as the world would have it, pokemon and human work in tandem as partners in all things.

that is their role. their fate, as it is that these creatures would pay for their sins though they were crafted in the image of the gods. and hers, for transgressions made from before she was called priestess. from when she'd only been verona. it is in this way that she sees what they say is the natural order of things.

this unwelcome interloper forces its opposite back.

its urgency is born of an inherent desire to protect that which is weaker than it. it needs no command. it needs only the basest instincts to see this through.

dragalge falters because it has grown too weak. bound to her, as all pokemon are to humans, where they ought seek liberation above companionship.

the shepherd's pokemon too.

this entei, for its life is inextricably linked with a dead champion. why does it still yet linger?

the ground shakes and rumbles beneath her as the waters turn crimson as lamb is conveyed as a sacrifice. she thinks of her own throat as she steps past the threshold as sariel does battle with a god and as the rest of this blighted world rejects their destiny in some meaningless fight for their morals and for their honor. light feet traipse across carved stone, curved altars and a stone that neither glows or hums with recognition for what has been delivered unto it.

she does not recognize ritual of human advent.

she recognizes only what the sea provides her—a toxapex—before the quaking grows. an earsplitting explosion, and the earth swallows them whole.

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

the waters whisper.

gently, softly: the ocean bleeds into the stone. water drips from the stalactites. her face is turned toward the heavens and she hums a familiar lullaby as they descend deeper and deeper into the cave. one droplet navigates her features and verona follows in sariel's step.

she is disinterested in all that there is now and marvels instead at all that which could be. she only looks again when the crystals match the refrain. the cavern sings to her and verona dares not join the chorus.

each facet of the crystals cuts into another timeline.

another place, another face: verona sees the alternatives. one, in which she thinks she would've seen another future than this. and another, where she sees no future at all. but more than that, there are others ad infinitum. places that she's never seen, worlds that seamlessly overlap with this one, gods and creatures that look just like entei and kyogre but are not all at once. she wonders what should happen if she reaches for one. the image is so sharp that she thinks she may cut herself on an alternative.

her hand retreats from the shepherd as sheep is drawn to water. her touch sends ripples through a mirror. wonder, marvel: human things that she's forgotten.

things she's meant to forget.

her head jerks to attention when the awe is torn asunder by a roar of finality. it lurches and verona fails to move until she is forced. she stumbles, nearly falls and runs still as though buoyed by her command as illusory beast chases on their heels. it is not clear where it is that they are running. only that they were. the two navigate as the earth beneath her feet grows warmer even as the rising sea remains frigid. primal entities are at odds still as they cross the threshold of another cavern.

the unbirthing ghosts cling to her skirts like a child.

"there is blood in the water."

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

a fire blooms, and the illusion burns out with it.

sariel commits the most grievous sin with her own hands. any wound that the divine beast has is cauterized before it can rot. the tera crystals reflect only that which they have saw fit to show. the stones hum with life and the thrum echoes throughout the cave of origin and the blue flames steal the breath from her lungs. she inhales. forces herself too as the redness of her palms fades. her fingertips tremble with the warmth stolen away from them and she steadies herself as her senses fall silent.

the nerves in her body numb again as she bows her head. steadies herself on her palms and knees as though from devotion.

she is.

she was.

gentle hands guide her head up and her gaze softens as the other woman's fingers ghost across her skin as she unveils the priestess once more. she becomes a follower again. verona smiles as a laugh comes out in what feels like a too-human breath. she feels the stickiness of the ichor running down her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheek. she closes her eyes as sariel touches her forehead to the back of her hand.

she opens her eyes again and knows there is no blood on her hands for gods do not bleed.

she touches her hand, retrieving and turning it so that her heartline faces her. sariel does not bleed either. verona does not notice the way that the tendons strain at the unnatural pull. "have you found your answer?"

the priestess rises to her feet, but does not let go as she takes a parting glance at the crossroads between.

the entei bids them deeper inside.

who is she to do anything but follow?

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

the crystals refract.

light splinters, and in an instant: there are five different infinities. reflected there on the floor is a timid priestess, in awe as she prostrates in the presence of a creature made from holier stardust than she.

there, in the walls: another priestess meets the beast with a steady hand and an open heart. there, in the stalagmites: there is neither priestess nor shepherd, but another that seeks to gain its favor. another, where she lays bleeding on the ground as it looks on with trepidation. the last, this one: where verona collapses when the electricity stops coiling through her veins.

static coils across every surface, and she gasps and thinks it is something close to a laugh.

her legs are weak beneath her and the dragalge offers no assistance as it reels backward, fearful of what may come in the name of divine retribution. her hands press into the stone and dark hair curtains her features. it's delight, but it cannot show as her body resists as her mind does. she cannot get up and sariel welcomes death like an old memory as entei claws and bites.

carnelian sharpens to garnet, and she smiles brilliantly as she does. entei understands her.

they all would.

the images on the facets of the crystals sharpen, her distant reflection in the knife as the priestess smiles cries screams fights lets repents prays burns

( nothing truly dies in the cave of origin for it is the place where only things are born: a prophet, a believer. )

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

sariel makes a decision.

verona makes hers and follows in the swansong to the inevitable. thunder arcs and crackles throughout the cave of origin. the smell of ozone floods the air and she exhales with the storm, even as a crushing pressure sits like a heavy stone on her chest. each crescent moon of a rib gives way beneath it. verona gasps with delight as the creature turns its fury unto them.

whether it is for their disrespect or for its own satisfaction, the entei sends the ground shaking beneath the two of them as though to assert that this place is its domain. her footing shakes and she stumbles, catching herself on the nearby wall.

her face reflects in the crystal: an iridescent reflection of the impish delight veiled just beneath an apathetic expression. she is reminded of the chaos that lies just outside. of that which shook sootopolis from its foundations, shook her just years ago. her hair falls from place. her shepherd calls to her and verona places a hand at her chest, offering a courteous bow of her head.

deference, and carnelian glints with the stoked embers of a fire in a woman that is more abyssal than she is the sunlight:

"it is too foolish to contemplate such an answer."

it is your responsibility to decide it for us, she implies.

it burns when she does.

electricity coils throughout the area, the dragalge sent aback as sparks coil through the air. her body is sent shivering and twitching involuntarily. it receives no instruction as verona is made and unmade into a new shape, and it decides for itself that it wants to live: rings of water ripple out, pulsing from its body as it does.

it needs not know what either of these things are. neither the person, nor the legendary beast that stands before it—to know that it should be afraid for as long as its captor bids on its usefulness.

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

cinnamon, then ash.

pallid features warm as this dark sun treads deeper into the cave, but not where she cannot follow. she has only heard tale of the creature called entei. a creature that emerges from the smoldering embers of what once was and her thoughts wander to the spire and of the town that sits eerily quiet in the wreckage and the desecration that it invites in its absence. she does not seek the creature, nor does she call after it to entreat it in a pitiful attempt to bid for its sympathy and protection: these things do not understand those desires.

verona does not trail after sariel.

does not follow with her heavy footsteps, chasing the beast to an inevitable conclusion. but, she leads after, even where the light flickers out into a forbidding darkness. the crystals here breathe as entei does. the stones warm vermillion, the reflections of the two humans that chase passing through stone as an after-image. here, it looks as though verona chases sariel—fearful that she would be abandoned.

abruptly, a flash of smoke and the faintest feeling of oxygen being stolen from their lungs.

verona breathes.

she stares back, her ruby gaze trained steadily as the fire dances. burns bright and colorful.

fingers twitch, as she steps out to silently reach for it. grasping at the phantom flames of a dying star, she smiles warmly as though to say she does not fear that which cannot harm it. ( still, the skin reddens, and she expects it to start to pucker and welt when the time comes. ) priestess draws her hand away again.

she gestures with an open palm to lilith, but does not tear her eyes away: "to where do you run?"

a pleased, then pleasant hum as the warmth rakes across her hand. it does not hurt in a way that matters.

"all that awaits in the depths is that which repels you, little one. there are no songbirds in sootopolis. who will warn you when you tread too far? dragalge, a preview."

she whistles, and the cave reverberates in reply. the dewy, leafed monster does too.

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.

this ancient tomb will bury another.

ignorant shepherds guide the lamb to slaughter. sacrifices cannot choose their fates anymore than the executioner can. they ask that she deigns to play the part of martyr. water drips. slowly, steadily: her hands clasp in prayer, the priestess doused in holy water and her fervent prayer echoes through the cave as she calls to a deity that she knows will not answer because of an interloper and its avatar that binds it here.

but, the holy sea beast will still return.

knelt to the stone, she murmurs as the tera crystals hum with prehistoric familiarity: "in land and sea and sky. hallowed grounds, the tempest oceans and in the gates of heaven: bless us with your holy protection."

from the temptations of evil, as she rises to her feet and looks aback at those collected here.

and lead us into our enlightenment for the earth is yours and i am of the earth, as verona turns her attention towards the gaps of sky that she can see between them. they intend to be their keepers and some thank them for that choice. they see so little and understand so little.

may we seek eternal verity in our souls.

they choose to keep their eyes closed for fear of the ending that awaits. but, they have seen this before.

they know what lies ahead.

more devastation. more of what had been wrought.

blessed may the powers be and glory for the ages.

if she is to die, she will be immolated by a divine flame or by the hands of her would-be saint. not by the providence of false gods. verona falls in the light of a dark sun and an eclipsed moon. amen.

[attr="class","poketeam"]

kyle lopez sariel duong

10 MP per IC post in your prelude thread.
50 MP include a motif or recurring symbol of some kind in your thread. praise kyogre.

BATTLE OF SOOTOPOLIS SIGN-UP

THE FIRST WAVE PRELUDE

OOC NAME: aphe[break]
CHARACTER: verona santillian [break]
FACTION: league (civilian)[break]
SCENARIO: A[break]
PREFERRED PARTNERS, INCLUDING OPPONENTS IF PVP?: sariel duong [break]
POKEMON PARTY (MAX 6)

• dragalge, poison touch | poison tail, water pulse, sludge bomb, aqua tail, hydro pump, outrage

NOTES/COMMENTS: religion, spirituality, ancient powers, blood rituals, reincarnation, Biblical Floods™, the abyss, call of the void, is the infection metaphorical or real you tell me

"peace."

sariel asks the wrong questions. she seeks the wrong answers. she limits herself when she thinks only of destroying their gods, destroying those emboldened to use them to reshape their world. she wishes for violence that she herself cannot find the conviction for. in the name of her petty revenge, she hastens to break that which she has not yet fully understood.

neck bared, her head against limestone—the sacrifice of a prophet. the curtains flutter in the sea breeze. windowpane creaks.

sariel is weak.

she will not even kill the priestess that invites it.

"she thought it was beautiful."

sariel will not abandon what remains. not for the prophetess that she believes curses her home. she will not abandon the world that she knows her daughter marveled at. she holds on to that pitiful hope that the girl might still yet live. why else, verona thinks as she relaxes her grip and allows the backs of her hands to fall soft against sariel's palm, would she return to an open grave?

because she hopes, when she should co-sign herself to the same truth that verona had come to:

that there was nothing in this world worth saving.

she gently traces her jaw. her breath trembles, but she does not waver. guides her hand to the base of her throat, rests her hand on top of hers and squeezes—half-certain that she would call this love.

"she would promise this for my-hoa's return."

sariel duong

she is prophet. she is priestess, but sariel sees none of this. what she sees: a symbol of all what had betrayed her, and what remains to be lost.

but, verona is not the holy thing that sariel makes her out to be. she lacks the divine nature through which things can be foreseen. that she had known that anything would transpire in sootopolis that day had been chance, that she had survived it where many had not—carnelian fixates on an azure sky. there'd been a time when she could not look up for fear of seeing what would destruction would rain down from the heavens.

she sees it for what it is now.

a glimpse of the seat of the celestial gods, as empty as she'd found it in her tepid prayers.

you cannot give me what i want, priestess, and she smiles thoughtfully. sariel is already wrong.

my only want is for the gods to suffer as i have. revenge, so that i may finally die in peace, and she laughs again as shoulders sink and she watches the sun for another turn. would it be that simple? sariel is their most fervent servant. has always been.

that devotion of hers is unyielding even now.

( who has said that the gods could only be pokemon? )

and if you cannot give me that, then i want nothing of you, and verona tips her head backwards, her hair pooling in the other woman's lap. skirts slide, and hard white flesh revealed in contrast to pale thighs: the marks of kyogre. her eyes meet hers. clarity, as she reaches out. presses her long nails into the hollow of her cheek. thumbs hard against the space beneath her chin. waits, for her to jerk her head away and hold her there still.

"satisfaction comes as such a cheap cost for you, sariel. you would ask her nothing more?"

sariel duong

white scars form jagged mountains.

she searches where he allows, digits aloft as she charts every course to understanding. the worthiness of a life, or the lack thereof: she traces the heart that'd abandoned him. her gaze follows every seam. half-tempted to pluck a stitch and see if the man unravels before her, verona instead turns her attention to veins that pulse with poison as his reply is met with silence.

how do you unzip a man's veins without first making him bleed? garnet loses its facets, and priestess hums as she taps her requiem against his skin.

what she divines is unclear. what she speaks of, even less, as bestial eyes become achingly human and the monster is swallowed by daylight.

she has seen his face.

she has known his name.

he asks her why she sings here, and she thinks he should know the answer before she tries to slip her bony wrist out of his grasp. she will play the part of prey if he believes himself the predator.

so, no answer is given and the song begins again.

Cillian Quinn

what would they say of the creature that stands before her now? did it long to be a part of something greater than it is? than it deserved to be?

she does not dream of sainthood.

but, she wonders if this one did before shadow took to flesh and bone. before fingernails became claws, and eyes became infinite: was it that the monsters that were bid it into the abyss? promised it fortune and power and safety—her hand is sealed in a vice.

a trap, and she dares bid that it makes good on its promise to sever her wrist clean in two.

the wind blows. a morning sun rises higher over the split of sky, sea and mountains. his shadow drags longer across marble and she thinks of the creature that lies at the bottom of the lake. not her god. not any of these people's, but that of another place. abomination. she smiles, and it is a titter of a sound.

she likes the answer.

but, she does not choose it as she remains.

"a heartline," she begins, splaying out her hand to press hers into the shadow to illustrate a point, "cannot be shared. it is yours and yours alone." hers is thin. half-finished. somewhere, there is a scar where she attempted to complete it.

"it cannot lead to my end."

"no more than mine can lead to yours."

Cillian Quinn

sacrifice exists in devotion.

to a cause, to an individual: she does not know yet to what ends this one is. he passes in the periphery of her eye. a headline that she has little cause for attention to. pictures plastered on every page.

verona passes each as passively as the last.

what she cannot disregard is the havoc that he leaves in his wake: a city that cannot burn, and a jail that cannot keep. a bird that leaps from a cage that refuses to be kept from flying. there are no songbirds in sootopolis.

and, so she watches him in the overgrowth with quiet patience. kneels in the patchwork flowers tucked behind white picket fences, feigning indifference. she holds scissors in her mouth, half-prepared to clip the wings of someone she concedes is braver than her.

Thomas Benoit