imeeji_frontstage | Flowers of Heaven II: Star of Bethlehem

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Flowers of Heaven II: Star of Bethlehem

Who: lost(?) idols
Where: ???? a mysterious courtyard
When: day 490

[ You awaken to the feeling of cool stone at your back, and a night sky overhead.

All around is a courtyard—a wide circle of marble tile, alternating black and white, interspersed with stone benches and flowerbeds and ornamental trees, all lit by the lambent gleam of strangely vivid starlight.

It is beautiful. And it is decaying. The stone is cracked; the flowers wild and overflowing between the cracked stone; the trees bent and twisted with age, the ground around them littered with fallen fruit. There is a fountain in the center of this space, but it too is broken-down: the water sits stagnant, and nothing remains of the design except a basin and the shattered base of a once-golden sculpture.

—And surrounding it all are not walls, but dense mounds of kudzu, climbing over itself until it towers as high as any watchtower.

How did you get here?
The last thing you vaguely recall is a sudden fit of drowsiness. There’s no sign of any guide or host around, and your powers don’t currently work either. In fact, if you have any corruptions, whether mental or physical, they too are … gone? No, perhaps that's not quite it; you can still feel them—faint, like a phantom limb. Invisible, and unable to affect you.
But there is one notable exception to the rule: all wings, corruption-induced or not, remain in place, as natural as the starlight.

There are other idols around you, all waking up the same way. Is this meant to be some kind of game…? ]

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[ Well obviously it is time to acquire sword #2

Picking it up to inspect and brush the gold across it and the steps. ]

Like blood...?

[ Or... paint? But they wouldn't paint here of all places. ]

[ LIKE BLOOD. IT SPATTERS LIKE BLOOD

touches ground. something happened here?? ]

A fight?

[ . . . Venturing further down now with heavy sword and the golden bloody sword. ]

[ the atmosphere here is oppressive—every step feels heavier, almost like trying to walk through a swamp. here and there are littered broken bits of blade or weapon, shattered swords, more spatters of gold. ]

[ Oppressive. If he is able, though, he is going to take pictures of the blood splatter on his phone, or anything of note.

While he may slow down a little as he moves, he will continue pushing forward. ]

[ strange—your phone seems to be having difficulty working. the screen flickers and goes dark.

but pushing forwards—there is a thickening sense of despair, of loss, of pointlessness and emptiness. it's almost enough to bring one into their knees—and might, if he doesn't keep pushing on with all his might, if he falters for a moment.

here, in the dark: who is he? who is he, alone? ]

[ He has to grit his teeth. The original sword feels especially heavy right now, difficult to lug behind him when he's already pushing forward with another sword. Though perhaps he can properly secure it through a belt loop so he has one less thing to carry physically. It frees a hand to hold onto the wall, and push forward with one foot after another.

The feelings lick at his heart like flames, but- he is Suou Tsukasa, the king of knights- the head of the Suou family. And no matter what, if he someday desires to protect his seniors, then conquering a walkway like this--? It is nothing. He'll have to do so much more.

He may not be able to do a lot right now. But what he can do? Is he can focus on a step. And then the second after that. If he can just make the goal a single step more each time, then he can find the strength to push back the feelings that keep intruding and press forward. He is Suou Tsukasa- the king who will someday find his knights and liberate their spirits from the ties that bind them to hell. And that is just the beginning. ]

[ he steels his resolve; here, in the dark, here, in the depths of the tower beneath, where the last of the light has faded and all is silent, where he is alone.

and then there is a sound like a drop of water—drip, drop, falling into a pool, and sending ripples tinged with light out from a center point somewhere ahead of him, roughly illuminating the shape of a circular body of water. ]

[ He follows the sound first- and then the light that leads him forward, approaching carefully. Light...? Down here where for so long in this winding tunnel it has felt so dark and dreary.

He peers into the water, eyes wide. What is all of this? ]

[ standing, moving—suddenly feels strangely light, and almost too light, like he's in a space with no gravity, the space between worlds, except there are no stars.

at the edge of the pool—apart from the path he approaches on, great gashes like scars are carved into the walls. no longer bleeding, but inlaid with ice that stays frozen. and on the surface of the water—

every time a drop falls, there's a fleeting glimpse of a face, partially obscured by bars of darkness. across the pool is an empty chair—a throne, really—of polished dark horn. ]

. . . Who?

[ It is nice to feel the heavy, suffocating weight disappear- like drawing a breath after having been under the water a long time. Yet curiosity turns, along with confusion. Brows knitting, this water is unlike the black tar he crossed earlier...

Tentative, he leans over the pool and lifts a finger to the water's surface to gently skim along it. ]

[ the water is clean, and pure—even though it looks ink-black, like a mirror surface in the dark. and just for a moment, the face mirrored in the surface seems to turn toward Tsukasa, looking surprised—

and then tendrils of water wrap around his arm, pulling him under the surface. ]

[ —and then, when he finds himself surfacing again, he's at the top of the stairs, the courtyard just at his back. ]

WAH-

[ HEART RACING. THAT. That... happened. Actually, just what was that?? What DID just happen? And who was that??

Are there any marks on him where the tendrils caught him? Is he wet? And does he still have swords? ]

[ he's—

not wet at all, actually? somehow. he does still have both swords. ]

[ . . . . . .

Okay but. What if he just tries to stubbornly march himself back down the tower? Or has it become barred to him. ]

[ well. he can still do that

if he really wants to go through the creepy and wet zone again ]

[ What if. He yells down first. ]

IF YOU DIDN'T WANT ANYONE TO BOTHER YOU, YOU COULD JUST SAY, YOU KNOW??

[ Yelling down the stairs first seems the best idea surely. ]

YOU OUGHTN'T TO SURPRISE SOMEONE LIKE THAT!

[ his own voice echoes back to him, warbly, like he's gargled water... ]

[ Rude. Nothing, huh.

........................ But he is absolutely going to march back down the tower. Sorry that he is stubborn. He's determined to not get kicked out. ]

[ well. he can keep going right back down the way he went the first time. this time, though—the swords are missing from the rack on the wall.

one seems to have fallen a ways down the stairs, blade snapped in half, leaving a jagged edge and a spray of gold across the wall nearby. ]

[ . . . . . But no one else was down here with him, right? So how did that happen?

Moving over to run a hand along the gold-splattered wall? ]

[ in a way, it feels almost dreamlike. this time, the stairs are more worn; there's more gouges in the wall. torn fabric, scuff prints. not as pristine as the first time.

if tsukasa thinks hard enough—something about the environment might remind him of past ventures into other people's hearts, the way the world seems to be more grounded in symbolism than nature. ]

[ It adds to the confusion, brows knitting as he moves. He had assumed a battle took place here, but the changing nature makes him question that.

At least- how literal any of it might be. The entire place has felt permeated with a sense of melancholy since he arrived. That isn't the sort of thing one would normally feel when visiting a brand new location.

He'll continue his same trek further down, intent on reaching the strange pool and throne once more. ]

[ as he goes down, down, down—the aching melancholy and emptiness starts to seep into his bones, eating at his convictions—whether those relevant in the moment, or those that are simply dear to his heart.

maybe it's just a trick of the dim light, but it almost seems like black is dripping down the walls starting at the top. ]

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