March Adventure: Swim with the Current and Float Away

[lifeaftr_mods]

NEW ISLAND: AI'TUOH

Who: Anyone who feels brave...or particularly lawful
What: A city worth exploring, and a people worth meeting
When: March 10th and onward
Where: Ai'tuoh
Warnings: The themes you might associate with strict punishment and rule-based dystopias will abound, along with nonconsensual drugging/sedation for those found guilty in the streets. Otherwise, mark as needed!

The Overview: Ai'tuoh
The dawn of the 10th will see the appearance of the promised island on the horizon. The smooth, even planes of city walls rear across the expanse of sandy beach, but beyond that, no particular discerning characteristics can be immediately glean. That same morning, characters will awaken from a brief dream, wherein the Storyteller will advise that the new island accessible via mana pool - and they suggest, with some trepidation, that you do not make the location of said mana pool on the new land immediately obvious to the natives. It's clear that something has put them on edge, though they've yet to say what.

Welcome, adventurers, to the island of Ai'tuoh.

Our City, Our Rules
Ai'tuoh is home to a sprawling city, built of smooth, sandy stone. Its architecture is simple, precise, and uniform, valuing utility above all else - function to the exclusion of form. The homogeneity of the people of Ai'tuoh extends beyond the similar, monochrome spectrum of their apparel. Despite the gradations of skin color and the subtle shifts in the shades of their hair - all falling within established limits, of course - they all appear to be more or less human. But most striking of all is the stern warning emblazoned across the city's gates. It translates as follows:

May those who violate our law be cleansed in the Standing Water.

The Unerring Law of the people of Ai'tuoh can be found in the library, which contains little besides some five hundred copies of the same dispassionate lists of various laws, most of which you've probably already broken by the time you've entered.

If you plan on stopping by, we'd recommend taking the time to explore the docks first - those that frequent that particular area are rather more forthcoming to travelers. You might find someone sympathetic to your plight, willing to offer some helpful hints.

Holding Cells: Awaiting Your Trial
Those unlucky enough to be caught by the concealed militia taskforce of the city will be sedated on sight of their violation, and will wake in a small, smooth-stoned room. There are no windows, and only one door - and it won't be opening under your duress. The holding cell into which you've been deposited is beyond barebones; while clean and uniform, it lacks even the basic commodities of a bed and bucket. It seems that there's no need to plan for keeping prisoners in the long term. No one drops by to visit, and no one addresses you if they pass through. Your only company is in your cellmates, who you might be able to hear through the walls, provided you raise your voice over the soft, buzzing hum that permeates the air; a magical suppression field, to ensure that those with particular talents cannot exert them to break the law's hold.

The barracks are sorted into clusters of several buildings, each with variety of cells hidden in secluded pockets. To contrast the uniformity of the city itself, there is no such order here; the buildings are designed to be difficult to break into, and even harder to orient oneself in.

Those who are being kept in holding until their cleansing will not be in complete isolation forever. There are a number of militia who patrol the prison areas to ensure peace is being kept...and some might even be open to conversation.

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For OOC information about Ai'tuoh and the city's laws, please see our recent OOC information post!

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Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[yallstupid]

[Unfortunate, because Guzma sets her with a baffled, disbelieving expression before he all but explodes with laughter. Leaning heavily on the bars of his cell, his voice echoes through the halls until he calms down some, breathing a little hard and rubbing the heel of his palm to his eyes.]

Ahahah...wow, y'all are actually crazy!! How in the heck do you even live, if you deny a plant is base necessities to survive?

Do y'all teach your kids to stop nursing because they're 'impure with greed'? [The laughter is gone, whisked away as Guzma sneers, lifting his nose up and pacing a few steps along the tiny cell.] When they're hungry, don't know nothing else but mom's milk, and scream to be fed 'cuz they can't talk or nothing... You discourage that, don'cha? You tell 'em to zip it, to deny themselves what they need, so it suits your crummy way of life. I mean, y'all rip li'l kids from their families if they so much as giggle, so I wouldn't be surprised.

[aftrnpc]

Do not speak to me about our children, prisoner.

[Her tone is smooth and cold, like iced marble, and she regards him with a dark flash of contempt in her eyes as they track his movements through his cell.]

Neither society nor the Water is to blame for such incidents. It is the fault of parents who do not discipline their children. Parents, and... older siblings.

[yallstupid]

Then why are you still here?

[He stills his pacing very suddenly, and the cold look is returned to her. But the way Guzma's eyes regard her, the chill from the very air around him, could equally freeze blood, and incinerate skin. A look so cold it could burn. He has no sympathy for these people, none at all - especially when it comes to the treatment of their young. It's the same. It's exactly the same...parents. Families. Children.

It's the same as that house. Back on Route 2.]

It should be all of you...facing reckoning. If it's your fault, then why don't you take the fall for them? Why don't you race to the water for them? Die for them? If it's your fault...like you say, then why didn't you do anything?

Why did you choose to let them suffer? [He won't let her answer. If she attempts, Guzma's fist will slam against the door and bars of his cell with a force that echoes in the quiet halls. And he won't even flinch. While his knuckles scream in pain, while blood oozes from his cut skin, while the bones of his fingers split and fracture, he doesn't so much as whimper.

He

stands

still.]

It's because you never loved 'em.

[aftrnpc]

[Despite all, it isn't his rabid pacing, his sharpened questions, nor even the loud rattle of his fists slamming the iron bars that cause her to flinch; she has steeled herself against such violent displays long ago. For those, she holds his gaze steadily, chin facing forward and eyes blazing.]

[It is the final accusation that causes her to look away.]

[Such things are not spoken of here. It is an unarmored layer of flesh, ripe to bleed the same way his fingers weep.]

It is because we -- our... our love is precisely why... [she falters.]

[And then she steels herself again.]

... listen well, lawbreaker. To be purified, rather than live a corrupted lie -- it is merciful. When a loved one goes astray, sparing them from their wretched fate is the kindest we can offer them.

[yallstupid]

And how many have you spared?

[Guzma narrows his eyes at her, knowing well the answer, but he wants to hear it. He wants to hear her say it. Go on...tell him. Tell this lowly lawbreaker how many lives you all have spared. How many you have offered mercy, instead of a walk to the water's edge.









He's waiting.]

[aftrnpc]

[She sets her jaw and stares into his dark, sharp eyes. It is clear to her that he is a lawbreaker unclean beyond reasoning with. Before these outsiders stepped into her cells, she had never before seen people so utterly addled by their false gods in the outer world that they truly believed in the lies fed to them. She.. pities them.]

[Yes... pity. Pity is certainly the term for this coil of unease, gazing into the righteous fire of his eyes. So much unclean passion.]

[If he waits for an admission, he will wait forever.]

[yallstupid]

[The seconds tick on and on as the two stare each other down. Finally, it's Guzma who breaks the shroud of tense silence between them with a snort-laugh and a casual shake of his head as he shakes his head.

Can't even bring yourself to say it, lady? Then don't fucking preach about how you're sparing anyone. He won't be fed that sort of bullshit.]

Yeah, I thought so. [And Guzma strolls back toward the interior of his cell, takes a seat on the ground with one leg bent, arm leaning against it. It seems like that'd be it. The end of their conversation, but no. No, he has to stick it to these rancid people and their putrid laws. He massages his aching knuckles, curls his fist into the fabric of his hoodie to wipe off the blood, then begins to sing.

And neither hell nor high water will stop him from doing so.]

Hey, brother!
There's an endless road to rediscover.
Hey, sister!
Know the water's sweet but blood is thicker.

[aftrnpc]

She stares, eyes hooded, lip curled in silent disdain. It shames her to hear such evil, but she will not be chased away from her duty. If this man wishes to go singing into the Water, then he will soon understand for himself precisely how... how...]

[To her raw dismay, something in the lyrics penetrates her serene conviction. She resists the disorienting power of the music, all too aware of the potent energy such a sin carries. He sings of roads and sisters and the Water and blood. What foolish frivolity, to warp such things into lies. She will not listen. She cannot listen.]

[Her lips purse, her voice moving softly underneath his loud and unyielding words.]

May you live and die free from the draperies of your fiction.

[yallstupid]

[He barely hears her, but he can feel the disgust radiating off this woman like an uncontrolled flame, burning brighter the longer his song continues, the louder and more solid his voice becomes. And Guzma relishes in it. Her hates, her discomfort, her thinning resolve. It's a thing he's good at - pushing, until something gives.

The hated boss that beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down and beats you down...

And never lets up. His eyes close as his song nears its end, and a smile forms on his lips, content and grossly satisfied. Still, he flows easily into the next song, peeking one eye open to gaze cheerfully at her. You live in fear - you and everyone you know - but if he must die, then he will do so.

Free from the draperies of your fiction.]