rhodos_meme | TDM #1

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TDM #1

TDM #1: AUGUST

Jump to: Arrival · Sound and Light · Into the Fog · Waking Up to a Nightmare · The Bonfire
Summary · Questions

I. ARRIVAL

Upon arrival, characters awaken in one of the main plazas of the town, lying on the paving stones around a central fountain. It is a bright sunny day and very hot, so you'll quickly want to find some shade. A light breeze brings the scent of the sea, but there are no cries of sea birds to be heard.

The buildings of the plaza are all medieval stone construction, but they all have modern awnings and glass fronts. Tables out front display tourist wares: little plastic statuettes, postcards, t-shirts. Among these, it's easy to identify Greek lettering, Greek gods, photos of Athens and Crete. Predominant among the souvenirs are items marked with the name Rhodos.

But there are no vendors selling their wares. Even if characters wander into the shops, they are all empty as if their owners just stepped away for a moment. Lights are on, and some of the larger and nicer shops even have the whirr of air conditioning. Food stands waft the aroma of freshly grilled kebabs, and a gelato cart is cold to the touch and the ice cream inside is frosty and delicious.

The plaza where you arrive is set on a slope, and the direction of the sea breeze and the faint sound of waves against a shore indicates pretty strongly that down-slope is the direction of the sea. But looking down the slope from the main plaza, you can see an open archway in a tall stone wall, and beyond it is nothing but mist. Despite the clear sunny day in the plaza, the mist is a dense fog with barely three feet of visibility. If you enter it, you can see your own arms in front of you, but nothing beyond that. The breeze has gone still and the waves no longer sound so much like waves--the sound is warped through the mist so that it almost sounds like sobbing. After about five minutes of determined walking across what feels like flat ground with no other landmarks, you find yourself back at the archway.

Housing can easily be scavenged. Doors are unlocked and the interiors are clean and welcoming, beds freshly made, as if it is a hotel that's been prepared for you rather than anyone's personal residence. And yet, once you've settled upon a place to live, you start to find little signs that you have lived here all along. The photographs on the wall (which weren't there when you first arrived) depict you and your family and friends, even if you came from a world without photography. Upon arrival, you have only the clothing you are wearing, but within a day the closet begins to fill with familiar outfits from home, and within the first week you may find up to five of your own possessions around your new residence.

Note: Wardrobe is limited to what you can reasonably fit inside a non-walk-in apartment closet, what your character would reasonably wear and possess in canon, or what can be scavenged around town. There are two very small clothing boutiques where you can find most basics and a few cute outfits. For starting possessions two may be weapons or magical items, but you may have an additional three mundane items. All other personal items can only be obtained through regains or events.

II. SOUND AND LIGHT

The first few days in your new home are relatively uneventful. The days are hot and sunny and the nights are warm beneath a dazzling starry sky.

After not quite a week, the noises of a spectacle will lead characters to a small gate in one of the outer walls with steps leading down into the outer moat. The fog surrounding the city walls has drawn back for just this one little area, revealing an open air theater butting up against the castle wall. A path leads away from the theater on either side, but if you walk into the mist on either side you will promptly find yourself walking out of the mist on the opposite side, as if you'd circumnavigated the entire moat in just a few steps. Behind the theater is another high stone wall. Centuries of weathering has added rough footholds and handholds, but it would be a dangerous climb without equipment. Trees grow from the top of the wall, sticking limbs out of the wall of mist and clawing roots into the stones at the top, loosening them so that they're ready to slip at a touch.

The play that is projected onto the wall features shadow puppets, colored lights, and canned soundtrack special effects like the clop of horses hooves or the burst of trumpets. There is no dialogue or narration, so the story can only be roughly pieced together: there is a king and a queen, then a betrayal that leads to the king's murder. Later, the king and the queen appear again, participating in a ritual which seems to involve human sacrifice, a war and a triumphal procession, and then another betrayal and the king is murdered again.

The story repeats three times every night before shutting itself off. The first performance starts at twilight, and each repetition lasts about twenty minutes. Characters who watch it repeatedly will get the sense that it's slightly different each time, but the whole thing is complicated and confusing without any narration or dialogue to provide context, so characters will struggle to pin down how it's different. A slide projector is set up at the top of the amphitheater, with a pair of old speakers on either side of it. If slides are removed from the projector, they show only blank, uncolored plastic. If something is placed in front of the projector light, the scene is projected onto that object. The projector can be turned off, unplugged, or smashed. No matter what is done to it, as soon as no one is actively watching it, it is restored to an undamaged status and resumes playing.

After watching an entire repetition of the performance, some characters may be overcome by a fit of weeping. Tears roll down your cheeks and you can't seem to catch your breath. Despair clutches at your heart, colored by your own personal sorrows, and the weeping can only be stopped by receiving an embrace.

Others may find that the performance inspires them to reminisce. No matter how secretive you might normally be, you find yourself turning to whoever is sitting near you and telling them a story from your past, something that makes you nostalgic or regretful.

III. INTO THE FOG

CONTENT WARNING: Cruelty and violence against (monster) dogs

After the characters have been in Rhodos for about three weeks, a heavy fog rolls into town. Unlike the mist that surrounds the city, the fog smells of smoke. Visibility is reduced to a mere ten or fifteen feet.

The electricity goes out, and shops are no longer replenished. Food may still be scavenged, but the food in shops and restaurants will slowly rot and may run out. Battery operated items will continue to work as long as the batteries still have a charge. Running water inside the houses continues to work, but it is sluggish and smells stale, leaving an unpleasant film on the skin.

While out on the streets of the town, characters will begin to encounter the monster dogs of Rhodos. The sound of a dragging chain precedes them, and then the hazy outline of a dog comes into view. It's walking oddly, however, with a sort of staggering limp, and the sound of the chain is underlaid by a low, feral growl. Furless gray skin peels away in patches to reveal bloody muscle. The heavy iron collar around the neck is studded with long black screws, the ends of which pierce the skin of the neck. Hazy eyes are clouded with decomposition, and yet that doesn't seem to prevent the dog from making its way straight toward you.

The dogs are not very fast, nor very smart. They can be outpaced at a brisk walk, and they will lose track of any character who gets more than twenty feet away or behind a closed door. But they are vicious. If you get within a few feet, they will lunge at you and attempt to bite. If two or three of them manage to corner you in a blind alley, you could be in real trouble.

In addition to the dogs, characters will begin to catch glimpses of Manifestations, both their own or those of others. At first you might just catch a glimpse of them through a break in the fog, but after a day or two they can be spotted standing outside of apartment windows and staring in. In either case, they will not approach or attack characters unless you're foolish enough to get within six feet of them. Then, they will attack, and they will pursue at a fast walk until they lose track of you in the fog.

IV. WAKING UP TO A NIGHTMARE

CONTENT WARNING: Blood imagery

On the 28th, characters are awakened by the sound of their front doors being smashed in. It's your own smashing door that awakens you, but you can hear more distant sounds of destruction from the other apartments nearby.

As you scramble out of your bed, you find that the homey, quilted bedding has been soaked through with blood, and it's sagging in the middle with the outline of a human body. But before you have a chance to properly react to that horror, your Manifestation is coming through your bedroom door — more than one of them, if you were sharing that bed with anyone.

You will have to fight or dodge in order to get out of the room. Your Manifestation is out for your blood. You can do damage to it, creating deep wounds and heavy bruises, causing it to stagger and slow for a moment, but no matter how much damage you do it keeps coming for you. Sooner or later, you will need to run.

When you make it out into the streets, you'll find that the entire world has changed. Heavy darkness fills the city, and no stars are visible in the sky. A few lights glow despite the lack of electricity, but they only provide a sickly, red-tinted light. Streets are slick with something that looks like blood, and the stone walls in many places have been transformed into metal or grate. Through the grate, you can catch glimpses of black metal hooks and gory, dripping meat that looks human in origin.

There is no palatable food or water. Anything you have saved has rotted or changed unnaturally into what looks like rotting flesh or lumps of bile. Liquid has turned into blood or black water. The only mercy is that symptoms of hunger, thirst and fatigue stabilize after 24 hours and don't get any worse. Don't worry, it won't be the dehydration that kills you here.

Your Manifestation pursues you tirelessly, and the monster dogs are faster, smarter, and moving in packs. Your home is no longer safe, and staying on the streets is deadly.

V. THE BONFIRE

CONTENT WARNING: Body horror, immolation

Sooner or later, you find your way to the bonfire in the middle of the fountain square. There is no longer water in the fountain. Instead, the whole thing towers with flame, fueled by a viscous black substance in the basin.

A tall man stands by the fountain, gazing into the flames as if he is supervising. His suit is true black, fathomless black, while his skin is a dark red-black like the newly formed crust upon a lava flow. His eyes are black pools reflecting the flames. He takes no interest in any approaching characters, and will not respond to any questions. The only thing that will draw his attention to you is an attempted attack. If you try it, your blow lands, but he doesn't seem to take any damage. His head turns toward you and he considers you for a moment, as if he finds it intriguing that you would attempt such a thing. Then he returns his attention to the fire.

The dogs and the Manifestations will not pursue you into the circle of light cast by the bonfire. You can find a sort of respite here.

Time passes. It feels like days, though there is no way to mark the passage of time. The Dark Figure continues to supervise the bonfire.

At last, your attention is drawn to a sort of commotion approaching down one of the main streets that feeds into the plaza. You hear a rattling of metal, and a sort of gibbering moan. The bonfire illuminates first upon a pale, faceless figure which seems to writhe as it approaches, hovering above the paving stones. As it grows closer, you see that the figure is lashed to a square metal frame and bound with strips of barbed wire. Veiled figures on either side bear it forward, and the Dark Figure turns to watch it approach.

The figure upon the frame has no face and no mouth with which to make its agonized moans, but it continues nonetheless. It has limbs but no hands or feet, each limb ending in smooth stumps.

If no one interferes, the Handmaidens carry the frame forward and place it upon the fire.

The Handmaidens can be attacked, and hurt. They cry out indignantly at any attack, and recoil. They will not fight back, but they also will not be discouraged from their task by anything less than persistent violence.

If the pale figure on the frame is rescued by the player characters, it flails and gibbers helplessly, continuing to moan. If the pale figure is consigned to the flames, it begins to scream, and continues screaming for several minutes until the flame finally overcomes it.

In either situation, you begin to cough. Blood spills from your mouth, dribbling down your chin and spattering upon your clothing. But then the droplets begin to slither into letters, forming words that spell out your deepest guilt, in the words you yourself would use to describe it. No attempt to wipe the words away or cover them will prevent their legibility. The blood shines through whatever covers it, catching the firelight so that those around you can clearly read the words.

The Dark Figure and his Handmaidens made their exit while you were coughing. You are left alone with the other Tourists around you, your guilt, and whatever remains of the pale figure upon the frame.

SUMMARY

Arrival: August 1
Sound and Light: August 5-20
Into the Fog: August 21-27
Waking Up to a Nightmare: August 28-30
The Bonfire: August 31

Welcome to Rhodos! Going forward, events will take place in two parts. The Normal World part of the event posted on the 5th of each month, and it will be a lighter event both in terms of length and thematic content. TDMs will be bi-monthly and will feature an event element or elements for the Normal World which in-game characters may also play with on their own log posts. The sections on Fog and Nightmare worlds for the TDM will generally be the same every month, allowing players to test drive those elements if they'd like, but not including spoilers for the second part of that month's event. The second part of the event will be posted on the 20th of each month, covering events occurring through both the Fog and Nightmare cycles.

Test drive memes are considered game canon.

This won't always be the case, but for the nerds among you who are enjoying this sometimes-accurate tour of Rhodes, all location images in this TDM and housing are accurate to Rhodes.

Lastly, we are in need of mods! We're most in need of help for processing apps and activity. If we aren't able to get some additional mods, we will have to place a cap on applications, and we're hoping we won't have to do that. If you're interested, please send us a message over on the mod contact page. We've gotten the mod volunteers we needed so we should be all clear to proceed without an applications cap. Thank you to everyone who showed interest!

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(( of note:

asura is not a big fan of shirts, or shoes, or even really pants.
he wears anklets with bells on them so he jingles as he walks. like a naughty cat with a bell collar.
idk i felt like i needed a third bullet. he also has tentacles normally but everyone is spared until regains.
it's also not always tentacles, sometimes it's a tentacle that ends in a hand clutching a bigass sword. anyway.

here's the boy. ))

// arrival

[ as someone who has long walked the abyss, asura knows well the particular decay of a gray purgatory. this city, this land, sits not just empty but hollow. it's all foreign to him, the sights, the smells, the glittering lights. but he knows the absence of a beating heart, and that is where he stands now.

he stretches sore muscles in the silence, the heat, unbothered by these creature discomforts. sulfur no longer burns his lungs, the salt air cleansing the taste of rust and rot from his throat. there is an unfamiliar emptiness in him as well, echoing the hollow town. he reaches for his blades, the darkness, the madness, the rage.

for the first time since he was a small child, he does not feel them waiting, lurking in his core.

asura blinks, unable to comprehend this absence. he has never been without it, did not even dare to imagine life free of that blood curse. the closest he's felt was with taishakuten, his relief at the sobering clarity his friend brought him the purest joy he's ever known.

padding barefoot through the empty shops and equally empty streets, asura forgets his newfound humanity. he does not bother with food or clothes, barely gives thought to a place to sleep. ever since he lost his home, his place has been on the battlefield. for a time it had been at taishakuten's side as well, but that—

…was a lifetime ago.

he explores, mapping out the land until night sets in on this strange place. gazing up at the darkening skies, he decides that it is pointless to remain in the elements when so much of this place lies vacant, dormant, plenty of shelter to be had and none to turn him away. he finds something small, comfortable, out of the way. he decides on it quickly, not one for hesitation or indecision. it suits him, and therefore it is his.

the changes that come thereafter, however, bring him the first disquiet he's felt since arriving. asura isn't the type to notice details, far more bludgeon than scalpel, but the photographs command his immediate attention.

they do not have photographs where he is from, only portraits, and no portrait in any realm could ever capture taishakuten's sheer radiance. there is not a painter who has or will ever exist who could do justice to his friend. yet there he is, staring up at him from the table by the bed, watching over him from pictures hung along the walls. as though plucked straight from asura's mind, every last aching detail etched in perfect likeness. there are others, too, shuten douji and ibaraki douji, garuda—

his mother.

that sight nearly drops asura to his knees, but he bolts from the room instead. he stumbles into the street, into the night, staring down the lighted paths until he picks a random direction and finds another door.

he knocks, the entire doorframe shaking with the force of his pounding fist. ]

Hey! Anyone in there?

[ he has to know. is it just him? has the madness found him in new form? ]

// fog

[ when the fog rolls in, to asura it feels like coming home. the acrid bite of smoke in the air a familiar weight upon his lungs. the darkness and the rot come as old friends, not kind or encouraging or even particularly welcome yet undeniably signaling a place he cannot escape, a place he inevitably, invariably returns to.

when the corruption and decay are all that return, however, and with them none of asura's abilities or strength, he finds himself distantly unsettled. that being said, he refuses to dwell, never one to get caught up in his uncertainties or regrets. if he did, he'd never do anything else. asura adapts, keeps moving forward, sheds his failures in favor of a brighter future. however he may hate himself and the things he has and has not done, he is a simple man with a simple truth.

all he can ever do is use what he has now to carve out a better tomorrow. everything else is of no use to him or the world. everything else is a distraction.

so asura forges on.

the sound of dragging chains, too, is all too commonplace. it was not so long ago that the chains that were dragging were his. the dogs at the other end are new, but then again he imagines there's plenty of youkai and demons alike he has yet to meet. in that way, they are not so strange at all, and asura has absolutely no time for their shit even slightly. he doesn't run from them, making himself a sturdy polearm out of a metal rod (read: former mop handle) and using it to keep any nippy demon hounds at bay.

the state of the town is primarily a nuisance, and out of sheer boredom asura decides to start making rounds in case there are people who can't fend for themselves against the ugly dogs.

asura's arrival in the fog is heralded by the rhythmic, crisp chiming of bells that ring with each of his slow, purposeful steps, interspersed with the occasional low whistle. the whistle is sometimes followed by the deep rumble of his voice calling out into the mists— ]

Here, doggy, doggy… Come out, come out, wherever you are…

// nightmare

[ there isn't anything particularly novel about the dawn of the 28th, not that asura's keeping track of the days. like, who hasn't woken up to the sound of their door being kicked in? what kind of privileged, sheltered saint is going around never waking up in a puddle of blood and the heavy implication of a corpse nearby? certainly not asura. so although asura jolts awake at the sound, he's slow to peel himself out of the bed, more confused by the blood than any sort of alarmed.

that changes when gold light erupts from the shattered remains of his door.

asura's gaze snaps to the intruder and it—

there stands the shimmering silhouette of a man in flowing robes, but it is not a man. it has long, slender limbs and delicate frame, but where the head should be is a yawning lotus bloom, its petals rustling in some imaginary breeze. as asura turns his attention on it, the petals begin to move faster, unfurling from the center to reveal a blood red mouth lined with rows and rows of razor teeth. in the same moment, the creature's skin splits open in dozens of searching eyes all over its body. the mouth moves as though speaking, but the only sound it emits is a distant, disjointed laughter that seems to come from everywhere all at once rather than from the creature before him.

the thing staggers forward, jerking as though on puppet strings. asura glimpses them as he jumps back, the gold threads that lance through each of the creature's joints and pull it forward. it is a grotesque caricature of the man asura once considered his better half, and for that fact alone, asura seethes.

'your taishakuten is a grotesque caricature of himself all on his own, asura,' a voice taunts in the back of his mind, the syllables of his name drawn out in mockery.

snarling, asura freezes in indecision for but a moment, every instinct demanding that he stand and fight. all of the creatures eyes fix on him and the laughter continues to dance through the air all around him.

asura turns, tumbles out the window, and hits the ground running. he does not look back.

ahead of him, the world is madness, but at least he quickly recognizes it as a madness he well understands. the blood and gore are part and parcel of his daily life. he remembers that this is not so for most, especially here, so he scans the streets for trouble. behind him, the laughter begins to once more draw near.

he keeps running, chased by the piercing gaze of a thousand gold eyes searing into his back. ]

Edited 2022-08-12 02:45 (UTC)

[ What time is it? Too late for the lamps to still be lit, but well before the cock would crow dawn and she would rather be asleep when she hears the banging on the door.

Of course, she never slept well, and it was not this person's fault and - it was often enough something tossed her from bed, well and truly before this place.

Quickly for the frantic note of his voice, she reaches for a robe over her night shift, hastily wrapping her body up to be decent for whatever it was that was happening and was so important. Holding it tight to her body to keep herself as hidden as best she can for proprieties sake.

Opening the door to the person hounding on it, she blinks at him, her curls spilling wild out from underneath her sleeping cape where she shoved them up at night. In her haste to answer - forgotten to cover her throat as well and the ugly, wide scar that split up her throat in a wide slash. ]

Sir? Are you well?

Edited 2022-08-12 12:07 (UTC)

[ asura has not had a passing relationship with 'well' in this life and it's difficult to imagine he fared any better in the last. though he sees the scar drawn jagged across her throat as he pushes past her, he does not give it any particular notice. what are scars but a fact of life? but a record of the price one has paid to stand where they are today? he has no reason to read her ledger so he surges on.

all but breaking into her space, he snatches up the first framed photo he sees and squints at the contents— a man. asura's eyes scan the walls and he sees the woman who answered the door staring back at him as well.

whirling around, asura thrusts the frame in his hands at the stranger, eyes wild. ]

Who is this?! [ he demands, muscles pulled so taut that even his broad frame trembles.

it seems the madness is never far from him after all. ]

[He whirls past her like a typhoon. The sheer presence of him loud even when he was just walking.

But he stops on the picture she wishes he wouldn't. Snatching it up. She has tried to destroy it. She had broken it. Thrown it out the window. Cut her fingers up trying to smash it to bits.

Gilia flinched when he thrusts it at her, demanding to know who it is. If he was not so clearly wearing the pain of his soul outside of himself she might be angry he was demanding and digging into such painful things.

But there is clearly something else going on. So she shuts her eyes and finds anything else to look at. Just above his head, for instance and let's out a breath to answer him levely. ]

My elder brother. [ desperate to not speak of him she points at another portrait. A larger one showing three adults - parents it seems - and the six children around them where a younger version of her and said brother mingle between them. All in regal splender, powerful and austere and not a smile between them. ] There is all my family, if you must see it so.

[ it is not a happy memory. asura recognizes it in her face, in how she draws back, in the dark reflection of his own regrets there in the depths of her eyes. he pulls in a slow, strained breath into constricted lungs, swallowing against sandpaper in his throat. his line of sight does drift to the indicated photo, a somber family standing as though at their own funeral, with airs about them like the self-important deca. it is not a happy family.

this woman certainly appears like a product of that. he drops the photo in his hands face-down where he found it. ]

You didn't bring these. [ it's not a question, just a grim confirmation. she also seems upset they are even here. it's not in his head.

weariness sweeps over him all at once and he sits—on her bed—and buries his face in his hands. he can't think. taishakuten did all the thinking. he doesn't know where he's going, barely knows where he's been. ]

Asura, [ he rasps out, a little late for introductions at this point but better late than never. ]

I'm Asura.

I did not. Nor do I know how they are made. Not even a court painter could capture all of us so well. [ Her lips purse together a pinched line, the old ache in her chest, her arms tighten around herself reflexively as if to keep something in. The blasted part of her mother could never make stop and yet bled and bled and bled to care and care so utterly much. It is a curse, she is sure. Caring for every person that crosses her path. But it was what it was and she never knew how to stop it.

She does not know about light switches, apparently. Instead, she goes to the little kitchen and fetches out another candle, and lights it from the one lamp she had kept burning low in the night in the absence of a hearth. Brightening the room as she carried it back to set it down on the candleholder on the bedside table illuminating them both in the wash of golden light. Where he had just made himself comfortable. Fearsome, she had no doubt. But sitting on the edge of her bed? He looked more forlorn, like a great bird driven to the ground from a storm, and it made her heart ache. He should not be so.

Oh, stop it, stop it now. Hadn't she learned her lessons?

Apparently not. ]

I am Gilia. [ The titles, do not matter right now. He is Asura. She is Gilia, and she will offer what she can to help. Slowly, she comes close, and gently lays one of her hands over the back of his as he hid himself away. I am here, is all it is, and it asks no more. ] You saw something did not want to. [ That much is clear, for him to go tearing through the night and bother any random stranger to dig into their family portraits. ] Do you wish to tell me of it?

[ at the statement of gilia's bafflement at the impossible images far more precise than any stroke of any brush, asura nods in agreement and understanding. he hunches over himself, listening to her pad through the small dwelling. his skin prickles with paranoia is is long-accustomed to, the order of the world he was born into one where the strong relentlessly and apologetically stomps out the weak. those in power ebb and flow, shift from one set of tyrants to another, but the core principles remain the same.

this woman is a stranger, and he does not underestimate opponents for their appearance. was amaterasu not a woman? and so asura does not discount gilia as an enemy, but—with some confusion—he finds he does not care. he is tired. this is not his world. his room is covered in pictures of a man he has not seen in an age. he has searched the skies here a thousand times over and he cannot find the celestial realm, cannot feel taishakuten's cold, merciless divinity.

what does it matter now? what does anything matter now?

the woman leaves and she returns, bearing fire. the light seeps in between his fingers, and he is about to lower his hands when her touch presses over his fingers. asura can't remember the last time a hand reached out to him in anything but violence. it would've been taishakuten, but he can't remember the day leading up to their fight. he can't recall if taishakuten helped him up from bed that morning, can't remember if he laid a hand on asura's shoulder to calm him. all those reflexive, everyday touches escape his memory because he did not know then that they were coming to an end.

drawing in a sharp breath, he brings his hands down again but slowly, giving her the space to pull her hand back while trying not to jostle it away himself. he would not want to rebuke her, but he is so unused to being careful with his touch. it is a clumsy effort, but he manages, and his hands come to a rest somewhere above his knees.

she is kind, he notes. patient with a rude, possibly violent stranger, a lower class brute with no manners and even less modesty. asura knows who and what he is, and he is unused to this kind of grace. she has a level head on her shoulders as well, her emotions anchored, each movement and word purposeful. a rare good fortune, to have come to her door and not another. ]

Gilia, [ he repeats, nodding. he sits up a little straighter, watching her in the dancing candlelight, studying her delicate, foreign features.

the observation catches him off-guard but does not manage to surprise him. he has assessed her as someone clever enough to be dangerous should she choose. asura does not understand the distinction between emotional and intellectual intelligence as he has neither, he is only certain that she possesses what he does not.

the question that follows, well. asura blinks, a pinched expression coming over his face as his brow furrows. does he want to tell her...? about taishakuten? strange that she does not simply ask, as who would not want to know what would drive a man to force his way into their home? but she asks if he wants to tell her, and—

he has not even begun to consider that. it's not a question he would have ever asked himself, whether or not he wants to talk about what happened with taishakuten. he never needed to. the whispered rumors dogged his every step. he doesn't... not want to, here in this quiet place with its gentle firelight and even gentler host. but then comes the second issue.

every time asura needs it most, his words fail him. he is no great orator. he is a weapon and taishakuten the scholar.

he stares at gilia, lost, for far too long, then clears his throat. ]

I had a friend, [ he explains poorly, with a helpless shrug of his broad shoulders. ]

asura // onmyoji

arrival

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fog

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fog—

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arrival;

screaming

'lo

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nightmare