thing I did after our meeting was test my limits."
And, with a glance at the mirror, he allows more disdain to seem into his voice. "This should work."
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All questions aside, the frustrated edge in Kirigan's voice comes out loud and clear. He gets it. It's a much more measured and dignified mirror (ha) of his own frustrations, with about 100% less swearing.
"Yeaaaah, uh..." How to put this without accidentally insulting the dude? "If things worked like they should, then magic wouldn't be on the fritz... You don't feel it? The way the--" He gestures vaguely up at nothing. "--frequency's scrambled? Even basic shit's totally messed up!" A beat, before he eyes the mirror cautiously and adds, "Which, in this case, might be for the best, because I don't know if magically poking at the unknown is a super great idea..."
That's how you get demons on the brain.
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"I have very specific capabilities. Even here, controlling shadows comes easily. So why not these?" A motion to the mirror, a motion to the shadows. Have a look if you want, Jeff, it's extremely disconcerting.
"There are three options: one, this isn't a shadow, nor is it darkness. It's something else. Two, I am somehow incapable of using my power fully in this space, like you've said--however, in any other place, including this room, I can and quite easily. Three, there is something out there...better...than myself." It hurts, admitting that's even a possibility. His lip quirks into an almost smile, a flash before it disappears.
"Let's hope your option is the correct one."
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"Well, we can rule out number three, obviously. Totally impossible!" he says lightly, flashing a quick smile back at him. There's certainly an effort being made right now, Jeff trying to keep his voice light and airy, in spite of how much his skin's crawling from this house, and the things in the mirrors.
He drops the light tone, however, as he adds: "It's not a shadow. At least, in my experience, things like that... They're... beyond anything we can touch with magic."
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He's unsure if he's heard Jeff speak without an element of lightness to him. The Darkling looks at him, truly observing him for what he feels like the first time.
"Not magic. Science," he corrects gently, but continues speaking in case the other wants clarification. His eyes seem to glint in the dark, bottomless pools intently fixated on Jeff. The mirrors are but an afterthought at the moment.
"In your experience, Mr. Calhoun?"
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On the matter of experience, Jeff considers elaborating-- well, he doesn't consider it. He knows he needs to. Whatever's happening in Mathias, it doesn't just affect him. If any of his past experiences-- awful as they are, painful as they are-- could help people smarter than him figure out what the fuck's going on here, it'd be the worst kind of selfishness to keep it to himself.
But he still wants to consider his words carefully... which is, admittedly, hard to do when he feels like he's being watched by the mirrors. "I used to do a lot of stupid things with magic. Sometimes it... gets in your head." Before he can add to that point, Jeff gestures to the mirror-- or, more accurately, the sheet lying crumpled on the floor, just below it. "You mind if I cover that?"
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"What did you do?" He punctuates the last word, emphasizing it cooly. He can take a guess, even if he doesn't quite know what the other can do, not wholely: the other's caution at the shadows, the way he skirts around the fact. It's enticing.
Has Jeff given in to something he shouldn't? Do they share a common experience?
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So as alien as Kirigan's powers are to him, it brings an odd sort of comfort as he moves to throw the blanket over the mirror, careful not to look directly at it.
"I let something in-- in me." Wait. Jeff realizes how that sounds, and quickly gestures at his head, tapping his temple. "Like in here! It was an accident, I didn't mean to, I just..." Just couldn't stop chasing the highest highs he could reach. "Anyway, um. I got something's attention. And it wanted everything-- everything I had, everything I was--" Jeff swallows, shakes his head and lets out an unhappy laugh. "Fuck. That part doesn't matter. The point is, whatever lives beyond that veil?" He points to the mirror. "You don't want it seeing you."
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Memory (tw murder, gore) - closed to Athena, also a fucking novel whoops
The house is simple but modest, candle light illuminating the areas where the moonlight from the windows can't reach. The sense of urgency is overwhelming, a vague, uneasiness simmering beneath the surface of his emotions. The Darkling is trying to keep panic at bay as he packs provisions and supplies for a journey that's to be made with haste. A girl in red--Luda, beautiful, mortal Luda--assists. The Darkling makes sure to keep his voice calm and tempered--he is a leader. There are people counting on him. Luda is counting on him.
The sound of horses is easy to hear, hooves thunderous in the quiet night. A small hunting party, he guesses, and the voice calling out for him, calling him 'Darkling,' confirms it. Luda and he exchange looks, and the Darkling thinks quickly, despite the small shake of Luda's head.
"Remember Ryevost?"
Luda nods. "The same plan?" she asks, and the Darkling casts one last look of longing before exiting the dacha.
He steps forward, meeting the men in their uniforms, slowly, confidently, and he reminds himself to steel his jaw, to look evenly at everyone. To quell the nervousness, and the worry for the safety of the beautiful woman hiding in the little hut. He recognizes the captain of the soldiers, the men dressed in fine blue, some with torches, most with bows and full quivers, all with wariness in their eyes. The Darkling reminds himself that he will survive. He steps forward.
"It is you. Darkling." The captain, Chiruk, stands in front of his group. The Darkling lifts his jaw, a proper display, a sign that he does not fear otkazat’sya.
"I approach peacefully," he reminds them, hands not raised, but instead in full view where the others can see them.
"The King wants you back alive," Chiruk says. "But maybe you resisted. So--" he gives the signal.
Two arrow fly through the air directly at The Darkling's chest. The pain is unbearable, and he grunts, falling to his knees, gritting his teeth. Push through it, he thinks, determined. His shaky hand grasps at the shaft, and he groans as he pulls it out, fighting the pain. He can feel Luda's healing abilities seal the wound almost immediately from her position in the dacha. He pulls the other out, too, and once muscle and skin has been mended secretly, he stands up.
"Please. I don't want to hurt you." There's a small part of the Darkling that does, but he keeps that part in check. Three more arrows land in him. He staggers back, the pain overwhelming, pulling them out with gritted teeth and a sickening squelch. Rage flares up, and causing his voice to rise as Luda continues to heal him. Let them fear him.
"I have a message for the King. If he or any of his men slaughter one more of my--"
The door to the cottage bursts open, a soldier emerging as he holds Luda at knife point. "Stand down, Grisha," he warns, and then to Chiruk: "Here’s the little witch who’s been stitching him back together."
The Darkling's rage has been replaced with a cold fear. "Luda--"
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and the Darkling's fear is immediately replaced by something more, something visceral.
"Hands at your back," the Chiruk orders, "or the next arrow will do its job."
The Darkling keeps his eyes on Luda as the leader binds him, allowing him to, the iron shackles biting at his wrists, a wooden pole between his hands so he can't use his gifts. He thinks quickly. He tries to bargain. He cannot keep the emotion from his voice, not when it comes to her.
"You have two prizes for the King," he pleas, his voice losing the confident and controlled edge he'd once had. "You want a promotion to lieutenant, take us to the palace!" He needs Luda. He needs her alive, he needs her safe. He's kicked down to a kneeling position, and he finds himself shaking. He's not sure if it's rage or concern for the love of his life, but it seems to set his whole body on fire.
"I only need you," the soldier says. "Not your Healer." The Darkling's lip curls up into a snarl as the other continues. "You thought the two of you could just quietly train witches among us?"
The Darkling is fighting, trying desperately to get his hands to touch, the wooden pole preventing him from using his power. "You want my cooperation, you bring us both in. Is that understood?!" He allows himself anger, he allows himself to growl, a nearly feral warning.
"I told you, those were not our orders."
It happens fast. The Darkling cries out, his desperate pleas swallowed among the trees, too slow, too useless as a knife slides in between Luda's ribs. She'll take hours to die, some strange detached part of the Darkling thinks before he feels it, before he loses himself to a cacophony of emotions. Grief was something he thought he'd done well with when it came to keeping it at bay, he knows his mother has warned him not to get close to any mortal, he knows this is why, but it's bubbling up to the surface. He's dimly aware that he's shouting her name, voice hoarse as the knife twists and she falls to the floor, breathing laboured. At some point, he begins to cry.
"Now," Chiruk says simply, taunting. "You still have a message for him?"
The Darkling grows still. Calm, despite fresh tears. He looks up, sheer determination in his eyes. "Yes," he says, and with a burst of adrenaline, somehow manages to snap the wooden pole between his hands with a grunt. "This."
He stands up, clasping his hands together summoning the shadows of the night, drawing on his own, the trees, the small company of soldiers'. It happens in an instant, raising his hands in a flourish, the inky blackness becoming deadly. A Cut, a surge of power so immense it's stronger than even Grisha steel, and when he brings his hand down in a swift arc, it cuts all 10 men down. The leader is sliced neatly in two, innards spilling onto the ground, and the Darkling stands above them, panting, power coursing through him, surveying the fresh corpses of the people responsible for Luda's pain.
It feels good.
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Monsters. Monsters, monsters. She should be upset, by the gore of it, by the horror of ten people cut down in a breath, but all she can feel is the grief and the rage and the injustice. All she can think is that what the Darkling did tipped the scales a little further back toward even. She fumbles for the wall, catching herself against it, staring at those coins on the floor. Luda. She never knew her, never will, but she knows what Kirigan--what the Darkling felt for her. And how little those men cared.
She doesn't want to touch those coins again. She doesn't want to go anywhere near them. But the idea of leaving them there for someone else to find...
Athena closes her eyes, suddenly aware that she's crying.
"Fuck," she whispers. Maybe it only happens the once. Maybe she won't have to see that again, live that again, if she picks them up this time. Still, she hesitates.
Deep breath. Gather them up.
And no, she's back in it again, self-possessed enough this time to walk out of the room. Walk down the stairs. Walk out the front door.
She's starting to feel ill, has no idea where to even start looking for Kirigan, and she has to set the coins down again. Let the memory play its way through. Let herself recover from wanting to puke for more than one reason.
Athena stares down at the coins, blinks back tears, and bends to pick them up again.
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He heads into the hallway, half expecting some sort of creature. The shadows he can't manipulate from the Penhew house, perhaps--though when he rounds the corner he finds something different. A familiar sight, short black hair and a pale, round face.
"Athena."
He's traded most of his clothes for black slacks and a black button-down, though the battered kefta is still a part of his wardrobe. It's fully open, rippling slightly behind him as the Darkling's pace quickens. Athena's upset. For what reason, he doesn't know, but it's only a few more steps forward before he catches the tears. His eyes narrow, the barest hint of the room dimming the only evidence the Darkling moves towards her, but the shadowplay stops when he sees the coins.
Ravkan currency, scattered about as Athena tries to pick them up in the hallway, desperate in a way that the Darkling can't place. Something from home.
Something's not right.
"Athena," he tries again, and places a hand on her shoulder. His voice is as calm and as measured as ever, even if his gaze is the softest it's been.
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"Kirigan," she says quietly. Seeing him standing there gives her a sense of vertigo, caught as she is in the double vision of reliving his memory again. How many times is that, four? Five? Does it matter?
She wraps her arms around him in a tight hug, pressing her face against his chest. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry about Luda, I'm sorry I saw it, I didn't mean to, it's these... fucking coins, I just keep."
Keep seeing it. Over and over again.
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It's untowards. It's impolite. It hasn't happened in a very, very long time--not like this, though Zoya Nazyalensky has certainly curled up in his arms from time to time. This is something else, and after only a moment of hesitation, he puts a hand lightly on her, holding her stiffly. His grip tightens when she mentions Luda. His eyes narrow, too, and he glances down at what she'd been trying to pick up.
Ravkan coins. The exact type he used to throw in the fountain. What he'd told Alina about, what he'd claimed he'd use to make a wish. Athena seems genuinely disturbed, and then there's another matter: the Darkling pulls back, gripping Athena's shoulders gently, squeezing them not as a demand, but in reassurance. He makes sure to get eye contact with the other.
"Breathe." The calmness is there, though there's certainly a sense of urgency. It's a command in every sense of the word, and the softness an afterthought. "You saw Luda? What did you see, exactly?"
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But Lenore's not the one hanging on to her shoulders. Lenore's not the one asking her for what amounts to a report.
Breathe.
"They were hunting you. Um. I don't know who they were, but one of them was named Chiruk. They called you Darkling, they wanted you to come back to work for some king. Luda was hidden, healing you like um... you asked her if she remembered Ryevost."
Athena presses the fingertips of both hands to either side of the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "They kept shooting you with arrows, and she kept healing you. But then they caught her, and..."
She looks back up at him, furious tears filling her eyes again. "They murdered her. And then you killed them."
Athena blinks. It hadn't registered, somehow, until she said it out loud. Even after living through that memory multiple times, it hadn't registered that Kirigan had killed all of those men. Even seeing their insides spilling out, she'd been so caught in the rage, in the triumph, in the bitter vindication. Ten lives, in retribution for one.
If he or any of his men slaughter one more of my--
They deserved it. Everything in him in that moment believed it. She can't help agreeing right now.
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He understands this, though. He understands the what the other is saying all too well, and his gaze narrows. She knows too much. There's that instinct, the one that prioritizes his own survival before anyone else's, the one that urges him to get her under his thumb before any trouble arises. Whispers about weaknesses grow louder.
There's another part of him that hears Luda's name and remembers what he'd been like before The Fold, hundreds of years ago. Before Merzost. When he had been not happy, but instead content, not caring about his mother's warnings that those he attaches himself to are mortal. That they will die.
It's this village. She'd been picking up the coins. They're from his home. He looks down at them, taking one last look at Athena's face, a hand moving up to touch her cheek briefly. It's feather-light--a gentle touch from someone who's long since forgotten, and he carefully moves his hand to grab a coin, deft fingers curling around one.
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Too late. Athena tenses, reminding herself that she was trying to bring him the coins before she had to give herself a break. It's his life, his memory, he deserves to be able to deal with it as he sees fit. Hide the coins, destroy them. It's his choice. She bites her lip and tightens her hands into fists, rubbing them anxiously against her thighs as she waits for his turn with the memory to pass.
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The Darkling has lived for so long but he still remembers her face. He still remembers how she looked bleeding out on the forest floor, how he had picked up her fading self and brought her somewhere safe. How the only thing on his mind had been 'help her' and 'hurt them.' How Luda didn't make it because there were no Healers around. His mother had reminded him of the truth when Luda passed, the catalyst for a forbidden plan.
They die because they always do.
And now he's relived it. At some point he'd pressed his back against a wall, leaning heavily as he pants, unfocused, rage and grief surging through him. The Darkling's eyes are glassy as he grunts, dropping the coin he'd been holding onto with a white knuckled grip. He's shaking, truly rattled.
It takes him a few seconds. One hand had been splayed behind him, pressing against the cool surface of the dirty wall, so he starts with that. He wills himself to stand up straight, forces his breathing through his nose, narrows his eyes as he wills himself to calm down. He stitches himself together with relative ease, no more than a few seconds from start to finish, and when he exhales, his jaw is just a little too tight, eyes still glassy. There's a glint in his gaze, too: remnants of what he's seen are still lingering, despite how quickly he'd forced it out of his appearance.
He despises this place. He despises his lack of power, his lack of control. He despises that someone has seen a part of his life he has told no one, felt a part of him that had started everything. It's what shaped him to be the Grisha he is this day, creating the Fold. Leading an army once more.
Eventually, he speaks.
"Who else has seen this?" There's a chill to his voice, cold, calculating, though it's got a gravelly tone to it. He's spent too much on emotions. The Darkling has been around for a very, very long time. That memory has been in his mind for just as long.
Why, then, did it feel so real, like he was there?
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