middleofsomewhere | Event: 12 of Beetroot

Event: 12 of Beetroot

It's been a couple of weeks since they had evacuated Osiga. In that time, many of voidtreckers were busy with a project to try and solve some of the many mysteries that surround the train they travel on. By the eight day of Rabbit they've exhausted all avenues, and whilst they have learned quite a bit, there are still some clear gaps.

Just as that investigation comes to a natural end, passengers are woken up by an announcement.

"Attention voidtreckers and passengers of the voidtrecker express. We are travelling to system #2554098133741. I have sent word to the ministry who have arranged recuperation packs for you. You have had a difficult mission and you deserve a rest.

But it is not just for rest. Last time we visited the system voidtreckers shared memories. Though it is understood that many of you did not enjoy the experience it is notable that certain voidtreckers saw memories of this voidcraft. They were memories that this craft had not accessed. It led to more pathways opening up in the operation of this craft.

I have done some research on the system and I believe we can trigger the caves of memory. This voidcraft understands this might be difficult for the voidtreckers and passengers of the voidtrecker express and it is hoped that only those of you who consent to this experiment will take part.

Regardless this should be a time for relaxation also and the dressing room is open for your convenience. We will arrive in the morning.

The dressing carriage is indeed opened for those who go and look. It's filled with swimming costumes, beach ware, summery clothes and sun hats. There's even a cupboard of buckets, spades, rock pooling gear and picnic blankets.

There are also team coloured tents for those who want to go and sleep under the stars for a night or two, though the train is remaining on the island for those for who camping is their idea of hell.

12 OF BEETROOT

RABBIT 9-12 ~ MEMORY CAVES: BONDING ~ MEMORY MAZE: SEARCH FOR THE TRAIN'S MEMORIES
ASK QUESTIONS ~ LOCATION INFORMATION ~ MEMORY CAVES ~ MEMORY MASTER POST

JEMA'GRETHY ISLAND: RELAXATION

The next day the train announces their arrival and they burst out of the void. For those near a window their first view of the island will be of crystal blue sea and white sand. It really does look like a paradise. The train circles down before landing on a grassy ridge, overlooking a beautiful beach of white sand and the ocean beyond. It is warm, but not too hot, a cool ocean breeze cutting through the heat making it pleasant. Behind them is a grassy plain, changing to forest in the distance. There is the sound of birdsong in the purple sky. To the west the land is more craggy, the silhouette of a fortress in the distance.

In a word, it is idyllic. A sense of peace permeates the island.

The place has no people, but it is clearly maintained. The eastern beaches have racks of shallow boats, both canoes and one- or two-person sailing dinghies. There is also a small building in which scuba gear is stored, along with several waterproofed manuals and instructional literature.

There are no living quarters, but there are sheltered sections with basic toilet facilities marked as camping grounds in five different sections of the island - by the hot springs, within the ruined fortress, beside the harbour, on the eastern beaches, and on the northern face of the mountain.

The recuperation packs are found at the closest toilet facilities to where the train lands. They are simple things, small gift baskets with a couple of fragrant soaps, fancier hair products and skin cream infused with herbs to encourage rest and sleep.

There are some sweet fruit biscuits and a cheesy bread. The packs aren't named but there are some suitable for the younger passengers with tiny plush and colouring books. Quite a few designed for teens with a more engaging activity book and components for making a fancy mocktail with a cute stirrer. Adult packs have a small bottle of alcohol- there's a mixture between the packs and what looks like a stone. When placed next to the skin it will either warm up or cool down depending on what is needed.

Exploring, the passengers will find beautiful beaches, ragged cliffs to walk and caves to explore. Where it is more craggy the beaches are made of pebbles, perfect for rock pooling.

A little more worrying is the volcano-like structure in the north. But even a quick glance will show it is not a typical volcano. There is no smoke and the liquid slowly running down it in rivulets is pink and blue.

Ruins of ancient houses are scattered across the island, but the main settlement is built into a rocky section in the north-west that has been secured with ropes and stairways cut into the cliffs, perfect for scrambles and hikes.

To the west are the hot springs. They have both outdoor and indoor areas; the indoor areas being wooden loghouse saunas, changing rooms and storage sheds, whilst the outdoor areas are a tiered series of pools spilling down the side of the mountain and shaded by brightly flowering trees. The waters are hot, mineral-rich and soothing.

MEMORY CAVES: BONDING

Shortly before arriving they will receive some information on their SCA. It will explain how those who once lived on this island went about making life bonds. Both people would bathe in the hot springs and then dress simply, barefoot and walk to one of seven rocks on the island. Their maps will pin point these, which is good because there's no real indication of what makes these rocks different to any other on the island.

Here they must offer their wish to know the other deeper and share food and drink. They can then go about their day. Sometime in the hours after they will receive their first memory, seen through their partners eyes.

However it seems that in envoking the ritual they have woken something on the island. Even those who did not take part or chose to bond to someone find themselves seeing a glimpse of another life.

On the second day they see another memory, through the eyes of their pair. When they come out of it they find themselves in a cave with their partner, chosen or not. The same happens on the third day, except for this final memory both pairs see both memories, watching from the sidelines as it plays out. They find themselves in the cave once more and this time, for many there is only one exit, to leave through together.

Please go here to play out the bonding process!

MEMORY MAZE: TRAIN'S MEMORIES

On the third day the train sends another message to their SCA.

"Activating the caves that share memories has been successful. I know this is a lot to ask of the voidtreckers, but any who wish to assist in discovering what it is that I have forgotten, the path is open now.

Those who wish to may go to the sacred rocks. Please be warned, I do not know how voidtreckers will fare. Please only go of your own free will."

Their SCA's once again show the rocks on their maps and when they get there, this time they are faintly glowing. It doesn't take much. One touch and their minds are drawn away from their bodies, into a labyrinth of caves. For anyone who comes across these people on the island, they look like they are in a deep trance, breathing, safe but far away in their mind.

The labyrinth is made of cool, dark rock. The walls have a glow coming from crystals in-bedded in them, allowing everyone to see as they move through.

At first there's no more to this labyrinth, or so it seems. But then they turn a corner, and they are no longer in cavern as it just was. They may be in their childhood bedroom, or in the middle of a battle they once fought. Perhaps they are not in their own memory, but someone else's. Scenes move rapidly and often merge, one persons into another, mixing to make strange scenes.

These visions don't attempt to ensnare them like some illusions, and those with protection from illusions and such techniques, will be able to find their way forward through the cave, and away from this triggered scenario.

Time barely has meaning. Indeed, when they finally emerge from the caves only a few minutes will have passed. But in that time they will have seen much, and eventually they may stumble across a fragment of memory that belongs not to a voidtrecker, but to the Voidtrecker Express itself.

OOC NOTES

OOC Post ~ Questions
~ You can either write memories in your tags or if they are longer/require a lot of content warnings you might want to write them in this post and link to them. Just start a top level with your character name to keep things organised!

~ For those taking part in the memory share bonding the cave post is here. Characters arrive in the cave after the second and third memory but it is obviously up to you if you play out the conversations after each or both! For those who do decide that their characters will bond- the cave after the third memory will only have one exit for them to leave together.

~ For those who signed up for train memories you will receive the snippet that your character sees- use these in tags as you will. There will be a conclusion post on the 24th which will put all of those memories together!

Art Credits: Header: Tropical Jewel by Steven Power, Thumbnail image 3.

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It does not, which is why Pahja does not leave him to it. Instead she simply stands by his side in silence until he speaks again. It is a weird, terrible thing to bear witness to his sorrow at an event she understands completely now. How she felled the despair that destroyed all that he loved, to stand triumphant in the moment that carved out his path of death, of suffering, of sorrow.

"I do," she admits after a moment, eyes casting around them at the red, red sky, the burning buildings, the screams of terror as their own fear creates more horrors upon horrors. A pause, and then -- "I understand," another longer pause, as she boldly attempts to intertwine their fingers. To anchor him, to remind him that this is but a memory. "I understand why you summoned Zodiark."

She does not agree. She could never agree, but she understands.

Edited 2022-05-30 17:21 (UTC)

The fact of the matter remains that he does not want her understanding. He has never asked for her empathy, for her kindness, and yet she offers it still - despite his path being the kind the wish for her death, despite the many, many people who have died because of his choices, the stain of red on his own fingertips. She offers gentleness because it is in her nature to do so, and perhaps that is another burden he must carry.

Somehow, he has forged a place in this Warrior's heart: he has somehow become important to her, as Azem had once been to him - as this world had always been. He sees the glow of her soul, the truest echo of it, and he knows her for what she is and what she once was. She has been someone dear to him in a life long gone and now claims the same in another.

He does not stop her from claiming his fingertips in her own, just tilts his head back to look upon the sky, shoulders tight and expression twisted.

"Salvation," he says, voice low. "It was the impossible choice, but it was the one that was made. Half our number lost in an instant, and those dearest to me torn from my grasp. How could I not wish to undo this?"

He does not stop her and so emboldens her further -- a touch tighter, no matter how red his hands might be. Once she might have been confused on her feelings towards him, if the pull she felt and the fondness in her chest was only the result of her soul. But that was then, now she knows that she is simply in agreement with Azem: Emet is dear to them both.

That raises another question, but one that she doesn't wish to ask in this moment.

Instead she breathes out, soft, heavy. Both at once. "I cannot say that I would not want to do otherwise in your place." Elidibus was a hero once, like she. A warrior who wished only to protect his friends, his family, his brothers and sisters. And she felled him, too. "To know that mourning the lost did not have to be the end, to know that my grief would only be temporary until I could have them back--"

Who among them could say that it was not tempting?

Emet-Selch is unaccustomed to comfort, surviving alone for enough years that he does not know how best to accept it now, a millennia in the making but so different to what he knows. Were he better able he might feel best suited in returning the gentle touch to his hand, to letting his fingers squeeze her own, but he is not.

He cannot do anything but stare at the world unfolding around them, grief a frog in his throat, leaving him feeling chained and shattered. This is all that he had known and remembered for centuries, and to see it again... He is not sure how he ought to cope. He does not know how to manage, his pain laid bare for her to see.

It's when she speaks that he looks down at her, voice tight, tinted with his anger but also his hurt, his eyes barely able to look at hers.

"I do not need your pity," he says, and it's clear that he is too hurt to rationalise how her empathy has made manifest, that she is trying, in her own way, to offer clemency. "I know the choices I made. I would have turned your world upon itself to bring back my own. To undo this."

Is that what he thinks she is offering? Pahja would snort if she wasn't sure he would take it even more poorly than her comfort. Instead she nudges him with her shoulder; how insufferable of a man he can be. Still, it's true that his sorrow will not ebb, especially not when faced with this... the constant reminder and view of what he lost.

So Pahja concentrates, pushes memories to the forefront, and slowly a forest appears amongst the ashes and ruins, the screams of terror fading slightly into birdsong. It isn't much, Pahja thinks, but it might be enough.

"I do not pity you, Emet-Selch," she response, still resolute in the face of his scorn. She will weather it, like she does all things -- including him. "If anything, what I wish for you most of all is to heal." Her eyes catch his golden ones, holding him there. "And -- before you dismiss the thought -- it does not mean forgetting."

Did the Ancients ever have to worry about healing? She knows Hermes' anguish was only compounded by the fact that no one seemed to know how to acknowledge grief, or suffering. What cause was there for that in a society where you could offer yourself up to death willingly? Still--

"Perhaps you are here, on the train, to learn how to mourn in order to heal." It wouldn't matter in the Lifestream, but perhaps-- perhaps it will when they are all bound to be reborn, together.

Pity would be far easier for him to bear than her kindness and her sympathy. He knows that she had seen those that had been taken from him, had met his dearest friends and had known them briefly, but it is not the same as knowing them. Even being aware of who her dearest Crystal Mother had been - knowing the pure warmth of Venat as a friend and college - does not mean she can mourn in the same way. Pity would be kinder, in the long run.

As the fire disappears, fades into the background, some of the tension fades him and, briefly, it is as though he can breathe again, as if the ash itself had somehow found a home in his lungs.

"A strange request from the one who killed me," he says, voice low, but there is no venom in it. It had been either him or her, in the end, to die, and fate had chosen her survival. He cannot truly fault her for it, even if he continues to bear the scarring of it upon his mortal flesh.

Emet-Selch had carried the grief of a civilisation upon his shoulders for eons now. He had seen Hythlodaeus' sadness, had seen the hurt and anger burn through Venat, had borne witness to what had become of Hermes - what had happened to all his fellow Unsundered, in the end. To imagine the time before this, when they had been nothing more than happy... Perhaps that is the true pain of being the one left behind.

Looking down at her again, he scoffs quietly.

"I am here because the train saw fit to drag me out of the Lifestream to use me for its whims. Do not credit it overly."

She can't help but laugh then, a soft, quiet thing as the trees spread further -- soft earth, warm sunlight. Home, Pahja knows, in the Shroud. "And yet somehow we keep running into each other. Death, it seems, will not see us parted." And how many people can claim such? "Fate must be conspiring against you."

That is said in jest, without cruelty. She knows he wishes to rest and yet nothing will give him the time. Still, she squeezes his hand and gives him a slight tug to follow her. If this her memories then it stands to reason she'll find herself around here somewhere.

"And what are its whims, exactly? I daresay no one has seemed to figure them out. So it could be true for all anyone knows." She's just saying, Emet, don't discount it.

The laugh is, at least, soothing enough that Emet-Selch does not feel the need to throw her hand away from his own and scold her for her attempts to take care of him. Not just yet, at least, and that will simply have to do for now.

"Death, or the wishes you make upon the soulstone gifted to you? I would not dare to suggest it is some outside force keeping you near me, considering how well you have used it in the past." It is no conspiracy to think that she might have accidentally brought him here with her, given her inclination for using his power in the past.

His bitterness might always be present, but at least he has somewhat begun to accept his lot. Somewhat.

"To make us fight for the people of other realms and worlds, of course. You must be so well accustomed to that by now that it surely did not register."

That is possible, Pahja supposes, and she inclines her head towards him in recognition of it. She could have, she supposes, since he is the only one from her... version of her world here. It's oddly specific, but at the same time: she won't question it. Her luck has both been abysmal and surprisingly blessed in the past -- this is simply one of the better turns.

As for what they do here? "Yes, it seems that even in my retirement I cannot escape it." Not that she minds, for she knows she'll be bored without anyone needing her expertise inside a year. "Not that I intend on ignoring that rather lengthy list you left me," another grin, "but sitting around and taking my breath after saving the entire known universe is warranted, I think."

The forest thins a bit, and she gestures him onwards. "Come, I think you should find me somewhere around here -- most likely telling off one of my cousins for doing something rather pathetic. He is a catboy, so I suppose it can't be helped."

"Warranted, yes, I am certain of that. The Warrior of Light has paid their due time and time again. I have seen it, through eyes unable to close in the midst of all your adventuring." It is something that Azem would have yearned for, something that they would have wished for with their entire being. If they had been able to choose who kept their essence, their soul...

It is good to see the world shape itself, to turn away from the darkness and the pain and the ache to leave him less bitter and broken and feeling more at ease. When the pain is not his own it is far easier to shoulder, and it means he feels less embittered requiring her strength in order to survive.

It doesn't make him nice, though.

"Are all of your ilk such?"

She lets him set the matter at hand aside -- it does not need dealing with now, the images fresh in both their minds. There are questions she has, certainly, but poking at the fresh, reopened wounds would likely make him bite back at her rather than give her the answers she seeks.

At his jab, however, Pahja makes a face. "Hey!" How rude, Emet! "I'll have you know that I was the least pathetic, thank you very much." So there! But she laughs, shaking her head. "No, this one is just... like that. I would say it's a product of having as many sisters as he did, but he only had one." So clearly this poor catboy just got the bad end of the personality stick. It happens.

Emet-Selch would not speak with her on it even if he had not been given a choice to see anything else - he cannot bear to put to voice the things that he saw, the hurt he still feels deep in his chest. He feels agonised with it, and the utter relief that takes him when the world changes shape is enough for him.

It has to be enough for him now.

Glancing down at her, he raises an eyebrow.

"A high claim indeed, to be the least worst," he crosses his arms, trying to fall back into the mantle that he knows best, of sarcastic dismissal. "So he was simply an ass. It can be said."

It's strange, knowing that they faced the same end. Harder still for him to deal with the fact that he failed where she succeeded; that would chafe even her good spirits if she were faced with it. But she laughs at his short assessment, dragging him further in.

"Well, you could say that." Or you could say that she was the ass, but that was a minor detail. "Oh-- I see someone!" Pahja points, happily, at a woman with black hair, blue skin more blue than Pahja's grey. "That looks like one of my aunts. It's a shame I can't take you back home for real--" Not that she thinks Emet would enjoy it completely, but he would be harassed by a bunch of her female relatives, and that would be good to see.

It is only the knowledge of finding peace and some measure of comfort that makes the pain of losing more realistic for him to bear. Emet-Selch is a proud and righteous creature, more akin to an emperor than he would ever care to admit, but he has survived. It has been bitter, and sour, but he has mustered himself.

Either way, Pahja’s family is distraction enough.

“‘Tis truly a shame I did not find myself in the midst of such chaos,” he agrees, with as much sarcasm and dry amusement as he can muster. “I am sure they would welcome me, as I was, with open arms. No, I fear I would be an unwelcome guest amongst your kind.”

Would he have been? Pahja doesn't stop moving even as she thinks about the idea, before shaking her head, a grin flitting over her features. "We think of all men as more trouble than they're worth, so you would fit right in with that assumption." She's just saying. "No doubt you would have complained the entire time, which would never have changed anyone's assumption about your ilk at all."

That he is resorting to sarcasm is a good sign, in Pahja's mind, and she leads him into the clearing that she knows is the center of her family unit's living arrangements at this time. They're wanderers by nature too, and a glance at the dwellings they live in indicate as such -- easy to pack up and take with. Pahja keeps her eyes peeled, and then points at a gaggle of Miqo'te kittens. "There, the one with the long hair! That's me."

And so it is, full of freckles and wide, purple eyes. The younger Pahja is currently chatting with another child, this one brown skinned but with the same shade of white hair. Who looks like he's on the verge of crying.

Oops.

"I think I'm telling him not to apologize after everything, he normally started crying after that."

As disagreeable as Emet-Selch might be, even he cannot help but be relieved by seeing something other than his own downfall played out in front of him. There’s something almost pleasant about instead baring witness to Pahja and her kind - a world and a life that he was never able to be a part of.

He was not a family man, not really, and the loss of his son has been enough to dismantle that desire.

Looking over at the kittens makes his eyebrow raise.

“And so you have always been a menace. True to form.”

Pahja laughs, but doesn't deny it. "No, I suppose not. But never without good cause!" And that includes you, Emet. Pahja bumps her head against his shoulder in a fond gesture, huffing in amusement as she picks her way through the village.

"I have it on good authority you like menaces. Or should I refresh your memory, oh eminent Emet-Selch?" She teases, grinning. Pleading with him just to rile him up shouldn't be as fun a prospect as it is, but she's a simple woman with simple needs and desires.

"What you imagine to be a good cause does not, I doubt, match what others might imagine to be the case." Glancing down at her, he raises an eyebrow as she leans against his side and finds himself unable to mind too terribly. She is warm and settled beside him, and the urge to reach out and touch her is almost overwhelming.

But he stops. He does not allow himself, not just yet.

Scoffing, he crosses his arms and looks away.

"I do not need your assurances on my own tastes. I have lived a thousand lifetimes and know them well enough." The haunting voice of his fellows echoes around him and that has to be enough for him, even as something of a smile settles on his features.

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Event: 12 of Beetroot

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