as you awake in arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a second life becomes your own. memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever experienced before. thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go only in brief flashes. the primary life that you recall, that guide your choices and your beliefs, are these:
in this country, no one lives past the age of 23. the curse takes root in people's lungs, rotting away at their systems until they become bedridden and die from organ failure and gurgling on their own blood. miraculous technology has given the people a way to escape this fate. to become a reliver means to have a chance at a longer life, even if it comes with certain... drawbacks.
luke, you know it all so well. before your parents died in a car crash in chedis, they were researchers at the institute. they wed, had you, and you've been roaming the halls since you were even able to walk—a bright intellect earning you a spot as a researcher to follow your parents' footsteps in no time at all. you support the deputy director's team: pursuing research to let relivers keep all of their emotions. you hope some progress will be made, as you are already 22 years old. your coughing fits grow bloodier by the day. but if you become a reliver like this, with this technology so incomplete, you won't be hold onto the love you feel—for anyone.
dahut, you've known love all your life. how could you ever begin to let go of it now? you were abandoned far too young to ever know your parents, but that's fine since sister salome took you in—she's the only mother you've ever known, and will ever need. the others in the orphanage are sweet, even that maiden of death that so many of the other townspeople abhor. you volunteered to take the room next to hers just because everyone else was sheepish, but it's alright. surely this odd murmur in your heart and tickle in the back of your throat lately is just a cold. a coincidence. with sister salome's recommendation, you were invited to work at the institute despite your young, youthful age of 15 years old. true 15. it's fine, you've got plenty of time to show them what you can do.
sheba, your path is a bit different. while you were similarly an orphan, you were given right to the institute. it's not a fond place for you to think of. how narrowly you escaped the grasp of some of those researchers, one of them too vibrantly admiring your eyes and your hair. instead you found yourself taken in by a group known as the corps, local townspeople who've taken it upon themselves to ensure the defense of the country since the royal guard is so useless. the group of gruff souls are rough around the edges, but sweet. they're like family. all you know about defense and chivalry come from them. at a darling 15 years old, you don't worry about the curse coming for yourself—but there are so, so many ways to die without worrying about the supernatural.
the sun is setting.
dahut and luke, you are still working at the institute, because of course you are. what are your current projects? who do you think of? maybe you're in the lab together like a silly little sitcom.
sheba, you're out on your last patrol of the evening. the town is bustling, the people are laughing, and a newly dead corpse is being wheeled out of a home. no one blinks an eye. what's on your mind? ]
Anyway HERE HE IS, FULLY ABSORBED INTO THE RELIVERS, AS WAS ALWAYS HIS FATE APPARENTLY. I'm godmoding Dahut as having just recently headbutted him but this time instead of being rusty and gross Luke just has a bunch of VIALS!!! That are fortunately empty... this time...]
I'm going to be carrying something dangerous next time, and then you'll really regret it, you know that?
ANYWAY FUCKING HELP. HE DID THAT, YES. NO LAB SAFETY AND NO REGRETS. Dahut just laughs, though it ends in him clearing his throat a bit, and reaches out to slappypaws Luke's arm. The one that is still carrying the vials.]
Oh, come on, have a little more faith in me! I would have noticed if you were carrying something dangerous, silly. And aren't your reflexes supposed to be really good, anyway?
as you awake in arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a second life becomes your own. memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever experienced before. thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go only in brief flashes. the primary life that you recall, that guide your choices and your beliefs, are these:
in this country, no one lives past the age of 23. the curse takes root in people's lungs, rotting away at their systems until they become bedridden and die from organ failure and gurgling on their own blood. miraculous technology has given the people a way to escape this fate. to become a reliver means to have a chance at a longer life, even if it comes with certain... drawbacks.
Dion, you're a gallant man who values life far too much to be happy with it ending at an early 23. Your mother died young of a disease unrelated to the curse, and your wealthy, doting father took you to Cerneveaul to be closer to the life-saving technology of the Institute. You became a Reliver at the end of your 22nd year when the curse had nearly eaten you through. Now, you're on your 52nd year and your second Reliver body, whiling away your days in a mediocre sort of peace that's only occasionally interrupted by the presence of your father's new suitor. Having experienced death before, does it feel a little rote now?
Diluc, you're a member of the Royal Family by marriage rather than birth. You were born to two Reliver parents in Cerneveaul whose loveless union ended in bloodshed after a violent spat - a fatal flaw of a society doomed to a future of broken emotion. Still, at 21 years of age, you have hopes and dreams of your own, things that only you can do, and the easiest way to unlock doors is by having as many keys as you can, right? Unfortunately, despite the care of your spouse, the Royal Family at large hasn't taken kindly to you and you often feel unsafe in the castle walls. There are a handful of people that you can trust even in this den of snakes, though.
Scien, you're a member of the Royal Family by birth, with a distaste for most of your relatives, including the mother who looks at you with scorn and the father who was assassinated in your youth. You've always preferred doing things with your own two hands. You've meddled in countless affairs and irritated the King dozens of times, and you get better results than anybody, though that's getting harder for you to do. Now at the end of your 21st year, your body is beginning to break down at a faster clip than expected. It's only a matter of time before you have to make your decision: do you die before finishing all that needs to be finished?
The sun is setting.
Scien and Diluc, you are both within the Castle walls. A banquet has just ended and everyone is clearing from the room, or had done so hours before. Where do your thoughts drift as you walk through the halls? Where do your feet take you?
Dion, you are out in Chedis. Another day's work, another day lived, and endless days ahead of you yet. As you walk through the well-manicured streets that speak to the wealth of its residents, what do you think of? What do you do?]
[ Well, I guess Dion is having a great time. He's famously a character that loves living, and here he is: having lived fifty-two years, with probably another fifty-two to go. What a dream.
Tired from a long day of chatting with wealthy people on how to become wealthier—and then billing those conversations as consulting services—he'll take a moment to stop by the patisserie on his way home, and pick up something for him and his father to enjoy. It's about a 50/50 chance as to whether or not the evening will be interrupted by a suitor, but he opts to be prepared in case things swing in his favour.
So here he is! Greeting the shop keep and looking at the wares. ]
[ Diluc is not particularly fond of banquets, and yet his life since marrying into the Lawrence family has been one social spectacle after another. He can still hear the drone of noble gossip heavy in his ears as he takes his leave, and feel the press of malicious eyes fixed on his person. At each turn, it has been made known he is not welcome in the castle.
Eula has been more than reasonable to him since their marriage (thanks aki), but neither of them are particularly happy with their station, and neither of them speak after the banquet, eager to find reprieve from familial obligations.
Diluc will go anywhere he can be safely alone to decompress—an unfrequented location he's probably established since his first day here, and a place he's careful to visit by himself. Maybe a partially-obscured corner of the courtyard, or a quiet alcove in the library. ]
[Memory iS a fiNiCKy t█in█ ████████. Mem0rYy is █ MEMORY ████████
As you awake in Arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a seco██ THIRDfourth 5█h life becomes your own. Memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever ███ EXPER█ENCE█. Thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go onl█ ██ █████ come and stay, in the jumble of everything else you remember. All you've loved, all you've lost.
You awake in a place somewhere between a dungeon and laboratory. It is not as clean and pristine as the Institute. It is underground, and you distantly hear the sound of rushing water. Where are you? Why are you? There are chains that bind your wrists and ankles to posts, all separate from each other, saving you from each other... for now.
A distorted voice comes in.
"Won't you reveal to me what is stronger? Memory or emotion? In this land where so many people view them as one and the same, can't we do an experiment? Show me. Show me, show me! What will you cling onto? Your desire to live, or your loyalty to each other?” And then briefly, softer. "How pointless would life be if she did not still love me?"
One by one, each of you will be taken into a cell—but don't worry, those remaining will still be able to watch through the holographic screens that flicker to life. Those of you who are still alive to watch can do so, or may be forced to do so. Outside of the matches, your memories from the Eudora are clearer—you know who these people are to you.
And you know that they will all destroy each other.]
[Well! Here you are, snug as bugs in a rug - or like a bunch of captive sardines in a can. All of you have been revived into fresh, new Reliver bodies between your last terrible venture and waking up here, but these models are... flawed, to say the least.
Diluc's model has its full range of emotions, but is prone to lingering on negative feelings. Though his previous injuries no longer exist on this body, he'll experience occasional, temporary bursts of white-hot pain where they once were. The vision in his right eye also flickers now and then, showing him horrific images of imagined scenarios in which he just barely fails to save the people he cares for.
Scien's model has its full range of emotions, but every so often, if he comes into direct contact with a person or holds their gaze, he's forced to experience the weight of their emotions, too. His body also echoes with occasional aches and pains of a life he's only now remembering with greater clarity, as if divine punishment has been biding its time until this moment to greet him.
Dion's model has its full range of emotions, but with a setback: his feelings tend to spike into extremes (sadness becomes grief, annoyance becomes fury, etc). While these spikes don't last long, they're hard to control. His body also sometimes feels as though parts of it are being painfully petrified, though nothing is physically wrong with him and he can move just fine.
Luke's model has its full range of emotions but also what one might call... anxiety. There is a paranoia that seeps into every inch of his body. He cannot focus on the present moment, but rather thinks intensely of both the past and the future. The mistakes he's made, the disasters he's going to encounter. For whatever reason, his cough also hasn't disappeared in this body. Some things truly follow from life to life.
Dahut's model has its full range of emotions, but suffers from indecision. Every choice comes with second-guessing, uncertainty. Is what he's doing correct? Is this in alignment with his goals? Or is he making a choice based off of those pesky emotions? On occasion, his right hand will sometimes move out of sync with his body, as though it has a new life of its own... and it seeks to kill him.
Sheba's model has its full range of emotions, but there is a lack of compassion for others. She struggles to process true consideration for anyone else, except for sudden moments of clarity. At random points, her limbs will fail to obey her, as if they have shattered and the bones have broken apart. The pain sears and she'll lose strength momentarily before putting herself back together.
There's still time yet before the experiment begins. You're free to talk amongst yourselves, though it's obvious you're being watched.]
[Anyway wow hi he's aged a thousand fucking years after the horrors of part 1. He's just blinking in a daze and listening to yet another madman say some wild shit and wondering how he got here.
But more importantly - he knows the Eudora, and he knows the people in this room as his groggy gaze roams over them one by one, still trying to shake the haze away, trying to cope with the weight of all this new trauma.]
We're...
[ON A HORRIBLE ADVENTURE BUT WHY IS THIS ONE SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE LAST.]
[ he awakens to a burst of phantom pain in his right hand and shoulder, the entire arm spasming until the sensation subsides just as abruptly. emotions stir next, and then flood as he regains his full consciousness and far too many memories—on archepele and before, eudora and its underbelly, home. (how much more distant that is, now.)
he moves upright to take inventory of his new reliver body, and of his companions in captivity with him. dread coils in his gut, and he can't seem to shake it no matter how he tries. ]
...Are you all right?
[ he inhales tersely, trying to grasp a semblance of logic in the confusion. this must be another anomaly.
[Don't you just love when you can't get rid of your TB
Luke doesn't wake gracefully. He launches back into consciousness the same way he did on the Eudora--panicked and violent, overcome with guilt, regret, and pain. His heart races, his mind immediately latching onto what he'd seen before the experiments started, and he'll tear himself apart for failing to save the rest of them later. For now, far above the memories of parted flesh and flayed minds, even above the hatred and betrayal in the eyes of those that had been trapped with them--]
[ Before entering the cell, a different variable will be introduced to the experiment for both participants.
A memory is implanted in Dahut. You were born under an auspicious star, they said. How lucky that the heavens blessed you with a strong, healthy body. Even as a child, you didn’t so much as fall ill even once. The older you got, everyone found it remarkable how formidable your body was. No broken bones, no illness, no problems. Somehow, you seemed impervious to illness… and isn’t that a gift in this land? It didn’t take long for you to earn the attention of the Institute, brought to their doors under the guise of invitation—and then kept their for experimentation. Your parents sold you off. You’d be surprised how much people would be willing to part with, for enough gold. Each day, you were picked apart until you lost track of your scars and experiments. You didn’t have a single friend to find, instead only locked away in the white walls of your room, waiting for what horrors would come next. They do not let you choose to end it, and are just barely careful to keep you alive. And yet despite it all… you do not seek the end. No. You want to see that blue sky again. Your family. Maybe if you survive this, that will be your ticket. Maybe someone else’s life can be the price you pay.
A memory is implanted in Luke. How happy you were on your wedding day. After all that hardship, you were able to survive past earning your parent’s acceptance and married your sweetheart even though she was beneath your station. How could you have expected that jealousy and cruelty lurked beneath the surface, ending at her death by the hand of your previous arranged marriage? Love had saved you. It had made you a happy man, content to die at the end of your 23 years so that you could preserve how dearly you adored her… but now it’s impossible to let go of. You killed the person who killed her. You killed your family for the poor security afforded to your fallen beloved’s home. You killed her family for their lack of compassion. You intend to kill everyone who had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on her and being incapable of saving her. And then, when it is over, you will kill yourself—but not yet. No, not yet. Now isn’t this a love worth surviving for?
In the cell, the following await you: a dagger, a poison, a rapier.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
[ Before entering the cell, a different variable will be introduced to the experiment for both participants.
A memory is implanted in Dion. You're the son of a well-established member of the Royal Guard, born with innate talent in every art of battle you think to try your hand at. Your skill is applauded from youth, and you outshine even your eldest superiors by the age of 8. You're lauded as a genius in tactics, in speed, in warfare. Most importantly to you, you're beloved among your peers, who find you sweet and loyal. You've worked incredibly hard to make yourself approachable, because your skill is so vast that others are too intimidated to even talk to you after training sessions, which leaves you lonely often. But while you succeed in making friends and your skill grows ever more impressive, your body has another future in mind. You're only 16 when the curse begins to eat away at your lungs four whole years before it should. It digs into your body quickly, and in just months, you've gone from the shining jewel of the Guard to a bed-ridden shell of your former self that can barely finish a bowl of porridge. The desire to live hooks into you even deeper than the curse, though. You want to live and be well so badly that it makes you delirious. Just one more day, and it'll be your turn on the list. One more, and you'll get your new body. You can hold out long enough to survive one more battle, can't you?
A memory is implanted in Scien. You're the doting eldest sibling of three wonderful brothers and sisters, and you pride yourself in caring for them in lieu of your absentee father and dead mother. You refuse to let orphanages take any of you in and break your back to make ends meet, and you do it all with a smile because you're greeted by their loving, grateful faces at the end of each grueling day. You cherish these dinners, the times when you can let your hellish reality fade and pretend you're just a boy chattering away with his precious family. But one day, while you toiled at work, someone took everything from you. A burglar entered your home, foolishly expecting to find something worth pilfering. Finding nothing, they snatched the lives of each of your beloved siblings instead, leaving you to come home and find their cooling, mutilated corpses. Through the years, you've lost all hope in the Corps or the Royal Guard. No one has brought that fiend to justice, and so you must live no matter the cost, because your family won't be able to rest while they're still out there, unpunished.
In the cell, the following await you: a morningstar mace, a broadsword, and a box of matches and canister of gasoline.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
[ Before entering the cell, a different variable will be introduced to the experiment for both participants.
A memory is implanted in Luke. You were a good man. Oh, you were among the very best. You served your community well, joining the Corps for no reason other than to be of service to others. You helped little old ladies carry their groceries from the marché and you fed stray cats. How well-loved you were. … so, why? Why was it, that when you entered a home with the intention of helping with another favor, finding a bloody massacre, you were named the murderer? Why did no one testify to help you during your trial? Why were you sentenced to this life of torture and agony without a single soul to turn to? What was that saying about good deeds…? You intend to continue living, one way or another. You can’t be stopped. Won’t be. Others must have a taste of this cruel irony: that nothing in life is guaranteed, and you will be the deliverer of injustice to anyone who gets too comfortable.
A memory is implanted in Sheba. You are a young woman born with an unforetold amount of power. You have always been strong, faster, more formidable than anyone else. Your parents, Relivers, fostered your pride more than any other trait. What did you need for kindness? Growing older, you did not have a great deal of compassion for anyone else—any problems could be solved with your family’s wealth. Until they couldn’t. You crossed a noble house more powerful than yours, and how quick your family was to abandon you. A beast of a child, they said. They let you get captured. Tortured. Your body and pride left in shambles until only the thirst for revenge remained. You need to survive this fight, if only to seek out your revenge on everyone else who wronged you. What is worse? To be abandoned by your family or cherished only when convenient?
In the cell, the following await you: an axe, a whip, a bomb.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
[As Dion and Luke breathe their last, the room finally stills for good. No more suffering. No more struggle. No more tearing yourselves and each other apart, trying to find balance between the logical drive to survive and emotions from bleeding hearts that both do and don't belong to you.
Sheba, Diluc, Dahut and Scien's corpses are all lined up tidily in the observation room, while Luke and Dion remain where they fell in the cell. There's a peace in death, even if it doesn't come gently. It's the last and most permanent rest from a cruel, unkind, unchanging world. It would be nice to stay that way, cradled in the cold and ceaseless silence. Anyone that has been through what you have would agree.
A lone set of footsteps echo through the silent building as your captor and tormentor comes to tidy things up. Did they receive a satisfactory answer to their question? Did you?
...No matter. This is Arpéchéle, after all. Death is more nuisance than respite, and the living just keep on living regardless of how long ago their clocks ran down to that last, ugly second.
Your rest is cut short as your consciousness is wrenched back into your body. You blink awake in a blinding white room, and before you can even get your bearings, you're being ushered or shoved or bodily thrown back out through a rift and into the familiar halls of the Eudora's underbelly once more.]
[And of course, it wouldn't be a true adventure from hell without some lingering souvenirs, right?
First: you have your pick of the injuries you accrued throughout both act I and act II of this event! Yay! Feel free to play that out as you'd like or die immediately on exit if you wish.
Luke has only one way to seek salvation: vulnerability, honesty, and the need to ask for help. Swallow your pride. As much as you care to play with, he will find both his secrets and fears spilling from his lips as though he’s at a confessional hoping for some false god to grant him reprieve. He will also find himself convinced that for some reason, he will never see Rosa again.
Dahut has been absolutely ruined by the devastation of hope. A toxic sense of optimism will permeate, as much as you care to play with. It festers in his heart, dulling his sense of being able to recognize the pain he went through—until it breaks in a flood. Swinging wildly between a saintly sense of forgiveness, only to suddenly crumble and give in to overwhelming physical and emotional ache. He will also find his sense of touch numbed.
Sheba has found the way that the heart is weighed down by the burden of trust. As much as you care to play with, she will begin to question each gentle handhold, every warm embrace, and even the gentlest kind word. How much of that do they mean? Hasn’t she already put her faith in enough people, only to have it broken? She will also find herself convinced that she was the cause of all her friends’ demises, a curse upon those she cares for.
Dion has been besieged by a sense of responsibility far larger than he is. As much as you care to play with, he finds himself desperate to take everyone else's burdens onto his shoulders, no matter how big or small, as if it's his duty to take on the emotional and physical suffering of others. This can manifest any way you want, from Dion playing therapist to protecting others from slumber party beatdowns to making promises to fix things that he just can't keep, and more. Additionally, he'll occasionally feel as though a weight's pressing down upon his chest, making it painful and difficult to breathe.
Scien has fallen to the madness of mournful longing. As much as you care to play with, he's sometimes beset by an agonized and empty loneliness, as if missing someone or something to the point of despair. Sometimes he can't put a finger on what it is, and other times it can take the shape of a person long gone (or even one still here and very much in front of him). He also experiences occasional bursts of excruciating, incapacitating pain radiating from his mouth, throat and stomach, as if he's consumed something horrendously toxic. Sometimes it's so painful that he can barely move.
Diluc has to handle the confusion of an identity that's more than a little muddled. As much as you care to play with, he's possessed by snatches of the other lives he's lived throughout his adventure, or even lives beyond that. In those moments, he'll fully believe that he is his AU'd self, though glimmers of the true feelings he holds toward other characters will shine through. He also experiences occasional piercing headaches and bouts of full-body weakness that make him susceptible to passing out for short periods of time.
All six of you will share one last effect. (Well, it’ll only affect four and a half of you.) But in waves that come and go at your leisure, the pain will numb. In fact, everything will numb! The pupils of your eyes will suddenly glow a vivid cyan, bright. Welcome to being a Reliver again, bitch! Your emotions will dampen, curbing the edges of your rage, sorrow, and joy. Some emotions might entirely disappear for these brief blips. Is this upsetting to you? Or a relief?
Only time will tell. Good thing you have so much of it.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ACT I: THE INSTITUTE.
as you awake in arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a second life becomes your own. memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever experienced before. thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go only in brief flashes. the primary life that you recall, that guide your choices and your beliefs, are these:
in this country, no one lives past the age of 23. the curse takes root in people's lungs, rotting away at their systems until they become bedridden and die from organ failure and gurgling on their own blood. miraculous technology has given the people a way to escape this fate. to become a reliver means to have a chance at a longer life, even if it comes with certain... drawbacks.
luke, you know it all so well. before your parents died in a car crash in chedis, they were researchers at the institute. they wed, had you, and you've been roaming the halls since you were even able to walk—a bright intellect earning you a spot as a researcher to follow your parents' footsteps in no time at all. you support the deputy director's team: pursuing research to let relivers keep all of their emotions. you hope some progress will be made, as you are already 22 years old. your coughing fits grow bloodier by the day. but if you become a reliver like this, with this technology so incomplete, you won't be hold onto the love you feel—for anyone.
dahut, you've known love all your life. how could you ever begin to let go of it now? you were abandoned far too young to ever know your parents, but that's fine since sister salome took you in—she's the only mother you've ever known, and will ever need. the others in the orphanage are sweet, even that maiden of death that so many of the other townspeople abhor. you volunteered to take the room next to hers just because everyone else was sheepish, but it's alright. surely this odd murmur in your heart and tickle in the back of your throat lately is just a cold. a coincidence. with sister salome's recommendation, you were invited to work at the institute despite your young, youthful age of 15 years old. true 15. it's fine, you've got plenty of time to show them what you can do.
sheba, your path is a bit different. while you were similarly an orphan, you were given right to the institute. it's not a fond place for you to think of. how narrowly you escaped the grasp of some of those researchers, one of them too vibrantly admiring your eyes and your hair. instead you found yourself taken in by a group known as the corps, local townspeople who've taken it upon themselves to ensure the defense of the country since the royal guard is so useless. the group of gruff souls are rough around the edges, but sweet. they're like family. all you know about defense and chivalry come from them. at a darling 15 years old, you don't worry about the curse coming for yourself—but there are so, so many ways to die without worrying about the supernatural.
the sun is setting.
dahut and luke, you are still working at the institute, because of course you are. what are your current projects? who do you think of? maybe you're in the lab together like a silly little sitcom.
sheba, you're out on your last patrol of the evening. the town is bustling, the people are laughing, and a newly dead corpse is being wheeled out of a home. no one blinks an eye. what's on your mind? ]
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Anyway HERE HE IS, FULLY ABSORBED INTO THE RELIVERS, AS WAS ALWAYS HIS FATE APPARENTLY. I'm godmoding Dahut as having just recently headbutted him but this time instead of being rusty and gross Luke just has a bunch of VIALS!!! That are fortunately empty... this time...]
I'm going to be carrying something dangerous next time, and then you'll really regret it, you know that?
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ANYWAY FUCKING HELP. HE DID THAT, YES. NO LAB SAFETY AND NO REGRETS. Dahut just laughs, though it ends in him clearing his throat a bit, and reaches out to slappypaws Luke's arm. The one that is still carrying the vials.]
Oh, come on, have a little more faith in me! I would have noticed if you were carrying something dangerous, silly. And aren't your reflexes supposed to be really good, anyway?
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ACT I: THE CASTLE.
as you awake in arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a second life becomes your own. memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever experienced before. thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go only in brief flashes. the primary life that you recall, that guide your choices and your beliefs, are these:
in this country, no one lives past the age of 23. the curse takes root in people's lungs, rotting away at their systems until they become bedridden and die from organ failure and gurgling on their own blood. miraculous technology has given the people a way to escape this fate. to become a reliver means to have a chance at a longer life, even if it comes with certain... drawbacks.
Dion, you're a gallant man who values life far too much to be happy with it ending at an early 23. Your mother died young of a disease unrelated to the curse, and your wealthy, doting father took you to Cerneveaul to be closer to the life-saving technology of the Institute. You became a Reliver at the end of your 22nd year when the curse had nearly eaten you through. Now, you're on your 52nd year and your second Reliver body, whiling away your days in a mediocre sort of peace that's only occasionally interrupted by the presence of your father's new suitor. Having experienced death before, does it feel a little rote now?
Diluc, you're a member of the Royal Family by marriage rather than birth. You were born to two Reliver parents in Cerneveaul whose loveless union ended in bloodshed after a violent spat - a fatal flaw of a society doomed to a future of broken emotion. Still, at 21 years of age, you have hopes and dreams of your own, things that only you can do, and the easiest way to unlock doors is by having as many keys as you can, right? Unfortunately, despite the care of your spouse, the Royal Family at large hasn't taken kindly to you and you often feel unsafe in the castle walls. There are a handful of people that you can trust even in this den of snakes, though.
Scien, you're a member of the Royal Family by birth, with a distaste for most of your relatives, including the mother who looks at you with scorn and the father who was assassinated in your youth. You've always preferred doing things with your own two hands. You've meddled in countless affairs and irritated the King dozens of times, and you get better results than anybody, though that's getting harder for you to do. Now at the end of your 21st year, your body is beginning to break down at a faster clip than expected. It's only a matter of time before you have to make your decision: do you die before finishing all that needs to be finished?
The sun is setting.
Scien and Diluc, you are both within the Castle walls. A banquet has just ended and everyone is clearing from the room, or had done so hours before. Where do your thoughts drift as you walk through the halls? Where do your feet take you?
Dion, you are out in Chedis. Another day's work, another day lived, and endless days ahead of you yet. As you walk through the well-manicured streets that speak to the wealth of its residents, what do you think of? What do you do?]
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Tired from a long day of chatting with wealthy people on how to become wealthier—and then billing those conversations as consulting services—he'll take a moment to stop by the patisserie on his way home, and pick up something for him and his father to enjoy. It's about a 50/50 chance as to whether or not the evening will be interrupted by a suitor, but he opts to be prepared in case things swing in his favour.
So here he is! Greeting the shop keep and looking at the wares. ]
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Eula has been more than reasonable to him since their marriage (thanks aki), but neither of them are particularly happy with their station, and neither of them speak after the banquet, eager to find reprieve from familial obligations.
Diluc will go anywhere he can be safely alone to decompress—an unfrequented location he's probably established since his first day here, and a place he's careful to visit by himself. Maybe a partially-obscured corner of the courtyard, or a quiet alcove in the library. ]
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ACT II: ██████ █████
As you awake in Arpéchéle, the country beloved by death, a seco██ THIRDfourth 5█h life becomes your own. Memories that feel as real as anything that you've ever ███ EXPER█ENCE█. Thoughts of space, distant planets, and the people that you met there come and go onl█ ██ █████ come and stay, in the jumble of everything else you remember. All you've loved, all you've lost.
You awake in a place somewhere between a dungeon and laboratory. It is not as clean and pristine as the Institute. It is underground, and you distantly hear the sound of rushing water. Where are you? Why are you? There are chains that bind your wrists and ankles to posts, all separate from each other, saving you from each other... for now.
A distorted voice comes in.
"Won't you reveal to me what is stronger? Memory or emotion? In this land where so many people view them as one and the same, can't we do an experiment? Show me. Show me, show me! What will you cling onto? Your desire to live, or your loyalty to each other?” And then briefly, softer. "How pointless would life be if she did not still love me?"
One by one, each of you will be taken into a cell—but don't worry, those remaining will still be able to watch through the holographic screens that flicker to life. Those of you who are still alive to watch can do so, or may be forced to do so. Outside of the matches, your memories from the Eudora are clearer—you know who these people are to you.
And you know that they will all destroy each other.]
>TALK
Diluc's model has its full range of emotions, but is prone to lingering on negative feelings. Though his previous injuries no longer exist on this body, he'll experience occasional, temporary bursts of white-hot pain where they once were. The vision in his right eye also flickers now and then, showing him horrific images of imagined scenarios in which he just barely fails to save the people he cares for.
Scien's model has its full range of emotions, but every so often, if he comes into direct contact with a person or holds their gaze, he's forced to experience the weight of their emotions, too. His body also echoes with occasional aches and pains of a life he's only now remembering with greater clarity, as if divine punishment has been biding its time until this moment to greet him.
Dion's model has its full range of emotions, but with a setback: his feelings tend to spike into extremes (sadness becomes grief, annoyance becomes fury, etc). While these spikes don't last long, they're hard to control. His body also sometimes feels as though parts of it are being painfully petrified, though nothing is physically wrong with him and he can move just fine.
Luke's model has its full range of emotions but also what one might call... anxiety. There is a paranoia that seeps into every inch of his body. He cannot focus on the present moment, but rather thinks intensely of both the past and the future. The mistakes he's made, the disasters he's going to encounter. For whatever reason, his cough also hasn't disappeared in this body. Some things truly follow from life to life.
Dahut's model has its full range of emotions, but suffers from indecision. Every choice comes with second-guessing, uncertainty. Is what he's doing correct? Is this in alignment with his goals? Or is he making a choice based off of those pesky emotions? On occasion, his right hand will sometimes move out of sync with his body, as though it has a new life of its own... and it seeks to kill him.
Sheba's model has its full range of emotions, but there is a lack of compassion for others. She struggles to process true consideration for anyone else, except for sudden moments of clarity. At random points, her limbs will fail to obey her, as if they have shattered and the bones have broken apart. The pain sears and she'll lose strength momentarily before putting herself back together.
There's still time yet before the experiment begins. You're free to talk amongst yourselves, though it's obvious you're being watched.]
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But more importantly - he knows the Eudora, and he knows the people in this room as his groggy gaze roams over them one by one, still trying to shake the haze away, trying to cope with the weight of all this new trauma.]
We're...
[ON A HORRIBLE ADVENTURE BUT WHY IS THIS ONE SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE LAST.]
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he moves upright to take inventory of his new reliver body, and of his companions in captivity with him. dread coils in his gut, and he can't seem to shake it no matter how he tries. ]
...Are you all right?
[ he inhales tersely, trying to grasp a semblance of logic in the confusion. this must be another anomaly.
and, it won't end well. ]
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Luke doesn't wake gracefully. He launches back into consciousness the same way he did on the Eudora--panicked and violent, overcome with guilt, regret, and pain. His heart races, his mind immediately latching onto what he'd seen before the experiments started, and he'll tear himself apart for failing to save the rest of them later. For now, far above the memories of parted flesh and flayed minds, even above the hatred and betrayal in the eyes of those that had been trapped with them--]
Rosa--? Rosa--
[Sorry he's feral right now]
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MOVEMENT I
DAHUT & LUKE
A memory is implanted in Dahut. You were born under an auspicious star, they said. How lucky that the heavens blessed you with a strong, healthy body. Even as a child, you didn’t so much as fall ill even once. The older you got, everyone found it remarkable how formidable your body was. No broken bones, no illness, no problems. Somehow, you seemed impervious to illness… and isn’t that a gift in this land? It didn’t take long for you to earn the attention of the Institute, brought to their doors under the guise of invitation—and then kept their for experimentation. Your parents sold you off. You’d be surprised how much people would be willing to part with, for enough gold. Each day, you were picked apart until you lost track of your scars and experiments. You didn’t have a single friend to find, instead only locked away in the white walls of your room, waiting for what horrors would come next. They do not let you choose to end it, and are just barely careful to keep you alive. And yet despite it all… you do not seek the end. No. You want to see that blue sky again. Your family. Maybe if you survive this, that will be your ticket. Maybe someone else’s life can be the price you pay.
A memory is implanted in Luke. How happy you were on your wedding day. After all that hardship, you were able to survive past earning your parent’s acceptance and married your sweetheart even though she was beneath your station. How could you have expected that jealousy and cruelty lurked beneath the surface, ending at her death by the hand of your previous arranged marriage? Love had saved you. It had made you a happy man, content to die at the end of your 23 years so that you could preserve how dearly you adored her… but now it’s impossible to let go of. You killed the person who killed her. You killed your family for the poor security afforded to your fallen beloved’s home. You killed her family for their lack of compassion. You intend to kill everyone who had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on her and being incapable of saving her. And then, when it is over, you will kill yourself—but not yet. No, not yet. Now isn’t this a love worth surviving for?
In the cell, the following await you: a dagger, a poison, a rapier.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
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PEANUT GALLERY
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MOVEMENT II
SCIEN & DION
A memory is implanted in Dion. You're the son of a well-established member of the Royal Guard, born with innate talent in every art of battle you think to try your hand at. Your skill is applauded from youth, and you outshine even your eldest superiors by the age of 8. You're lauded as a genius in tactics, in speed, in warfare. Most importantly to you, you're beloved among your peers, who find you sweet and loyal. You've worked incredibly hard to make yourself approachable, because your skill is so vast that others are too intimidated to even talk to you after training sessions, which leaves you lonely often. But while you succeed in making friends and your skill grows ever more impressive, your body has another future in mind. You're only 16 when the curse begins to eat away at your lungs four whole years before it should. It digs into your body quickly, and in just months, you've gone from the shining jewel of the Guard to a bed-ridden shell of your former self that can barely finish a bowl of porridge. The desire to live hooks into you even deeper than the curse, though. You want to live and be well so badly that it makes you delirious. Just one more day, and it'll be your turn on the list. One more, and you'll get your new body. You can hold out long enough to survive one more battle, can't you?
A memory is implanted in Scien. You're the doting eldest sibling of three wonderful brothers and sisters, and you pride yourself in caring for them in lieu of your absentee father and dead mother. You refuse to let orphanages take any of you in and break your back to make ends meet, and you do it all with a smile because you're greeted by their loving, grateful faces at the end of each grueling day. You cherish these dinners, the times when you can let your hellish reality fade and pretend you're just a boy chattering away with his precious family. But one day, while you toiled at work, someone took everything from you. A burglar entered your home, foolishly expecting to find something worth pilfering. Finding nothing, they snatched the lives of each of your beloved siblings instead, leaving you to come home and find their cooling, mutilated corpses. Through the years, you've lost all hope in the Corps or the Royal Guard. No one has brought that fiend to justice, and so you must live no matter the cost, because your family won't be able to rest while they're still out there, unpunished.
In the cell, the following await you: a morningstar mace, a broadsword, and a box of matches and canister of gasoline.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
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PEANUT GALLERY
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MOVEMENT III
LUKE & SHEBA
A memory is implanted in Luke. You were a good man. Oh, you were among the very best. You served your community well, joining the Corps for no reason other than to be of service to others. You helped little old ladies carry their groceries from the marché and you fed stray cats. How well-loved you were. … so, why? Why was it, that when you entered a home with the intention of helping with another favor, finding a bloody massacre, you were named the murderer? Why did no one testify to help you during your trial? Why were you sentenced to this life of torture and agony without a single soul to turn to? What was that saying about good deeds…? You intend to continue living, one way or another. You can’t be stopped. Won’t be. Others must have a taste of this cruel irony: that nothing in life is guaranteed, and you will be the deliverer of injustice to anyone who gets too comfortable.
A memory is implanted in Sheba. You are a young woman born with an unforetold amount of power. You have always been strong, faster, more formidable than anyone else. Your parents, Relivers, fostered your pride more than any other trait. What did you need for kindness? Growing older, you did not have a great deal of compassion for anyone else—any problems could be solved with your family’s wealth. Until they couldn’t. You crossed a noble house more powerful than yours, and how quick your family was to abandon you. A beast of a child, they said. They let you get captured. Tortured. Your body and pride left in shambles until only the thirst for revenge remained. You need to survive this fight, if only to seek out your revenge on everyone else who wronged you. What is worse? To be abandoned by your family or cherished only when convenient?
In the cell, the following await you: an axe, a whip, a bomb.
The rage in your memories is strong. This newly implanted life fights against the last life’s memory of your years in Arpéchéle and that memory still fights against the memory of your weeks on the Eudora and time in your home world. They all wrestle for dominance, but a bloodlust permeates every single feeling.
But the heart isn’t so simple. The other strong feeling demanding your attention is your relationship with the person you’re in the cell with—what you know, genuinely know of them, and all the feelings that come with that.
Is emotion still worthwhile, if it will destroy you from the inside? ]
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PEANUT GALLERY
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MOVEMENT IV
DION & DILUC
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PEANUT GALLERY
(junji ito voice) this is my top level, it's made for me
MOVEMENT V
DION & LUKE
margaret's gonna be so mad
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FINAL BOW
Sheba, Diluc, Dahut and Scien's corpses are all lined up tidily in the observation room, while Luke and Dion remain where they fell in the cell. There's a peace in death, even if it doesn't come gently. It's the last and most permanent rest from a cruel, unkind, unchanging world. It would be nice to stay that way, cradled in the cold and ceaseless silence. Anyone that has been through what you have would agree.
A lone set of footsteps echo through the silent building as your captor and tormentor comes to tidy things up. Did they receive a satisfactory answer to their question? Did you?
...No matter. This is Arpéchéle, after all. Death is more nuisance than respite, and the living just keep on living regardless of how long ago their clocks ran down to that last, ugly second.
Your rest is cut short as your consciousness is wrenched back into your body. You blink awake in a blinding white room, and before you can even get your bearings, you're being ushered or shoved or bodily thrown back out through a rift and into the familiar halls of the Eudora's underbelly once more.]
>EFFECTS
First: you have your pick of the injuries you accrued throughout both act I and act II of this event! Yay! Feel free to play that out as you'd like or die immediately on exit if you wish.
Luke has only one way to seek salvation: vulnerability, honesty, and the need to ask for help. Swallow your pride. As much as you care to play with, he will find both his secrets and fears spilling from his lips as though he’s at a confessional hoping for some false god to grant him reprieve. He will also find himself convinced that for some reason, he will never see Rosa again.
Dahut has been absolutely ruined by the devastation of hope. A toxic sense of optimism will permeate, as much as you care to play with. It festers in his heart, dulling his sense of being able to recognize the pain he went through—until it breaks in a flood. Swinging wildly between a saintly sense of forgiveness, only to suddenly crumble and give in to overwhelming physical and emotional ache. He will also find his sense of touch numbed.
Sheba has found the way that the heart is weighed down by the burden of trust. As much as you care to play with, she will begin to question each gentle handhold, every warm embrace, and even the gentlest kind word. How much of that do they mean? Hasn’t she already put her faith in enough people, only to have it broken? She will also find herself convinced that she was the cause of all her friends’ demises, a curse upon those she cares for.
Dion has been besieged by a sense of responsibility far larger than he is. As much as you care to play with, he finds himself desperate to take everyone else's burdens onto his shoulders, no matter how big or small, as if it's his duty to take on the emotional and physical suffering of others. This can manifest any way you want, from Dion playing therapist to protecting others from slumber party beatdowns to making promises to fix things that he just can't keep, and more. Additionally, he'll occasionally feel as though a weight's pressing down upon his chest, making it painful and difficult to breathe.
Scien has fallen to the madness of mournful longing. As much as you care to play with, he's sometimes beset by an agonized and empty loneliness, as if missing someone or something to the point of despair. Sometimes he can't put a finger on what it is, and other times it can take the shape of a person long gone (or even one still here and very much in front of him). He also experiences occasional bursts of excruciating, incapacitating pain radiating from his mouth, throat and stomach, as if he's consumed something horrendously toxic. Sometimes it's so painful that he can barely move.
Diluc has to handle the confusion of an identity that's more than a little muddled. As much as you care to play with, he's possessed by snatches of the other lives he's lived throughout his adventure, or even lives beyond that. In those moments, he'll fully believe that he is his AU'd self, though glimmers of the true feelings he holds toward other characters will shine through. He also experiences occasional piercing headaches and bouts of full-body weakness that make him susceptible to passing out for short periods of time.
All six of you will share one last effect. (Well, it’ll only affect four and a half of you.) But in waves that come and go at your leisure, the pain will numb. In fact, everything will numb! The pupils of your eyes will suddenly glow a vivid cyan, bright. Welcome to being a Reliver again, bitch! Your emotions will dampen, curbing the edges of your rage, sorrow, and joy. Some emotions might entirely disappear for these brief blips. Is this upsetting to you? Or a relief?
Only time will tell. Good thing you have so much of it.]