inquired | pc catchall | becomehero

[ i had to wait for our mingle thread to get a lil further but i'm here now!!! anyway tama are you still vibing with your cleric pillow. did you take a little nap. what's happening. worst starter of 2023 award goes to me ]

[ t-poses through his entire house ]

Did you get your shoulder looked at?

[ hi temenos, how's the mental state after having to kill our angel? ]

[ get in loser, we're going boating. or observing the boats at the very least. ]

Ooh, these are like the ones in the park back home...

[ mornin' temenos. tama is over by the swan boats, watching a few of them as they bob along the surface of the lake. wow. amazing. ]

[ jesus christ what a trial. ]

Uggggggggh.

[ we're here... outside of the purikura booth....

well, temenos is kind off of to the side a bit. it looks like he's observing whatever the fuck is going on with this thing. technology is incredible.

please recruit him posthaste ]

[ hello holy man, are you happy your boyfriend came back safely.

luckily he doesn’t have to worry too much about tama, who seems pretty much fine — she’s changed out of her singed clothing, and aside from the superficial scuff injuries and such, hasn’t managed to injure herself more. ]

Hey.

[ wow she hates it here.

this is in the void. the despair void. ]

[ it sure is monday. it's a kind of garbage monday but sometimes you're real good at :)-ing so it's fine

anyway temenos is here, looking at the teas in the herb store, absently browsing through a couple varietys of chamomile. what are you up to tamamama ]

[ bites you

hello.

did he get sundae'd??? ]

[ what's up holy man?

tama is here, with a coffee in a take out cup, a cosy sweater on and a thousand yard stare that might just be infinite. what a fucking week. ]

[ happy memshare week. temenos is sitting outside the cafe today, back in his priest clothes. he is about to be attacked by his own memories. hi tama! ]

[ you and your party ascend the hill that leads to the chapel of flamechurch that you've attended all of your life, to the chapel where you once stared starry eyed and attentive up at the pontiff when he gave his sermons. it is the chapel where you gave sermons yourself, where you wrote and drew paper plays, where the people of flamechurch gave confessional to you, to roi, to the pontiff. where a fellow cleric sighed when you forgot your lines.

that fellow cleric stands before you now, but 'fellow' has lost all meaning of the word.

you grip your staff, when she starts to laugh, when she explains her identity to you. not mindt, the kind if naggy sister of the sacred flame. no - arcanette. founder of the moonshade order. bringer of the endless night that has gripped the entirety of solistia.

the one who orchestrated it all, right there, right under your nose. the one who -

"Since arriving here, I've felt forces mobilizing against the Church. I know your position as the inquisitor keeps you plenty busy. But, I beg you to aid me, Temenos. I know I can trust you. Just as I trusted Roi."

some of pontiff's last words to you were the kind that struck deep. he always knew how to get to you; the only authority figure in your life you ever knew was trustworthy. he was a bastion of goodness. a father, for a foundling.

and you found his corpse mauled on the floor of the cathedral, just minutes too late. ]

[ ... you speak, finally, voice even, as the realizations click into place. ] The Pontiff knew who you were. He was going to tell me, but his life was cut short.

[ mindt - arcanette - sighs. "I had hoped you would be more stricken. How dull. Such has ever been your nature. Your face always a placid mask."

she's right. your face doesn't change. you won't allow her the satisfaction, if you can help it, but by the gods, you can feel something churning like a shadow in and of itself, the tidal wave of emotions that you have gotten so, so good at hiding. anger. despair. guilt. how did you miss it? how didn't you see?

she pulls out a staff. black, with an ominous red crystal. your heart lurches. you've seen a weapon just like it before.

roi looks at you, with his expression haunted, clutching the black and red bow in his hands. you've never seen him look so despairing, so worried, so - determined, too.

"The Church has secrets. Terrible, evil secrets." he says, to you, your guiding light, your closest, dearest friend, the man who was raised beside you, your older brother. he departs to find a way to destroy the darkblood bow - because they tried. over and over, he tried to destroy this dark, evil object, and no matter what they did, it wouldn't break. but this bow had to be destroyed, and roi mistral was a hero. he walked out that day with the bow in his hands and the brilliance of his goodness his guide, and he never looked back.

arcanette tells of her plan. to bring darkness to the world eternally - one that has been in motion - and you feel the anger rising in you again. you think of the journals all of you read, huddled together in the darkness of the temples of the sacred flame, and say, slowly, white knuckling the staff of judgement, calm, so calm. ] You stole the futures of untold innocents.

[ arcanette smiles. "Did I? Then you should thank me. This world is cruel. Monstrous. With not a single mote of joy to be found amongst the misery. Don't you see?"

crick, beseeching, eyes bright blue and passionate, a man on the precipice of his beliefs and his doubts: "I want to extend a hand to the weak, and cleave the wickedness from the world."

arcanette continues, sounding out the syllables, slow and sumptuous, watching you like a hawk. "Roi."

roi. the most upstanding man you've ever known: honest, sincere, loving, the very embodiment of what the sacred flame asks. protecting you, when you were both grubby, miserable orphans on the street. camped together over books in the tiny guild library in montwise when you were twelve. scribbling notes in the scriptures at fifteen. roi, with the inquisitor's mantle, smiling at you and your doubt, a true believer to his core. roi, sick with the plague, and you, praying at his bedside from morning to night, hands clasped together and sobbing, begging the gods to save his life. your brother.

disappeared into the night. five years have passed. you know that he's dead.

"Pontiff Jorg."

the pontiff. a wise old man - you knew him when he still had color in his hair. when you were left behind, unwanted, uncared for, he took you under his wing. he raised you and roi in the heart of the church. he gave you a home. he gave you a family. he gave you his trust. he stroked your hair when you cried - you were such a crybaby, then - and taught you lessons, kept your bellies full and your minds sharp. the pontiff raised you so well. a man you could call your father.

a still-warm body on a cathedral floor, mauled by the claws of a felvarg.

"Yes..." arcanette sighs, trailing off, "And even Crick."

crick wellsley. a knight, newly anointed, of the sacred guard. a lost little lamb who you took under your wing entirely by accident, who you came to enjoy bantering with, who looked to you for guidance even though you know you irritated him so. (you did it on purpose.) he flustered and sulked and still fought for you with all of the same sincerity that roi had. he swore to be your godsblade, though you needed no protecting. and when you called him naive, he scoffed, but he listened. a bastion of goodness, a heart as pure and noble as roi had seen in him all those years ago. a thread between you you hadn't even known. a man who sought the truth the way you did, because you taught him to doubt.

a mangled body outside of the headquarters of the sacred guard, clutching a bloody sheet of paper in his hands.

"They knew. They knew the beauty of a dawn that would never come." arcanette says, light, intoned with the continuation of her speech, and you

have had enough. ]

Quiet.

[ it's the fiercest word that's come out of your mouth in as long as you've lived. cold fury bursts free from your chest, and this time, you let it loose, each word heavy as a stone. ] I won't allow you to sully their names with such blasphemy.

[ every manner of cynicism and darkness you've held onto is gone. because she's wrong. the insinuation of the pontiff, of roi, of crick, of any of them fading from the light that they've brought is so violently wrong it cracks the porcelain of your perfectly maintained composure in half. the staff of judgement is in your hands - you grip it with white knuckles, with holy fury, and despite the evenness of your voice, you swing it into a ready position and step forward. ]

You will answer for your sins, Arcanette. [ for the deaths of the untold innocents. for the very names she dared to speak, dared to sully, dared to try and use as a weight to taunt you, to throw away.

you have always been the doubter. you looked at roi and crick's rose colored world and scoffed at it, but today? today you face down the endless night, and you know you owe it to them.

you were the one who survived. ]

And I'll ensure that the world they hoped for comes to pass.

[ whether you deserve it or not, you were the one who survived.

arcanette starts to laugh. it's unhinged, delighted, and she nearly cooes - "At last, Temenos's mask falls off."

you no longer care what she sees. what she thinks. the holy magic under your fingers surges.

you are not roi mistral, or crick wellsley, or pontiff jorg.but you are the chosen cleric of aelfric. you are the last survivor of the cold cruelty of the reality you touted as truth.

you are temenos mistral, and today, you will smite down the wrath of the gods on arcanette, for all those you've loved and all those that you've lost. ]

Edited 2023-10-16 16:50 (UTC)

[ :amen:

of course they're at the church. tama has wandered in and is just looking around like :hoh:

she's never actually been into a church like this before, which is apparent from all the head craning she's doing. ]

[

]

[ happy halloweek!

on this monday, temenos is here having been instructed to meet tama by the purikura. he's in his usual clothes, but there is a pair of fluffy ears sticking out of the top of his white hair.

he gives a little wave when tama approaches, and the ears flick. ]

Tama.

[ Man.

temenos is here outside of the courthouse, sitting with his notebook in his lap. his eyes are doing that weird bright blue sacred flame thing but he looks less furry than he has most of the week so there's that.

when he spots tama, he gives her a small smile in greeting. tired. ]

[ we're in the void

temenos is keeping a safe ten foot distance because he's leaving room for fantasy jesus (hiding his emotions) ]

They were awfully cute as penguins, weren't they? [ hi ]

[ tamaaa ]

So. Keeping a body, are we?

week 0, monday

w0, sunday post execution

w1, monday

w1, saturday

w2, monday

w2, thursday

w2, saturday

w3, monday