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ximilialog2024-02-28 09:20 pm
CONCLUSION: A WASTE TO LIVE
Chaos reigns in the city.
A layer of dust and grime and blood coats the stone paved streets as the fighting spills in from the walls further into the Roof. The golden aura of the spark surrounds a number of the fighters as they lead the strike with their powers, aiming at anyone closeby. And to counter them, the three clans wield weapons, some ordinary and downright mundane, some crafted from the limestone that shields them from the effects of the spark. But the mayhem is not limited to the battle that intensifies between the people of Go’ama; all around them, the very material that gives physical form to this world begins to wilt. Stone cracks, crumbling; colour drains from hair and clothes; plants wither and die, and on the Plains, the animals stagger through their last breaths.
A strong wind blows through the city, kicking up clouds of dust, rattling against loose hinges and chains hanging from eaves, and flapping at the fabric from the overhangs. The sound and the vibration leaves ears ringing as though Go’ama itself is screaming for help.
For a moment, as though acknowledging the sound of suffering from the planet, the battle heaves a breath. And in the midst of the quiet lull before the battle resumes like a great wave crashing against a wall of rock, a different sound can be heard: it is the eerie notes of a flute, haunting and cold.
Out through the dust, countless figures emerge: spirits, the ghosts of the Roof, the people who once built the city atop ruins. They spread through the narrow streets, covering the battlefield that the city has become, silently placing themselves between the fighters.
And then they speak.
They speak of everything that has been forgotten: of the reason behind the choices of Rehil Hahn; of the knowledge that the powers granted to them by this world come at the cost of the world itself; of the reason that the Roof was built, and the reason that the clans were formed — all of it, after all, was done to protect their home.
In this, they are joined by the Orbers: not just Wei Wuxian who hangs back after raising the spirits, but Joric who uses the powers he has to ensure that the Dai’a Svar stay back, and tells them of the way the orbs have only spread chaos and terror in their wake in every world that they have been to. Ivy speaks on behalf of the planet and its plantlife, how they should be considered in all this, too; and finally, Shinn who weaves his way through the lines of battle to stop where Garam stands and shout to him about how the suffering of the Dai’a Svar doesn’t give them the right to continue the cycle, to make others mirror their suffering.
In turn, Garam, eyes glowing from the use of the spark, laughs bitterly.
Quietly, the spirit of Jaima Bryn steps forward. There is nothing but compassion in her eyes.
Far away from the city, outside the Tower, the orb pulses once — just once — in the hand that holds it, Kovacs frowning with the sudden vibration against his skin.
Garam sags, a puppet without strings.
All around the city, Dai’a Svar members blink, shaking their heads, as if the dust that covers the city has been covering their minds all this time, too.
Inside the dome, Jial Bryn, or the woman who had once used that name, stands with her hands holding a spear, the black ink of her eyes spilling over into her veins as she watches the small gathering of people ready to oppose her.
She twirls her spear in front of her, tilting her head back in invitation. Her smile cuts through her face like a sharp and ugly wound.
With one step to the side, she begins to move — ducking to avoid the bullets that Yzak and Daisy send her way, and raising her spear so it clangs against Anakin’s lightsaber so hard that sparks of bright light erupt from the contact, the sound echoing across the space of the dome. From there, the battle resembles a dance: when Yzak tries to hold her with his magic, she raises her arm and slashes with it, blocking the magic with her own; bullets are absorbed by an invisible wall in the middle of the room, clattering uselessly to the ground; her spear matches strike after strike from Anakin, and though neither gains an edge over the other, neither loses ground either.
But from the side of the room, giant arms snake their way through the obstacles and the fighting, slowly forming an unseen circle around her legs, constricting to suddenly hold Jial Bryn in place.
In a split second, Jial — that is, the orb — looks at all of them, the endless abyss of her eyes piercing as shadows lengthen within the room. Watching, after all, is one of her greatest strengths — watching, and seeing.
Her eyes shift their inky dark gaze from Yzak to Anakin to Daisy to Ziggy, at the side of the room.
She turns her head, facing Vash, who has stealthily made his way to her in the seconds that Hagakure has held her in place.
The moment Vash’s hand brushes against her face, her skin cracks like shattered porcelain — it falls away in flecks of ash, leaving only a stone of pure obsidian to fall into the palm of his hand. And the moment that it does, every Orber, no matter where on the planet they are, feels the tug from the station transporting them back.
Finally.
The bright walls of the station seem almost blinding as you reorient to your surroundings. The hum of the platform is quieting down, and in front of you, Viveca and Degar regard all of you with equal amounts of relief and trepidation.
His grin is hesitant so that it almost comes off as a grimace, but the breath he lets out feels as though he has been holding it in for so long. For those that know his history, it might as well be true. The relief that follows is clear: he can’t quite believe that you’re all here, back in one piece, but he’s certainly glad that you are.
From the hands of Vash and Kovacs, the two orbs rise on their own, floating through the air before they trail a deliberate path towards the station’s commander — but as he brings his own hands up to collect them as usual, purple-black shadows suddenly spill out into the brightly lit transport room, stretching across its walls like an inverse explosion, casting everything in darkness instead of light.
Degar, staggering back and swearing under his breath, immediately jumps into action, summoning a spell that holds the orbs in their own bubble; the darkness recedes slowly, like a sticky substance slowly being sucked back into a source of its own making. The sudden contrast between the dark and the brightness in the room that you are so used to, along with the sudden spike of adrenaline, leaves you a little lightheaded.
Viveca looks between the orbs — now held in a similar, if smaller, force-field as the others in the North Wing — and then all of you standing on the platform in various states of surprise, shock, and perhaps fear.
She bites down on her lower lip, her eyes meeting Degar’s, an entire conversation held in just a few looks. Degar nods as he starts to make his way to the North Wing; there is something impossibly grave in the movement.
Viveca turns to you, pausing to take a breath her android body does not even need.
With those unsettling words, she spins on her heels and follows Degar to the North Wing. The hiss of the sliding doors closing somehow sounds all too final.
N O T E S
This is the end of the 18th mission! If your character goes back to review the mission file, they will notice that next to its name, a little check-mark in green has appeared. Additionally, a green check-mark will appear next to the 17th mission, too.
Characters are free to reach out to Viveca or Degar here. Both will be available through text, audio and video, but the North Wing will remain closed until the station log.
This is not an official log. The final station log will go up on March 9.