serthica: war & peace

[groundrules]

Clockwork Serthica’s arrival event stretches til around 3 September. You’re welcome to hit up this log or make your own entries. Characters not assigned to a region can still access it, as long as they’re discreet.

Please share cool plot clues via network — and have fun!

WAR & PEACE

---

SUMMARY: The Merchant assigns the group to determine if the dead lurk within Serthica’s adversarial halves. Eidris and Minaras hold a summit to normalise trade within Serthica’s elusive Neutral Zone — while a resistance movements attempts to capture Minaras lead figure Arabella. In Eidris, locals must calm a maddened dragon and her cohort and retrieve her hatching eggs. Minaras hosts its eerie civic indoctrination that seeks to extirpate physical and moral decay.


FAIR FORTUNE | SWITZERLAND | EIDRIS: THERE BE DRAGONS | MINARAS: EYES ON YOU

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FAIR FORTUNE

The party at sea is smuggled into Serthica with help from false passport papers secured by their Mouse House companions. The two groups meet at Serthica’s port customs, in time for the Merchant’s private transmission:

”Good afternoon. I salute and thank the efforts of our recent additions. You performed exceptionally.

You will hear Serthica is sundered by war, sickness and irreconcilable differences. In truth, she is likely divided by the interests of those who weaponise fear and manipulate opportunity.

In Eidris, they claim Minaraians are not human. In Minaras, they speak the same of Eidris. Disgust, dismay and paranoia have created a… system of profound physical avoidance. If this is mere fearmongering, it is distasteful, but inconsequential. However… if one of the citadel’s halves has succumbed to the dead, who now know to feign they yet live… this marks a dire escalation. You must study this.

Your transportation beacon sleeps in the holy grounds of Vassarizhia. It will light within months, when the Heart’s clock quiets for its annual winding. You may visit the grounds during the upcoming trade summit.

While in Serthica, your only objectives are to survive until the beacon’s eye opens, and to discover the dead present. I pray but question you will prevail.”

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SWITZERLAND

After a lengthy inspection of their passport papers, the party is steered towards the Sanctuary of Serthica’s Neutral Zone — a vast institute near Serthica’s great clock tower. Here, representatives of Eidris and Minaras assemble at midday for peaceful negotiations to improve distant trade relations.

■ The Merchant recommends mingling to broaden your investigation into Serthica’s dead. Even Minaras leading figurehead Arabella will attend.

■ For peace-keeping, entrants to the Sanctuary must surrender their weapons or allow them to be sealed, if they want to carry them in. Weapons are released on departure. Physical enhancements that characters cannot remove (ex: vampire fangs) are excepted.

■ Those who are unwilling to give up or seal their weapons can head on to Eidris and Minaras.

■ Summit attendants receive badges reflecting their Serthica identities, or can divert the greeting droid and liberate the insignia of a delayed delegation. Higher-ranking badges earns you more lenient treatment and higher security clearance.

■ Eidris attendants receive golden armbands or scarves, those of Minaras dark blue.

■ In bustling halls, officials negotiate grain exchanges, new train railways, the currency exchange rate and the saddening conditions of Mouse House exiles. Alas, if only someone (not them) could help.

■ Those drafted into the talks are toasted with a green, mint-like potion — an unadvertised truth serum intended to keep negotiations honest. The potion’s effects last two to four hours, compelling truth but not speech. But do talk: candour wins answers.

■ Artisans display their finest novelty items in the main reception hall. Aggressively enthusiastic traders seek testers and investors for their wares — potent opiates, goggles that show you the world in 10 years’ time, even detailed plans for luxury teahouses offering droid companionship. Extricate yourself with as much coin and dignity as possible.

SLEEP, CHILD, SLEEP

■ The great clock of the Neutral Zone strikes 18:00, triggering a light three-minute earthquake and the rise of nocturnal Minaras.

■ The Sanctuary loses all electric power. As servants rush for candles, you might notice some native summit delegates behave peculiarly: their eyes look glassy, faces trapped in an expression of comical, exaggerated dismay. Many are frozen in tense positions. Others move in sluggish, uncoordinated and jerky spasms. One might catch your wrist and attempt to speak in staggered, guttural croaks.

■ Lights return once the earthquake finishes. Locals resume regularly and do not seem to have noticed any erratic behaviour.

SLEEP, CHILD, SLEEP
CONTENT WARNING: TERROR ATTACK

■ Starting her speech, Arabella of Minaras calls a tribute for those lost to the great Culling sickness that struck Serthica mere years before. The vigil is interrupted by a fusillade of rifle shots fired from outside, through the Sanctuary’s wall-long windows.

■ The bullets exclusively target Minaras delegates and do not contain gunpowder, but a thickened, pale liquid. Once shot, those wounded experience a hysterical, incontrollable terror and the certainty that their greatest fear is hunting them. Many of the shot delegates develop an instant flight response and seek to claw their way out of the Sanctuary, with no care for whom they trample in their path. This terror lasts 30-60 minutes. Please content warn if you graphically describe your character’s greatest fear.

■ As rifle gunshots die down, a voice from outside introduces the Remembrance coalition, pledging safety if the summit surrenders Arabella.

■ The Sanctuary activates emergency measures: protective magical wards start to slowly reinforce, while attendants risk their lives to return characters’ weapons.

■ You could team up and help Arabella’s few remaining guards to escort her to safety in Minaras. Drop a line if you take this route.

■ Outside, you find the Sanctuary’s grounds have been drenched in a thick fog that barely allows you to see steps ahead. Your senses dull, and you are gradually prone to sleep — while masked men close in with rifles and vicious droid hunting hounds.

■ Help Sanctuary guards take out the assailants — and submit your character for a RNG draw to interrogate a lone captive.

■ Characters who later investigate the Sanctuary can find some of its windows have been very carefully pricked, fissured or even minutely holed, easing the way for attack.

Crawl back to your home base in Eidris or Minaras — you need the beauty sleep.

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EIDRIS | THERE BE DRAGONS

Eidris’s relaxed atmosphere might balm your rattled nerves after the Sanctuary’s disasters. Startled citizens gather to offer you help settling in, while dragons seek you out to curl up and nuzzle.

Eidris is governed by natural order and harmony, achieved through firm etiquette, consideration and reminders to slow down. You can hole up in a room in one of the many abandoned and repurposed villas, or group up to take a whole house. Local technology is a blend of mechanical gears and magic that substitutes fuels. Sorcerers are frequent, boastful and admired.

Dig deeper, and you’ll find the people of Eidris are unwilling to linger on negative experiences and gradually lose memory of them. If queried, many natives have normalised intermittent amnesia, with some using their link to their dragons to stay anchored in the present.

■ Acclimate to your roles in Eidris and enjoy the sweet welcome of neighbourly gifted meals and knitwear and a personal, signed letter of support from king Thivar.

■ Eidris prepares for the rare hatching of dragon eggs, lain by the beautiful fire-breathing Aiva — one of the fewer martial dragons used by Eidris’ military. Two weeks into your stay (around 25 August, forward date at will), word spreads that Aiva’s mate has been deeply injured by a Minaras scouting ship during the 6:00-7:00 overlap period when the two citadel halves are both overground.

■ A panicked, distrustful Aiva collects her silver-shelled eggs from the formal nest quarters, hiding them on the rooftops or in the balconies of tall, dangerous buildings. Several other martial dragons assist Aiva by guarding these hideaways until the young dragons can hatch.

■ Eidris calls back most transport dragons to avoid altercation with their fire-breathing, paranoid brethren. This might strand some riders on the nearest decrepit rooftop, while testy dragons fly by. They don’t initiate attack, but are more prone to warning tail sweeps or light charring, if you come close.

■ Dragon lord Cain d’Ubiq urges riders that can reconnect with their dragons to help retrieve the 1m, 50-kg eggs and deliver them back to the dragon grounds nest before they hatch by sundown — terrorising the baby dragons that wake alone and ripping into local architecture. Other riders are needed to spread a trail of deep incense smoke in the air that can soothe dragons from their outburst. Lend a hand!

■ Characters who enlisted for dragon riding on arrival could be middling riders by this point.

■ Aiva’s children hatch moments before the clock ticks 18:00 and Minaras also surges overground. Characters linked to a dragon feel the birth: first as an overwhelming exuberance, then as an all-consuming and irrational dread that briefly reduces them to inexplicable tears.

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MINARAS | EYES ON YOU

A sharp departure from Eidris’ laissez-faire is watchful Minaras, where citizens obsess with schedules, orderliness and time — as if every second is both borrowed and wasted.

Newcomers can choose between one-person 2.5x2.5m ‘sleep units’ in packed industrial homes, or pool funds to rent small refurbished alcoves that once served as hospital or science halls. Space is a luxury, silence a myth: helper droids constantly fuss after their masters, steam engines cough outside, and the gentle thrum on the streets betrays the current-shifting omnipresence of large Watch ships.

Civic sound systems periodically bleat reminders for citizens to STAY HALE, STAY WHOLE, alongside tips for basic droid care, the latest in scientific discoveries, paid ads and reminders not to park your robotic carriage near hydrants.

■ Quickly learn the ropes of your assumed identity, as Minaraians have a duty to report peculiar behaviours.

■ Watch ships prevent lawbreaking while Minaras is overground. Crime rates spike rapidly when Minaras falls underground.

■ More than violence, Minaraians appear to fear their pocket watch times being wrong, filth and sickness. The smallest cough earns a stern glance and a wide berth.

■ As part of Minaras’ periodic social indoctrination, you are robotically escorted alongside your peers and other unrelated Minaraians to a civic integration centre. Here, you take turns before a mechanical droid sphinx labelled ASCLEPIOS that asks, ”What rots you? and compels an honest answer (this can be emotional, mental or physical sickness, minor or severe).

■ A painless tattoo appears on the back of your hand, listing your Decay (ex: ‘malnourishment,’ ‘a choleric temper’). Others in the indoctrination centre must help you mend through acts of care (ex: cooking you a meal, helping you meditate). The tattoo fades after 72 hours, or once sufficient acts of care have ‘cured’ you.

■ After one week (around 20 August, but feel free to forward date), a transmission from Arabella informs watch, aerial, military and health units that Minaras is changing the daily schedule of its scout ships. The last scouts will now be deployed at 4:15am and return to base by 5:00am.

QUESTIONS

Comments

minaras | rot - ota

[inferus]

Wrath gave up everything for the power to choose. This world continues to rip that choice from him. The moment the word "Curse" is forced from his mouth - the temperature around Wrath goes down many degrees. It will be felt by anyone in the vicinity. They'll see the white puff of their breath in the air, will feel the shiver of the cold. Something unspeakably dark radiates from him.

The tattoo remains on his hand: 'Curse', visible for anyone to see. A vulnerability he has not spoken of to anyone other than Emilia, a truth forced from his tongue and laid bare.

He struggles to rein in the monster caged within him, aware it will do little but interfere with their ultimate goal, aware of the innocent casualties such destruction would cause. It isn't the first time innocents have suffered from his actions (his wife-to-be among them). But part of the Devil wants nothing more than to destroy the entire city for this - see it crumble beneath the earthquake he could create, and to destroy all of those who find choice so easy to take and destroy.

He sits in a corner of the center, taking careful, controlled breaths. His expression is impassive, but the temperature around him remains chilly. He misses the sun already.

[bravelyrunsaway]

Levels and levels to his habitual response: when the temperature drops, when the dark radiates from one of the members of the rabble tied together by the Merchant's driving desire to push them forward and away. Whatever occurs in the collateral damage seems both calculated and utterly surprising to the man orchestrating the paving of their way, while relying on them to make it work, when the sheer irresponsibility of that mentality is enough to drive Licyn to silent contemplation.

Danger pulses, and he would prefer to run.

The word twisted around the scars across his back ache, and he steps forward, deeply unhappy. In wolf form, his ears would be flat against his head, his tail tucked and curled under his belly, his body held low as he slinks forward. Human formed, he takes deliberate, silent steps, and then as deliberately, announces himself with a hefty sigh and the stamp and elegance of sinking down to sit at the side of the male wafting cold (not unpleasant) and the danger that Licyn is not stupid enough to think grand, but for the fact it remains contained.

And the word on Wrath's hand. Curse.

"What are your thoughts on wolves?"

Those twisted words, around the scars on his back, unseen beneath his loose linen shirt: the guilt of surviving.

[inferus]

Wrath senses the individual approaching him before he sees him.

It would be impossible not to notice the well of magic energy within a person when it is so strong. It isn't even the first time that he has noticed. The group is small enough, and magic is something he is keenly aware of at all times (Five's cursed mirror, the many individuals with varying levels of magic abilities or supernatural abilities). However, it is the first time this individual has drawn close, which simply increases Wrath's awareness of the well of the magic inside.

He wonders if the man knows. He must. If he comes from a world with magic, there is no reason it wouldn't have come up previously, but how does a person become like this? It must be a dangerous existence in a place where people hunger for more magic. Wrath takes in and releases a slow breath. His expression remains impassive as he looks down at him.

"I like them. They are natural hunters in the wild."

They are, of course, fragile in comparison to the puppies he is accustomed to in Hell, but for the mortal world, they are impressive creatures with natural strategy as part of their hunting tactics.

"And your own thoughts?"

[bravelyrunsaway]

Licyn lifts a brow at the statement, smiling with his teeth barely flashing in the process.

"In which case you must be fond of predators in general, given they're all natural hunters in the wild, and inclined toward it even in captivity." Not a preferred state for any wild creature, and dangerous for the animal and the keeper, but also: nobility and rich merchants are nothing if not remarkably certain that enough money makes any stupid decision less dangerous because they wish it to be so.

It's also irrelevant, and so he settles back with a hum and too much awareness of his companion's sheer presence, tension slow to ease by sheer force of will.

"I'm biased, love. Also not prone to self-hatred, so I'd have to say I'm very fond of them myself."

Hellhounds, thankfully, not being anything he'd contended with, though some did feel his packmate must have been one, what with his size and the strange asocial nature he had. Lone wolves were not kind existences; Licyn couldn't imagine being one himself, even if he was at that crux of a problem in the here and now.

Would have been a nice tattoo as well, if it were more true than what lay on him otherwise.

[inferus]

"I specifically appreciate the wolves' use of pack tactics - it takes a more sophisticated strategy than many predators in the wild," Wrath says, and in general, he has a fondness for the more canine variety of the beast. There are many beasts within Hell, but the hellhounds are one of the few that receive specific attention from him along with the horses of the Apocalypse.

There is a pause at the response. So he does not attempt to hide the fact that he is a wolf himself. Some would be desperate too. The werewolves in Hell are generally as open as the vampires, but Hell is a different plane of existence in comparison to the one they find themselves on now.

He surveys him carefully. The magic source that he is- He hasn't met a werewolf with such an ability before. His shoulders tense, and Wrath straightens further where he remains, watching the air he releases turn to that white puff of smoke again. There is some distraction in focusing on this... magical anomaly instead of the word forced from his throat and written on his hand.

"I see you are quite open about what you are."

[bravelyrunsaway]

A person acting as if their existence is a perpetual heat within a cold storm, the closest his mind comes to grappling with the exhalation turning to mist and smoke as soon as it leaves lips, leaves him shuddering sympathetically. Cold in general doesn't bother him: the nature of this one, generated, is unpleasant.

Magic, his mind supplies. Magic is too much of a force of nature, too often arrogantly used, and poorly understood in nuance. For a person who earns his living by a sword and calculations of odds and acceptable risks and everything concrete, magic has too much of the intangible to be entirely trustworthy.

His time so far traveling east has not changed his mind.

"What, the wolf thing? People are paying attention to what we're not saying here, hardly what we are. They'll only care if I do something so creative as strip down to shift, and even then, I have a feeling it's the fur shedding that'll drive them mad. Everything's too clean, have you noticed?"

[inferus]

The fact that it is qualified as a 'wolf thing' as if there are many things about this werewolf that he ought to be quiet about solidifies the (false) fact that he must know about the rest.

"They have a fondness for sterility and a fear of disease. It would be difficult not to notice the way they jump away from a sneeze as if it has teeth."

Even now, Wrath can witness it. They flit about the area as if fixing what 'rots' someone is all that matters. No matter how impossible to fix the rotting. Never mind they do not see choice nor privacy as matters worth maintaining and protecting. It cannot be changed at the moment, and it does him little good to dwell, but before they leave, he intends to destroy the thing that forced his tongue.

Time instead to focus on the magical source sitting beside him. "Have you considered shielding the other... thing?"

[bravelyrunsaway]

"Must make sex particularly interesting for them," he says, nonchalantly. Nothing about sex is without mess or the chance of disease for the unwise, and he doubts most can scent illness the way he can. Or at least the signs of illness, such as it is.

His mind having flitted off to nothing helpful, he blinks a the question, lifting a brow.

"What, my dick?" What other thing, Wrath. He wasn't tracking along with whatever the freakishly powerful person was thinking, only glad that the cold was not actually much of a bother, and rather nice in this room overfull of living beings producing heat and not letting enough escape. Ugh.

[inferus]

That his mind immediately goes to what sex must be like for this half of the city has already made Wrath aware that he would likely fit well in his brother Lust's House. However, he has little time to linger on that when the individual (who is a radiating beacon for magical source energy to anyone who is sensitive to it) responds with total and utter ignorance to his situation.

Wrath stares.

He stares for a long time as if ensuring that he is not simply attempting to make a joke due to his lust-addled brain. The temperature around Wrath warms somewhat but remains chilly as his anger is temporarily invaded by his utter incomprehension. How has this not come up previously? Perhaps it makes sense anyone who was able to sense it within this werewolf's world would not wish to say - easier to use the source if he is utterly unaware that he can be used in such a way.

"No." Wrath sighs. "I had assumed you already knew, or I would not have brought it up in a center where our every move is being watched at present."

[rumorate]

Despite the fact that she ran from her home to the land of sunshine and fair weather, the cold doesn't actually bother her. She grew up in the city, with it's regularly changing seasons, and is more than a little familiar with a winter coat.

Not that she has one now, but Wrath is her friend, and it's going to take more than a little cold to keep her away.

She does have curious questions. If Wrath's curse is in any way related to Emilia's, or if Emilia's curse is the one that's causing the problem. But Emilia asked for her discretion, so she doesn't want to just come out and reveal that she knows. She keeps her threads of knowledge close to her chest, and just moves to sit next to him. She's not going to ask if he's okay -- she doubts he would be turning this corner of the room into a freezer if he was.

Instead, she offers a distraction, pulling one of her gloves off her hand and allowing him to see the delicate letters enscribed along the curve from her pointer finger to her thumb: Anger.

"I thought you might appreciate mine."

She is unsure how she feels about it, but they don't have to talk about that. At least not yet.

[inferus]

Wrath can sense Allison before she sits beside him.

His shoulders are tense. His gaze turns from his own hand to hers, recognizing she allows him to see her 'rot' so freely. She would not have to. She should not have to. He releases a breath as the cold around him crystalizes. It is unintentional at present. He is aware he must draw it all back within himself.

"I do."

There is a pause.

"It does not have to be what rots you."

Anger does not have to be that way. It does not have to be all consuming. It does not have to destroy. It can be wielded instead like a weapon would be.

[rumorate]

She shares because she trusts him, and it's easier to put herself in the hot seat than poke at his frustrations. And it is something she's choosing, given that they're friends, and if it's truly anger that's rotting her ... he's probably going to notice anyway.

"Can it rot you when you feel it's earned? When there's been enough done to you that you should be angry about it?"

That's the part that she struggles with. Her anger, she feels, is earned. She should be angry for the scar on her throat, and her time in Dallas, and the people she's had to leave behind. She's not ready to let that go yet.

[inferus]

Wrath appreciates the vulnerability which comes with actively sharing. He would feel her anger regardless. He already does as she speaks about what has been done to her and how her anger has been earned. Wrath does not doubt that it is. From what he knows of their lives from his conversations with her and Five, there's enough there already without adding any further to it.

"Yes, it can."

Her wrath has been built over time by what she has been through. Some feel their anger have been earned for perceived slights, for irrational or incorrect views about what has occurred around them. He believes her anger comes from a place of pain, from a place of reality.

"It can still rot you whether your anger is truly earned or it isn't. Anger can consume you. Or you can wield it. You can allow it to be fuel for action. It is a powerful weapon." His gold eyes are sharp as they lift from his hands to look at her face instead. "What is it that angers you?"

[rumorate]

She stares out into the distance for a moment, before pulling the material down and adjusting her collar so he can see the scar that stretches across where her voice box would be.

"When I was very young, my sister's powers started to become a problem. And my father, having no place for anything but efficiency and obedience, didn't want to deal with it, so he had me make her forget. I was ... four? Maybe five? I didn't know better. And when she started figuring out that she had powers all along, I was scared, and ... I'm not saying I was right, but I thought she was going to kill me. She almost did."

If her brothers hadn't shown up when they did, Allison would be dead. But that isn't the worst part. That, she could forgive. An eye for an eye. It's what came next twists her gut and stokes the rage that she wishes she could push away.

"But then I got dropped into the nineteen sixties in Dallas, alone, with no voice, and you haven't gotten there yet, but ... the sixties in the south in America were not great for people who look like me." Wrath doesn't have context for the racialized American South yet, but he will. His family probably has a field day bringing out the worst in all of them. "People who looked like me disappeared every day and turned up dead later. They were beaten, lynched, some were never even found. And I couldn't even scream for help if I wanted to, let alone use my power."

Never mind, having to suffer all of it and somehow maintain her composure. She couldn't lash out at them as they lashed out at her, because the picture would never come out as an image of self-defense, only proof of what people already believed.

"We were just so ... powerless. Both literally and figuratively."

[inferus]

Wrath remains quiet as she speaks, allowing the space for her anger and her pain, noting the scar across her neck which would have killed any mortal in his world. He listens without judgement. It is upon Death that his judgement is wrought.

This is not the time for judgement.

There is no possible way he could understand her experiences. He does not know what it is like to be mortal, to have siblings and fathers the ways mortals do. He does not know what it is like to truly nearly die for all the times his brothers have disemboweled him or shoved their daggers into him. Wrath does not know what it is like to have the finality of death before him in the way mortals do.

He does not know the sixties as she has lived them - fearing for her life and the lives of those she cares about taken based on the way they look and nothing else. Beaten, lynched, power removed.

There is much he cannot understand about what she has told him. He does understand anger, however. He understands brutality and wars waged. Necessary wars, indefensible wars. Wrath understands the true fury born from powerlessness.

"There is little more valuable than power, and no greater power than freedom. Only those who do not want to share it would say otherwise."

There was a time when he would have said there was nothing more valuable than power, but Emilia- She is more valuable than it all.

"Anger is often seen as being destructive, but it can also be righteous and just. And you have every right to wield it as a weapon after what you experienced, to use it to reclaim your power." There's a pause. "How did your voice return to you?"

[rumorate]

It's comforting to hear him say it, someone relatively objective who isn't her family. When you only have people with the last name Hargreeves as a sounding board, it's hard to really tell if your feelings are valid or if they're just heightened because it's her siblings. Part of her relaxes at that, but her hand comes up to rub against her throat.

"It took time, but the attack didn't completely destroy my voice box." She pauses. "The time from her attacking me to us traveling to the sixties was ... a day, maybe? A day and a half? But in my first year in the sixties my voice slowly started to come back. And I joined the movement to try and help improve things for people like me, and that's where I met Ray."

And Ray is one of the bright spots that almost makes all of it worth it. Still traumatizing, still anger inducing, but he's right. She wouldn't trade her year of marriage with him for the world.

"And I married him. Even with things being crazy and dangerous, he made me feel safe."

[inferus]

Wrath is silent.

He knows what it is like - not to not feel safe, but to have met someone that changes you and changes something fundamental about you and your life and then to want to marry them even if marrying means an eternity. Especially then. He stares ahead. The chill around him has not quite eased.

"...and you lost him."

Wrath can feel her love for the man she speaks about, but also her grief - and her anger too. It is always there, simmering away, threatening to lash out with venom and fangs like a viper at anyone who dare take from her again. He appreciates the strength and sharpness of it, and he knows his presence alone evokes and encourages: anger.

(sometime after that last network post/either inside or just out of the centre)

[somebadnews]

For once, Five is the one to sense Wrath nearby, when the cold air draws his attention. He's familiar enough with his anger to understand the significance, and he can hardly blame him for it. Between everything they've been subjected to and the harassment Five has been getting over what amounted to a difference of opinion, he's in a dark mood himself. As leery as he is to run into most of their group since then, Wrath is one he's actually been looking out for.

When he sees him, he approaches slowly, his hands hidden away in his pockets for maybe-obvious reasons. He's at least calmer now, but there's a lingering sting of betrayal that mixes with all the uncertainty and... fine, he'll admit it, his raging paranoia that keeps him from really settling down. He hasn't stopped looking over his shoulder all day, having to fend off far too many helpful employees from the centre, and it's honestly exhausting.

"I never thought I'd miss a cursed village." His tone is light, in an attempt to sound like he has it together when one look at him would say otherwise. Wrath is at least a welcome sight, despite the circumstances. He doesn't have to guess what brought the temperature down once he catches a glimpse of the tattoo on his hand. The fact that they were able to do that to him just makes this place all the more disturbing.

"...I can't tell if they've all been brainwashed or if they actually believe there's a cure for everyone." Maybe it's all magic compulsion that's driving them. Wrath would be the one to know.

[inferus]

Wrath can tell it is Five who comes near to him. It would be impossible not to. No one else within their group has that unique cocktail of cursed-despair and rampant paranoia. He knew the post would do little other than to increase it in Five. All that he has believed about the group proven especially when they brought his family into it as a means of... convincing him.

"This world continues with its surprises," he says in agreement deceptively calmly, but he's certain Five feels the cold. Still he did not walk the other way. It isn't as if his anger is aimed at Five, but there were times when his wrath escaped him and many suffered for it regardless of whether or not they caused its explosion. He has a better grip on it now after centuries of practice, which is why this entire half of the city hasn't been iced over for its crimes.

None of the people flitting around have approached him. They take a wide berth to avoid him in fact almost comically so - the fear he can inspire in mortals by his simple existence striking more powerfully than temptation at the moment. "It may be both. They seem to have a compulsion to fix whatever they deem to be broken or sick." There's the slightest hint of a wicked, predatory smile. "I would half like to see them make an attempt."

To 'fix' him. His sharp, gold gaze finally flits to Five - he looks as horrible as he imagined he would, maybe even more so.

[somebadnews]

Five's eyebrow twitches up at his smile, but he understands the sentiment. If Wrath decides to take revenge on the entire facility he won't hear a word of protest from him. He's well aware of Wrath's feelings about magic compulsion. They've talked about it at length, and Five has his own complicated relationship between what he's been forced into here and what his sister can do. The difference is she's never used her power to get him to admit his greatest insecurities.

He doesn't mention the cold. There's no need when he already knows what it's about. Their methods remind him too much of the Commission, conditioning him to be reintegrated into society after a lifetime of solitude. Five let them get away with more than he would have if he were in the right frame of mind. Just like he did back then.

"They might try. None of them seem particularly bright." More than one person hugged him and lived to tell about it, oblivious to the risk they were taking. Five doesn't think it's a coincidence that they would brand him with that particular insult so soon after he was betrayed, but he has more questions about Wrath's tattoo. He's never heard of a curse, for as often as he's brought up the mirror inside him. He'll have to think back and see if it reframes some of their past conversations.

"Were they the first to find out?"

[inferus]

As much as Wrath would enjoy giving into his impulse and allowing the fury inside of him to take hold for what they have done to the king of hell, he is aware it would not be an intelligent move. It would only cause more trouble.

Still it's nice to imagine what it would be like so he appreciates Five does not attempt to talk him down, but simply goes along with the idea, suggesting it might actually happen. This is why they're friends. Thankfully, the mortals who are attempting to fix people continue to actively avoid the demon in the corner. Some even step toward him, catch a glimpse, and run in the opposite direction.

His gaze drops to his hand when Five speaks. Curse. As if countless centuries can be summed up in one word. In many ways, he supposes it can - the ice of Hell, his brothers insisting on breaking it by any means necessary regardless of the harm it may put Emilia in within the process, his wings still locked in an amulet hidden under his shirt.

"Emilia is aware." She is not as aware as she should be given how much it affects her as well, but- "But other than that, no one else here."

A pause then as he is aware they have spoken of curses for multiple times given what continues to reside inside of Five: "I am unable to speak of it much."

[somebadnews]

Unable. If part of the curse prevents Wrath from mentioning it, that would explain why it's never come up. Could also be why a curse was the thing that drew him to Five from the start. What would happen if he tried to tell him more? Is it like Five's nosebleeds whenever he attempts to call up memories that were taken from him? Or is it more like Allison's rumors that compel him to stay silent? He has limited experience to draw on, but enough that he can sympathize with the concept.

As if talking about it would help anything other than his curiosity. Emilia might tell him more if he asked, but he doesn't think Wrath would appreciate him trying to pry into his weaknesses.

"...I didn't get the sense that they learned more than what you told them. So it's probably a good thing you couldn't explain." Unlike Five, who practically went on a tirade at the slightest compulsion, only to be branded with an insult. "Whatever they're trying to get out of us, they have limits."

He doesn't know what it is they want, ultimately, but it's more than he's willing to give for the sake of blending in. Looking at Wrath, he's just as eager to get him out of here before he's subjected to anything else.

"That doesn't mean they aren't still listening."

[inferus]

Wrath appreciates Five does not attempt to ask any more about it. There are ways he can skirt around the truth of it, but it's best if he does not attempt. No harm comes to him, but he has to be careful and he has to maintain his control, and it is difficult to do that on a regular basis but especially at the moment when he struggles to pull the monster within back into its cage.

He takes in a breath and then releases it again, managing to warm the temperature around him to a certain degree.

And finally, he nods his agreement, pushing himself to a standing position. Everyone here clearly wishes to 'help' which means they are attending, listening, watching even more.

"This entire half of the city appears to be closely monitored, but any place would be better than this one."

He starts to walk toward the exit, but he is on alert as he moves, watching the people around them as they walk. Most part for him as they pass, giving a wide berth even now to him until they are out on the street.

[somebadnews]

If he hadn't known about Wrath, he might not have noticed the way the temperature shifts just as he pulls himself together. Five uncrosses the arms that he'd subconsciously wrapped around himself in the cold, then slips his hands back in his pockets to keep from flaunting his own mocking tattoo. He follows him out of the simple desire to get away from any eager onlookers, and if they hadn't already been keeping their distance, he might have blinked ahead to the street.

Their exit is notably different with his present company. It nearly makes Five miss the days when his reputation was enough to give him that same space. Back when he looked his age and he didn't have to put so much more effort into being intimidating. It's a conflicting thought, as much as he didn't enjoy the killing aspect, he realizes how much he needed that buffer. His freak out earlier is proof enough for that.

It's dark outside, but thankfully no one trails them. Five waits until they're some distance away to say anything else.

"They're lucky they didn't get what was coming to them." He tries to sound conversational, and not like he'll snap if one more person tries to touch him, but it comes out harsh and bitter. As much as he wants to dive into how they were set up yet again, he's oddly self-conscious about spreading conspiracy theories after they'd placed a label on him. Like anyone could blame him. He sighs and shoots Wrath a pained look.

"Emilia is on the other side?" She wasn't with him, so he can assume she's wherever Diego is.

[inferus]

Wrath hears the harsh, bitterness of the way Five speaks about getting what was coming to them. He is aware of all that has happened recently before they even entered a center which forced a truth from them, slapped it on their hand, and left them vulnerable in more ways than one.

In this instance, he cannot blame him for the tone at all.

The center is, indeed, lucky that Wrath knows it isn't wise to unleash the full strength of his fury upon it. Most of those wandering around inside are unlikely to be responsible for the sphynx like creation that infuriated Wrath so much to begin with. They are equally lucky Five did not snap, and he seems far closer to it than Wrath is.

"Yes," Wrath says, and it is another source of utter infuriation for him though at least Wrath can transvenio to her when she is able to find a place they can do so privately - assuming there is privacy at least in the other half of the city. It appears this one is under constant watch. "I spoke to Allison earlier. Diego?"