[ vines for days, and the horrified faces of the damned. blood, smeared across the ground and the vines alike. a headless body of a bulbous man. the dark silks of a flamboyant announcer. a writhing mass of vines and violence.
the true hanging gardens oversee all, and those that have been warped by the heartseed continue to reach out, beseeching. above, just barely visible through the blossomed flowers, the falling pollen and spores, the treetops... is the craft you arrived in, moving against the winds and trying to remain stable in the air.
it's hard to say if there's any intelligence in these movements, any sentience to the overgrowth that's trying to consume everything. but another barrage of vines whip out towards him, trying to ensnare him once more.
it sounds like the pontiff, in his head, the voice of his childhood. it hurts so badly, and he only has enough time to look up, enough time to see the headless body, the sprays of blood and pollen and flowers. there's no god, up there, but there is the way back. waiting, if they can get free: reality.
what he needs, really. he sucks in a breath - sharp, and latches onto that flickering flame of his magic even harder. the one that the pontiff taught him and roi, that they perfected over years of scripture recitals and practice, the sort he couldn't do when he prayed by roi's bedside in desperation as a child. the sort he is so good at now. the vines rush at him, and whipping outwards, and temenos lets the holy light under his fingers sing.
radiance. a multi target light spell. it's got more juice than luminescence - he can't waste it, he can't waste it (what if they die, what if the other three die?) but he doesn't want to die, either. temenos can't die. he has a promise to keep, and he will be damned if an overgrown weed keeps him away from throné.
he can't evaporate this entire plant without blowing the entirety of his mana, but if he can keep himself alive long enough to stand up and heal his leg, then they'll be in business.
[ it'll be enough, but just barely, and he'll suffer for it.
the holy light burns through the thinner tendrils of the overgrowth, evaporating them, burning away and weakening the thicker ones. those that make it through don't gut him, but the blunt pressure of the impact will send him back and bruise him bodily with the force.
you'll die here and she'll never know.
temenos' landing isn't gentle, but nothing breaks this time. there's some time to heal. ]
the strike from the thicker vines steal the breath from his lungs as he's thrown backwards - his bad leg buckles and the pain makes his vision white out as he coughs, convulsing with the impact of pain. temenos is a dps little cleric who is not meant to take big hits, and this isn't great! his HP!! it's suffering!!!
but there's breathing room as the plant tries to collect himself. he readjusts his grip long enough to clasp his hands together over his staff, and grits out a prayer. Aelfric, lend me your aid. just the barest amount of healing, just enough that he's not totally fucked when it comes back. it's just vines forever, vines and violence and corpses.
she'll never know.
like hell. temenos speaks, voice a rasp, trying to communicate with the others, a - ] Hold on. [ stay strong. stay steady, stay strong. keep going. his attention goes to the plant, watching the vines as a combatant, waiting for their next strike. ]
flesh begins to warp into bark, on the bodies that he can see, until they're nothing more than part of the overgrowth. completely devoured, familiar faces lost to the corruption. (at least none of them are his) (at least none of them are the offerings to the heartseed)
the heal takes, the sacred flame flaring before it's little more than an ember in his core. wherever aelfric is, in relation to this godforsaken planet, his reach does not extend far enough for the chosen cleric to feel it. not completely.
I'll be right as rain soon, Temenos. Don't make such a face...
convulsing, another surge of vines make their way towards him. ]
[ this is the first time that something really shakes him.
crick - crick, temenos saw his body. he checked his pulse, and had to be pulled away by the sacred guard. but that voice.
the last time temenos heard that voice it was terrified. for all the times it soothed him, when he was younger, he came to temenos in a panic and said, The church has secrets, extraordinary, terrible secrets, and then he was gone. he didn't even get to say goodbye.
five years have passed since then, and a lifetime has passed since the thought that flickers across his mind. and for one single moment, temenos is a five year old again, a terrified child desperately reciting the prayers to save his brother's life.
he pulls on his magic to make the spell - to fight away another wave of vines, to try and find the source.
(prayers never solve anything. you can pray all you want: the gods aren't listening.)
temenos is slammed into by the vines, one of them tearing through the right of his costume vestments and goring him straight through the side, curling around him while still inside of him. he feels blood from wounds on his neck and arms and hands, but his face and head are fortunately saved from further damage because of his helmet - the thorns scrape across it, gouging long scratches in the surface but not making it through, not enough to expose him to the pollen.
but his open wounds feel raw and terrible, having that pollen in the air. they tingle, and it almost feels like the start of a muscle spasm. he's only saved from joining the garden like this, like them, like all the damned, as he's borne into the ground by the force and weight of the overgrowth. more thorns dig in through his clothes to pincushion him, even with the thick fabric and the layers. at least it does him the favor of soaking up blood.
in his heart, in his core, the sacred flame burns out into nothing and leaves him cold as the pressure squeezes down onto him and makes it hard to breathe.
hold onto your staff. it's the only thing you have left of theirs. ]
[ of course, right? in the moments where he needs it the most, the magic fails him. it's been so frustrating, on the ship, to have none of it. to not be able to get to luke before he died, to be held back, to deal with the possible.
(the way throné looked at him, when they first cooped up somewhere together that first night, sticks in his lungs. you will have to learn. how it stung, to know that functionally, if things went to hell, he'd be useless. how things have gone to hell and now, here temenos is. too little, too late.)
the pierce of the thorns is agonizing - he's been hit by all kinds of monsters in the past, from direwolves to gigantes lizards to arcanette herself, but this is a new one. it's more hits than he's ever taken by himself at once, and he lets out a gasped, awful noise that's choked off as the pressure starts to bear down, spitting blood into the dirt. it's going to consume him. it's going to smother him like it's smothered the sacred flame, the tiny, tender spark that feels ice cold, that feels hollow. he had it, he had it.
it's crushing. the weight of the plant itself, the weight of the words, of roi's voice echoing in the back of his head. of the look on crick's face as he fell to the plant. the weight of his own sorrow and despair, the bottomless pit of loneliness temenos faces when he dares to look down. if he died here, he'd just join them. he'd be snuffed out. for just a second, he stops struggling.
but it's only for a second.
And I'll ensure that the world they hoped for comes to pass.
no. no, no - not here. temenos cannot die here. roi's mystery isn't solved yet. arcanette may be defeated, but vide awaits. the travelers need him. todomatsu and kazuki and owner, if they're injured, they're going to need him. throné needs him.
(Cleric Skill: Rise Again. The equipping character will recover with a small amount of HP once per battle upon being incapacitated.)
temenos grips onto the staff of judgement for dear fucking life, bloodying the handle, and forces his head up against the pressure, turning it up so he might be able to keep breathing through the pain, so this god-damned-over-grown weed can't smother him completely yet and focuses on that spark. his magic isn't gone yet. it can't be, there's still too much to do. he closes his eyes. he summons his faith. every ounce of it, every devoted second that he feels despite every question, his unflinching need to keep going.
[ it would be so much easier to embrace this. you would be with them - the pontiff and crick, at least. you would be able to rest, because aren't you so tired? tired of the deep, yawning loneliness? tired from all these years and the burdens that you've carried? isn't it enough? isn't it enough to just be with them.
it's always been too little, too late.
a hand, in the darkness, as the weight causes his vision to darken at the edges. a smile, soft and familiar, that has never changed in all the years since it first smiled down upon him as a wee babe in a basinet.
May the Sacred Flame ever illuminate your path through the darkness.
the blood loss, the shock from the pain, the way that you can't breathe - gods, it's all probably a hallucination.
but as you rise again, so, too, does the spark of a flame. ]
[ oh he is HALLUCINATING hallucinating. well that's fine. it's probably the pollen? he will think about this later when he's not almost dying
it could be aelfric the flamebringer, couldn't it? it could also be the pontiff. man and god, god through man. his wrinkled, soft palms, the way he stood beside temenos in the catacombs underneath the church, as they talked through roi's disappearance. the look on his face when he anointed temenos as the newest inquisitor, somewhere between sorrow and fierce pride. it could be roi, too, roi who held his hand when he cried, roi who was the paragon of everything godly and good. love, too. the love of a family that he's lost, the love of a family that he has to carry on for.
(the love of a sister, who may be more of a sister than he really knows.)
temenos can't use a divine effulgence - not here, not now. he's going to have to heal if they want to get out of this and back to the ship at all, so instead, temenos channels his energy into igniting that spark into a holy light spell. let the smite come from the heavens. let it pierce through the vines.
holy light, illuminate the darkness. ]
Edited (edits this for the fortieth time im sorry if you tracked the post ) 2024-03-07 16:46 (UTC)
[ as a sudden wave of energy ripples through in a blast, the vines convulse. it doesn't really do temenos much good that they start to flail and whip around, but at least they're not trying to actively crush him or tear him apart any longer.
and the holy light does just what it's meant to, the overgrowth's outer layer sloughing off, turning into ash, joining the pollen and spores in the air as the vines atop him (and the one still gouged through him) are absolutely incinerated.
this time, the voice is more - concrete. a single person, uniform, as the energy that rippled through the area turns into warmth. the smile had matured over the years, but it always remained the same in the end, until you never saw it again, with no answers for what darkness had taken it.
Time to get up. You can't exactly sleep in, this time. ]
[ the pressure relief is unbelievable - this is why you fight in teams. one of them must have gotten to the heartseed. (owner, maybe? kazuki? he hopes.) he gasps, choking on the air that floods into his lungs, and reaches down to grab at his stomach where the vine was. hmm. extra hole! unfortunate. maybe he shouldn't have incinerated that one.
oh well. with 1hp remaining, he starts to try and push himself up to his good knee, but the voice stops him in his tracks, again. maybe - well, he's definitely hallucinating.
(when temenos heard roi mistral's voice last, it was terrified. The church has secrets, Temenos. Extraordinary, terrible secrets. he hears it in his dreams, when he relives the night he disappeared. he hears it in his waking thoughts, every day, as he tracked down the conspiracy and pulled it apart, as he found the secrets and exposed them to the light. there's never been any closure. never any relief. there's no grave for his bones. there's no rest for his soul.)
he lets out a noise. soft, wet, a choked, bloody laugh. this is impossible. why would he do anything but doubt it?
but it's right, is the thing. he has to get up. he reaches for another weak heal, just enough so he doesn't immediately keel over from blood loss - gotta save the rest - and uses the staff of judgement to push himself to his feet. to try and bring his wits around him - to look around. ]
I'm up. [ he says, raspy and soft. "Must I do morning services? You're so much better at them, Roi. Like the sun itself."
[ the voice doesn't come again, but there's a bolstering warmth that courses through your body and fans the sacred flame that trembles so perilously in your chest. two hands, cupping around it to protect it. four hands. six hands.
eight.
you can get up to your feet, as miserable a sensation as that is. you have enough mana that you could heal yourself, at least enough that you aren't bleeding out - and you can taste the blood in your mouth, know it's surely pooling a little from your chin into your helmet - but everything has become so terribly quiet and calm, now.
with a final death rattle, in a way, the vines have gone still. the ship is lowering with just a touch of unsteadiness to land near where one of the tunnels has collapsed, and adrastea's figure can be seen jumping out of the open doorway before it even hits the ground.
[ eight gods, but more importantly - eight travelers. that's what really matters. maybe the final hand is not his own, but roi's, steadying. guiding. leading him to his purpose, leading him to uncover the truth. supporting each other and guiding each other, like they've done since their journey started. in some regards, it's almost a relief when he doesn't hear roi again, as he takes his staff and digs it into the ground, using it like a walking stick, taking stock of what's left and acclimating himself to reality. okay.
the sight of adrastea is a relief, too, even at a distance. there it is - exit. salvation, and hopefully, they are with kazuki, too.
that leaves... where are todomatsu and owner? that's next. he looks up, head turning from side to side, trying to spot the two of them. he got dragged away from todomatsu, and owner - owner was going deeper into the garden, it was the last thing he saw. where are they? time to triage. time to help.
before that, though. are the vines like dead dead or are they twitching. because if one of them is twitching he's going to whack it with his magic steal rod even if it makes him almost fall over. spit out my sp you stupid plant ]
[ todomatsu can be seen hobbling along, making his way towards the collapsed tunnel and the ship that has finally, finally been able to land safely with the wild winds and the vines lashing out everywhere. owner, however, is nowhere to be seen. you remember with your keen inquisitor mind, because we do actually have to go get his stupid ass, that he went tearing off deeper into the gardens. maybe that's where the sudden pulse came from?
anyways no, the vines can be a little bit dead so you can whack them one more time for some more sp. ]
alright. well. instead of going towards the ship like a smart person (20 int?) temenos is not doing that. instead, he is dragging himself towards the center of the garden, towards where he saw owner go running off before shit went sideways. please gods lets hope that owner is not a mile away. he does, at least, have the forethought to mutter: ]
... Owner. I'm... going to find him.
[ into the earpiece. adrastea can probably drive back over here once the normies have been rescued, right ]
there's a beat, before adrastea's un-autotuned voice sighs in temenos' ear: ] Gods, at least I know where three of you are.
[ and that's that! you are hobbling off into the void of the gardens, bleeding out, leg in need of a further heal that will probably have to wait until you all get back.
it's not a mile, probably, but after a little ways temenos gets to just find a severed arm and a crimson red sleeve. so that's progress, at least? ]
[ CAN I GET A WEEK WHERE I DON'T FIND BODY PARTS? JUST ONE?
anyway this is terrible. he is not even remotely thinking about his own blood that he is leaving a horrible trail of right now, focused instead on his slow going journey to get to owner. he looks at the arm.
...
he keeps walking. sorry bro i can't do anything about that one for you
to adrastea: ]
I'll...update you shortly. [ hghk. okay. any blood trails to follow? more body parts? ]
[ :cleric_standing: what does he look like, an apothecary?
adrastea is silent for a little while longer, save for softly talking to kazuki since they don't turn off their feed. but they do eventually respond to him again: ] Just tell me where you are when you stop.
[ temenos gets to keep walking, or a facsimile of it given his current condition. none of the vines do much more than twitch under his feet or the sharp point of his staff, and then...
then, he gets to see the bloodied mass of vines tangled together with a single piece of red fabric sticking out like a bookmark. ]
-- Owner! [ thankfully at least there's adrenaline in there so he can move faster, stumbling over his own injuries and practically flinging himself at the bloodied vines. he's got -- a knife, a little pocket knife? that's better than nothing.
CUTTING AWAY AT THESE VINES - does it look like. safe to. is there anything to do. he does use his brain. ]
The - deeper in the garden, turn... ship around. Ngh. [ HOW BAD DID HE GET SMUSHED ]
[ he got smushed so bad, temenos. and contorted and torn into by the vines, warping his body into something deeply wrong, to the point that perhaps bones were exposed -
at least, you can't help but think that when you finally find him after cutting away and tearing into the vines. they come away, slack, and owner's dead form slumps out in the embrace of a headless skeleton. in his remaining hand is a crushed flower, yellow petals limp and oozing what looks like pus.
[ yeah that's. that's about what he was expecting. it doesn't matter that owner is tiny, but when he slumps out being cuddled by the skeleton, temenos absolutely cannot hold them up so they're all hitting the ground.
however. that's not actually the worst thing in the world if only because he can get him laid out. wounds are - bad, the arm is a lost cause, he's unmoving, dead. okay. he looks up to check if the ship is on its way or heading that way eventually, and then feels around internally for his sacred flame once more. the mana situation is bad. but... with enough planning, now, he should be able to at least...
okay.
he closes his eyes and sets his staff down. fingers lacing together into a prayer, he releases his own injuries and starts to focus. this is going to eat so much of his remaining energy, but it's worth it. sorry, owner - you don't get to die today. ]
temenos gets to witness the fluttering of eyes, and they open fully, and owner is alive. he breathes. he's in pain, because there's still so much broken and oozing and falling apart, but he's alive. and that's all he really needs.
temenos gets to witness something else as well, but this time, it is something much less pleasant. it's watching a body reform, skin getting reattached, the sound of bones snapping back together in place and reforming. every now and then, there are extra eyes and mouths appearing and forming onto his skin, but then they disappear, and then reappear in a new spot, and vanish again. it is, genuinely, horrifying and nauseating to watch occur, something akin to watching a horror movie but worse.
the wounds aren't really healed, and the arm is still missing, but owner manages to stitch together his parts enough that he won't immediately drop dead right after temenos brought the life back into his body. it's enough, for owner to be able to look around and see where they are, and see temenos, and then just
unfortunately this is not that weird for him. this is the first time he's ever seen it reform in reverse, kind of, but people sprouting horrifying body horror additions is just another day in the life of an octopath traveler. he is tense when it first starts, worried, ready to take some kind of action (just in case it happens the way it happens at home) but temenos, perhaps to his credit, he keeps his perfectly calm and placid expression firmly in place when his eyes open. the vibe of Hm. Interesting!
thankfully, though, the revive takes fine. owner laughs, and - he can't help it, letting out a ragged one of his own, shoulders sagging in relief. ]
Bravo, Owner. It seems you've saved us all. Have you considered gardening?
[ is this the time for jokes
but it is genuine, as temenos looks at the stupid flower and his bloodied arm and then back towards where todomatsu and kazuki and the ship are. his other hand goes back to staunch the bleeding on his stomach, and he just kind of gives up. ]
Try not to move, hmm? I only...have enough left to heal once, and I don't know what shape everyone else is in.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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the true hanging gardens oversee all, and those that have been warped by the heartseed continue to reach out, beseeching. above, just barely visible through the blossomed flowers, the falling pollen and spores, the treetops... is the craft you arrived in, moving against the winds and trying to remain stable in the air.
it's hard to say if there's any intelligence in these movements, any sentience to the overgrowth that's trying to consume everything. but another barrage of vines whip out towards him, trying to ensnare him once more.
The Sacred Flame shall light our path, Temenos.
roll to do some sick shit or eat shit. ]
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it sounds like the pontiff, in his head, the voice of his childhood. it hurts so badly, and he only has enough time to look up, enough time to see the headless body, the sprays of blood and pollen and flowers. there's no god, up there, but there is the way back. waiting, if they can get free: reality.
what he needs, really. he sucks in a breath - sharp, and latches onto that flickering flame of his magic even harder. the one that the pontiff taught him and roi, that they perfected over years of scripture recitals and practice, the sort he couldn't do when he prayed by roi's bedside in desperation as a child. the sort he is so good at now. the vines rush at him, and whipping outwards, and temenos lets the holy light under his fingers sing.
radiance. a multi target light spell. it's got more juice than luminescence - he can't waste it, he can't waste it (what if they die, what if the other three die?) but he doesn't want to die, either. temenos can't die. he has a promise to keep, and he will be damned if an overgrown weed keeps him away from throné.
he can't evaporate this entire plant without blowing the entirety of his mana, but if he can keep himself alive long enough to stand up and heal his leg, then they'll be in business.
sisi 👁 🐏 sacred flamer Request: [1d20] Roll: [14] Result: 14 ]
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the holy light burns through the thinner tendrils of the overgrowth, evaporating them, burning away and weakening the thicker ones. those that make it through don't gut him, but the blunt pressure of the impact will send him back and bruise him bodily with the force.
you'll die here and she'll never know.
temenos' landing isn't gentle, but nothing breaks this time. there's some time to heal. ]
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the strike from the thicker vines steal the breath from his lungs as he's thrown backwards - his bad leg buckles and the pain makes his vision white out as he coughs, convulsing with the impact of pain. temenos is a dps little cleric who is not meant to take big hits, and this isn't great! his HP!! it's suffering!!!
but there's breathing room as the plant tries to collect himself. he readjusts his grip long enough to clasp his hands together over his staff, and grits out a prayer. Aelfric, lend me your aid. just the barest amount of healing, just enough that he's not totally fucked when it comes back. it's just vines forever, vines and violence and corpses.
she'll never know.
like hell. temenos speaks, voice a rasp, trying to communicate with the others, a - ] Hold on. [ stay strong. stay steady, stay strong. keep going. his attention goes to the plant, watching the vines as a combatant, waiting for their next strike. ]
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flesh begins to warp into bark, on the bodies that he can see, until they're nothing more than part of the overgrowth. completely devoured, familiar faces lost to the corruption. (at least none of them are his) (at least none of them are the offerings to the heartseed)
the heal takes, the sacred flame flaring before it's little more than an ember in his core. wherever aelfric is, in relation to this godforsaken planet, his reach does not extend far enough for the chosen cleric to feel it. not completely.
I'll be right as rain soon, Temenos. Don't make such a face...
convulsing, another surge of vines make their way towards him. ]
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crick - crick, temenos saw his body. he checked his pulse, and had to be pulled away by the sacred guard. but that voice.
the last time temenos heard that voice it was terrified. for all the times it soothed him, when he was younger, he came to temenos in a panic and said, The church has secrets, extraordinary, terrible secrets, and then he was gone. he didn't even get to say goodbye.
five years have passed since then, and a lifetime has passed since the thought that flickers across his mind. and for one single moment, temenos is a five year old again, a terrified child desperately reciting the prayers to save his brother's life.
he pulls on his magic to make the spell - to fight away another wave of vines, to try and find the source.
(prayers never solve anything. you can pray all you want: the gods aren't listening.)
looks at my nat 1 ]
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temenos is slammed into by the vines, one of them tearing through the right of his costume vestments and goring him straight through the side, curling around him while still inside of him. he feels blood from wounds on his neck and arms and hands, but his face and head are fortunately saved from further damage because of his helmet - the thorns scrape across it, gouging long scratches in the surface but not making it through, not enough to expose him to the pollen.
but his open wounds feel raw and terrible, having that pollen in the air. they tingle, and it almost feels like the start of a muscle spasm. he's only saved from joining the garden like this, like them, like all the damned, as he's borne into the ground by the force and weight of the overgrowth. more thorns dig in through his clothes to pincushion him, even with the thick fabric and the layers. at least it does him the favor of soaking up blood.
in his heart, in his core, the sacred flame burns out into nothing and leaves him cold as the pressure squeezes down onto him and makes it hard to breathe.
hold onto your staff. it's the only thing you have left of theirs. ]
no subject
(the way throné looked at him, when they first cooped up somewhere together that first night, sticks in his lungs. you will have to learn. how it stung, to know that functionally, if things went to hell, he'd be useless. how things have gone to hell and now, here temenos is. too little, too late.)
the pierce of the thorns is agonizing - he's been hit by all kinds of monsters in the past, from direwolves to gigantes lizards to arcanette herself, but this is a new one. it's more hits than he's ever taken by himself at once, and he lets out a gasped, awful noise that's choked off as the pressure starts to bear down, spitting blood into the dirt. it's going to consume him. it's going to smother him like it's smothered the sacred flame, the tiny, tender spark that feels ice cold, that feels hollow. he had it, he had it.
it's crushing. the weight of the plant itself, the weight of the words, of roi's voice echoing in the back of his head. of the look on crick's face as he fell to the plant. the weight of his own sorrow and despair, the bottomless pit of loneliness temenos faces when he dares to look down. if he died here, he'd just join them. he'd be snuffed out. for just a second, he stops struggling.
but it's only for a second.
And I'll ensure that the world they hoped for comes to pass.
no. no, no - not here. temenos cannot die here. roi's mystery isn't solved yet. arcanette may be defeated, but vide awaits. the travelers need him. todomatsu and kazuki and owner, if they're injured, they're going to need him. throné needs him.
(Cleric Skill: Rise Again. The equipping character will recover with a small amount of HP once per battle upon being incapacitated.)
temenos grips onto the staff of judgement for dear fucking life, bloodying the handle, and forces his head up against the pressure, turning it up so he might be able to keep breathing through the pain, so this god-damned-over-grown weed can't smother him completely yet and focuses on that spark. his magic isn't gone yet. it can't be, there's still too much to do. he closes his eyes. he summons his faith. every ounce of it, every devoted second that he feels despite every question, his unflinching need to keep going.
If you chose me, then prove it. Guide me. ]
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it's always been too little, too late.
a hand, in the darkness, as the weight causes his vision to darken at the edges. a smile, soft and familiar, that has never changed in all the years since it first smiled down upon him as a wee babe in a basinet.
May the Sacred Flame ever illuminate your path through the darkness.
the blood loss, the shock from the pain, the way that you can't breathe - gods, it's all probably a hallucination.
but as you rise again, so, too, does the spark of a flame. ]
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it could be aelfric the flamebringer, couldn't it? it could also be the pontiff. man and god, god through man. his wrinkled, soft palms, the way he stood beside temenos in the catacombs underneath the church, as they talked through roi's disappearance. the look on his face when he anointed temenos as the newest inquisitor, somewhere between sorrow and fierce pride. it could be roi, too, roi who held his hand when he cried, roi who was the paragon of everything godly and good. love, too. the love of a family that he's lost, the love of a family that he has to carry on for.
(the love of a sister, who may be more of a sister than he really knows.)
temenos can't use a divine effulgence - not here, not now. he's going to have to heal if they want to get out of this and back to the ship at all, so instead, temenos channels his energy into igniting that spark into a holy light spell. let the smite come from the heavens. let it pierce through the vines.
holy light, illuminate the darkness. ]
no subject
and the holy light does just what it's meant to, the overgrowth's outer layer sloughing off, turning into ash, joining the pollen and spores in the air as the vines atop him (and the one still gouged through him) are absolutely incinerated.
this time, the voice is more - concrete. a single person, uniform, as the energy that rippled through the area turns into warmth. the smile had matured over the years, but it always remained the same in the end, until you never saw it again, with no answers for what darkness had taken it.
Time to get up. You can't exactly sleep in, this time. ]
no subject
oh well. with 1hp remaining, he starts to try and push himself up to his good knee, but the voice stops him in his tracks, again. maybe - well, he's definitely hallucinating.
(when temenos heard roi mistral's voice last, it was terrified. The church has secrets, Temenos. Extraordinary, terrible secrets. he hears it in his dreams, when he relives the night he disappeared. he hears it in his waking thoughts, every day, as he tracked down the conspiracy and pulled it apart, as he found the secrets and exposed them to the light. there's never been any closure. never any relief. there's no grave for his bones. there's no rest for his soul.)
he lets out a noise. soft, wet, a choked, bloody laugh. this is impossible. why would he do anything but doubt it?
but it's right, is the thing. he has to get up. he reaches for another weak heal, just enough so he doesn't immediately keel over from blood loss - gotta save the rest - and uses the staff of judgement to push himself to his feet. to try and bring his wits around him - to look around. ]
I'm up. [ he says, raspy and soft. "Must I do morning services? You're so much better at them, Roi. Like the sun itself."
you were always so much better than me. ] Enough.
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eight.
you can get up to your feet, as miserable a sensation as that is. you have enough mana that you could heal yourself, at least enough that you aren't bleeding out - and you can taste the blood in your mouth, know it's surely pooling a little from your chin into your helmet - but everything has become so terribly quiet and calm, now.
with a final death rattle, in a way, the vines have gone still. the ship is lowering with just a touch of unsteadiness to land near where one of the tunnels has collapsed, and adrastea's figure can be seen jumping out of the open doorway before it even hits the ground.
you're enough. ]
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the sight of adrastea is a relief, too, even at a distance. there it is - exit. salvation, and hopefully, they are with kazuki, too.
that leaves... where are todomatsu and owner? that's next. he looks up, head turning from side to side, trying to spot the two of them. he got dragged away from todomatsu, and owner - owner was going deeper into the garden, it was the last thing he saw. where are they? time to triage. time to help.
before that, though. are the vines like dead dead or are they twitching. because if one of them is twitching he's going to whack it with his magic steal rod even if it makes him almost fall over. spit out my sp you stupid plant ]
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anyways no, the vines can be a little bit dead so you can whack them one more time for some more sp. ]
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alright. well. instead of going towards the ship like a smart person (20 int?) temenos is not doing that. instead, he is dragging himself towards the center of the garden, towards where he saw owner go running off before shit went sideways. please gods lets hope that owner is not a mile away. he does, at least, have the forethought to mutter: ]
... Owner. I'm... going to find him.
[ into the earpiece. adrastea can probably drive back over here once the normies have been rescued, right ]
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there's a beat, before adrastea's un-autotuned voice sighs in temenos' ear: ] Gods, at least I know where three of you are.
[ and that's that! you are hobbling off into the void of the gardens, bleeding out, leg in need of a further heal that will probably have to wait until you all get back.
it's not a mile, probably, but after a little ways temenos gets to just find a severed arm and a crimson red sleeve. so that's progress, at least? ]
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anyway this is terrible. he is not even remotely thinking about his own blood that he is leaving a horrible trail of right now, focused instead on his slow going journey to get to owner. he looks at the arm.
...
he keeps walking. sorry bro i can't do anything about that one for you
to adrastea: ]
I'll...update you shortly. [ hghk. okay. any blood trails to follow? more body parts? ]
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adrastea is silent for a little while longer, save for softly talking to kazuki since they don't turn off their feed. but they do eventually respond to him again: ] Just tell me where you are when you stop.
[ temenos gets to keep walking, or a facsimile of it given his current condition. none of the vines do much more than twitch under his feet or the sharp point of his staff, and then...
then, he gets to see the bloodied mass of vines tangled together with a single piece of red fabric sticking out like a bookmark. ]
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-- Owner! [ thankfully at least there's adrenaline in there so he can move faster, stumbling over his own injuries and practically flinging himself at the bloodied vines. he's got -- a knife, a little pocket knife? that's better than nothing.
CUTTING AWAY AT THESE VINES - does it look like. safe to. is there anything to do. he does use his brain. ]
The - deeper in the garden, turn... ship around. Ngh. [ HOW BAD DID HE GET SMUSHED ]
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at least, you can't help but think that when you finally find him after cutting away and tearing into the vines. they come away, slack, and owner's dead form slumps out in the embrace of a headless skeleton. in his remaining hand is a crushed flower, yellow petals limp and oozing what looks like pus.
hm. okay then. what's the plan? ]
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however. that's not actually the worst thing in the world if only because he can get him laid out. wounds are - bad, the arm is a lost cause, he's unmoving, dead. okay. he looks up to check if the ship is on its way or heading that way eventually, and then feels around internally for his sacred flame once more. the mana situation is bad. but... with enough planning, now, he should be able to at least...
okay.
he closes his eyes and sets his staff down. fingers lacing together into a prayer, he releases his own injuries and starts to focus. this is going to eat so much of his remaining energy, but it's worth it. sorry, owner - you don't get to die today. ]
I deliver unto you... a miracle.
[ revive. ]
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temenos gets to witness the fluttering of eyes, and they open fully, and owner is alive. he breathes. he's in pain, because there's still so much broken and oozing and falling apart, but he's alive. and that's all he really needs.
temenos gets to witness something else as well, but this time, it is something much less pleasant. it's watching a body reform, skin getting reattached, the sound of bones snapping back together in place and reforming. every now and then, there are extra eyes and mouths appearing and forming onto his skin, but then they disappear, and then reappear in a new spot, and vanish again. it is, genuinely, horrifying and nauseating to watch occur, something akin to watching a horror movie but worse.
the wounds aren't really healed, and the arm is still missing, but owner manages to stitch together his parts enough that he won't immediately drop dead right after temenos brought the life back into his body. it's enough, for owner to be able to look around and see where they are, and see temenos, and then just
laugh. hysterically. ]
Temenos-sama! Hello!
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unfortunately this is not that weird for him. this is the first time he's ever seen it reform in reverse, kind of, but people sprouting horrifying body horror additions is just another day in the life of an octopath traveler. he is tense when it first starts, worried, ready to take some kind of action (just in case it happens the way it happens at home) but temenos, perhaps to his credit, he keeps his perfectly calm and placid expression firmly in place when his eyes open. the vibe of Hm. Interesting!
thankfully, though, the revive takes fine. owner laughs, and - he can't help it, letting out a ragged one of his own, shoulders sagging in relief. ]
Bravo, Owner. It seems you've saved us all. Have you considered gardening?
[ is this the time for jokes
but it is genuine, as temenos looks at the stupid flower and his bloodied arm and then back towards where todomatsu and kazuki and the ship are. his other hand goes back to staunch the bleeding on his stomach, and he just kind of gives up. ]
Try not to move, hmm? I only...have enough left to heal once, and I don't know what shape everyone else is in.
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[ yeah he's just going to lay on this ground until the ship comes there's not much else to do ]
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