Silvergrit and Self-Immolation

Sibatti

TLDR version: Sibatti and Lin take some drugs they found on a beach and set an unofficial shrine to Chakrasul on fire.

Overlooking the eastern coast.
Many of the stars are disguised behind looming clouds, tracing their slow paths across the sphere of the heavens. The eastern coast of Sapience unfolds here, the sea stretching out in a vast blue field towards the horizon. Sand dunes line the walkway, with a wooden boardwalk winding its way down towards the beach below, and back up towards the city of Esterport in the north. To the northeast, a constant churn of mist rises up as the Zaphar and Myesis crash together before pouring into the ocean, with a dazzling misty rainbow sparkling up when the sun's light hits the spray. Massive in size yet statuesque in its stillness, a giant eland stands here, its gaze alert. Like a bird-shaped hole in space, a dark raven spirit glides through the air.This area has been overgrown with a swathe of seething plantlife.
You see exits leading north, southeast, and south (closed pine door).

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Lin, "What are doing right now?"
(Tells): Lin the Rojalli tells you, "Just finished lifting my own weight with the Karnagh - they're warming up to me. Doing a little shopping, now."
(Tells): Lin the Rojalli tells you, "And what're -you- doing right now?"
(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Lin, "Looking out over the place I plan to build the sanctuary."

Lin arrives from the north.

Lin draws up beside you to take a look for himself. It's a vista he's seen countless times in his travels, but given reason and context, he gazes upon the ocean with an appreciative air. You can practically see him drawing the dotted lines as his eyes sweep over regions of the terrain - building a temple, himself, in his head.

You have emoted: Sibatti's hand comes up to Lin's arm the moment she's approached, both holding onto and tugging it downward. She extends an arm directly along the cliff face, roughly in the direction of Lin's eyeline, and then lowers it. "Take what you are picturing, now imagine it is going down instead of up."

You conjure up the illusion to Lin's mind:
You feel the heat and scent of her energy immediately - she has been busy.

Lin's ears zap into an upright position; he does as nonverbally told, drawing his line of sight down, down further, sending his what-could-be imaginings into the earth itself. It isn't unusual for him to be quiet at such a juncture; there's a coastal breeze, autumnally cool, that plays about with his hair, but the deep intake of his breath, the way he leans in close, suggests he'd prefer to smell you. "Your claws are sharper these days," he suggests, after a long period of contemplative silence.

You have emoted: "I've been fighting a lot more," Sibatti chimes in reply, her answer spoken matter-of-factly. The road you stand on is busy, but the space shared manages to be quiet and intimate still, partly due to how close she clings to him. A gentle squeeze of his arm accompanies her statement. "And it is getting easier at finding targets."

The coastal breeze momentarily picks up, sending strands of loose hair swirling amidst its unseen waves.

The closer you become, the more you can sense his restlessness, alive beneath his skin like a sluggish creature striving to escape.

"I meant only that if you dig it out the normal way," Lin takes your wrist, folding his thumb over your knuckles, observing the curl of your fingers. "You're going to break a nail." From side to side, his tail swings like a pendulum, marking the shift of his interest from the site of your future temple to your body instead, the silvery chain catching his eye. He either never learned the knack of hiding his staring, or simply does not care.

As the breeze moves bits of sand to and fro, you spy something metallic poking out of one of the nearby dunes.

You have emoted: Sibatti's face shifts to surprise, exclaiming with genuine laughter. "Oh---!" Her wrist is loose and relaxed in Lin's grip, and she takes a half-step to pivot into facing him. "I don't dig with these, they're not meant for that. No, I've already hired some diggers to do this part. It's going to take an entire team!"

Lin just thought:
"She's so cute."

As you turn on him, you would see Lin utterly distracted, his eyes not on yours, but somewhere beneath chin level. It's all too obvious he's captivated, some enticement or other irresistible idea bringing out the flashing tail and cocked ears, those catlike markers of your spouse's playful obsession. "Ah-huh, I see," he murmurs, nonchalantly poking two fingers up under your top, curling them over your chain, and giving it a firm tug. Oceanside moonlight picks out the features of his pleased face.

You conjure up the illusion to Lin's mind:
Metal and nymph's eye gemstones glimmers from her all over - its the spellbinding combination of skimpy and strategically-placed apparel choices. These things are meant to be seen.

You have emoted: Sibatti's brows move up swiftly and sharply before falling back down. "I thought it might have been a comment on my increased ferociousness," she points out, staring at Lin's eyes staring at her top. She doesn't skip a beat, moving right along in the conversation. "When I snapped at you. When I snapped at Chakrasul."

You think:
When she -destroyed- Chakrasul.

The breeze picks up for a few heartbeats, bringing with it the waft of salt from the nearby waters.

Lin breaks his own reverie by laughing, not overtly but enough to get a smile onto his face. He doesn't stop toying with your chain, even still, but for the first time since he'd sidled up, his eyes are upon your face. "That would have been a -fine- compliment. Let's pretend I said that, mm?" One last tug, a little too hard, the ache of it transmitted up the length of the chain, before his fingertips glide down the length of your stomach, inexorably drawn toward the gemstone glinting from your navel. "Pretend I said that you have the soul of a tiger, with fangs so sharp even Goddesses will not risk your bite..."

You have emoted: Sibatti's lurches forward, a movement that only looks dramatic from Lin's point-of-view, this close together. Her boots stomp heavily, but quietly, over the path as she regains her footing from it easily. She sweeps back her long, loose hair so it's out of the way, before folding both arms over her chest - the very picture of playful belligerence. "Soul of a viper," she corrects him with verve.

You spy something glint off to the side of the main path, just at the base of a nearby dune.

Against the backdrop of the ocean, quiet and furtive sounds are drowned in white noise; a great swathe of the way Lin communicates is rendered meaningless. For context clues, you are given the widening of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the crack of hunger as his fangs make an appearance from beneath his lips. It isn't until he inches himself into your space that the full picture becomes clear: a warm, panting, thoroughly excited puppet of a man standing nearly belly to belly with you, taking a page from your book as he wraps his fingers around your hair, sinking in tight, using it to angle your head back and meet you eye to eye.

Lin the Rojalli murmurs to you in muted Mhun syllables, "Then why is it so fun to hunt you down?"

Lin just thought:
"What is that...?"

You have emoted: Sibatti's gaze slides to one side, even with her hair being seized by Lin. "H...hold on, we're on a very---" Her claws flex instinctively, and she will wrench herself out of Lin's grip - hopefully without him pulling out her hair in the process.

You think:
[ She'd dismissed it, before - some small suspicion, or sixth sense, is creeping up on her now ].

Lin quite nearly refuses to let you go - it's a moment of struggle, a bit of unplanned conflict that builds a low growl in his chest, but with enough wriggling you can convince him to let go of the vise grip he's gotten on your hair. "Right, right," he breathes, his eyes flickering immediately elsewhere - some indistinct point in the sand, none too far, where the terrain spills downward into the warm coastline. "Hey, look," he urges, wandering off the beaten path, toward the dunes, where he'll squat and inspect the sand.

You pick up a discreet, slender phial of refined silvergrit.

Lin picks up a discreet, slender phial of refined silvergrit.

Crafted with immaculate skill, this slender phial is no thicker than a cork and perhaps two inches in length. A metal stopper keeps the contents within safe, whether they be liquid or otherwise. It contains enough silvergrit to constitute a single use.
One may PARTAKE PHIAL to consume the contents within.
It has 1 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs 1 ounce(s).

Lin just thought:
[The rapid pulsing of his blood gives way to a shift in character - enticed by something other than libido. He feels his heart racing as he suspects what may be in the phial].

You have emoted: Sibatti is close on Lin's heels, immediately pouncing on a discreet, slender phial of refined silvergrit as it's blown free of its sandy blanket. "Uhhhh... is this what I -think- it is?" She wonders, holding the phial up close to inspect its contents. One of her black claws taps the container, observing what happens to the contents within.

The contained substance jostles slightly but otherwise remains inert within the sanctity of its phial.

Lin has gotten his hands on a phial too. Crouched down over the sand, his toes buried in the dune, he pinches the neck of the vessel between his fingertips and rolls it around, appraising the substance inside. "A drug?" He wonders aloud. As far as distractions go, it has an effect on him not too differently from your own charms; his tongue rolls absentmindedly across his fangs. "Do you recognize it?"

Lin just thought:
"Please be a drug, please be a drug, please be a drug..."

Lin just thought:
[He can feel his throat and nasal passages -itching-.].

You have emoted: "Uh-huh," is Sibatti's flat reply. She runs a tongue over a fang, eyes frozen on the silvergrit within the phial and her expression stiff. "You might not want to know, though...." Breaking out of her trance, she shoots her eyes in Lin's direction, observantly.

You think:
But would it make a difference..?

In the time it takes for you to say that, Lin has already ripped the cork from his phial, shoving it so crudely against his nose you'd think he was pouring it down the hatch right then and there. With all the hunger and gracelessness of some wealthy baron inhaling the aroma of his dinner, he smells deeply of the silvergrit concealed inside. "This is -new-," he exclaims, rising to his feet, his tail whipping about madly, giving a glimpse into his thrilled state. "Do you want to try it?"

You think:
[ She knows what would happen. Telling her spouse not to do something only makes him want it more ].

You think:
Still... how perfectly conspicuous to find it here, of all places.

You have emoted: Sibatti wears her emotions readily on her features: there's a hint of reluctance, and a lot of earnest anticipation. "It'll get you harder than scintililly," she says to Lin - though it's not sure if it's a warning or meant to do the opposite.

If your goal was to warn Lin away from the stuff, you couldn't have chosen a worse way to do it. He fixates disbelievingly on you for one, two seconds, then tips the phial back.

You think:
Hit. Hit harder. Dammit.

Lin opens the metal covering on the discreet phial, tipping it to the side and letting the dash of silvergrit escape free with a few taps until it rests in a line on the back of his wrist. Within moments, he intakes the entire line in one forceful inhale that removes any trace of the silvery substance.

You open the metal covering on the discreet phial, tipping it to the side and letting the dash of silvergrit escape free with a few taps until it rests in a line on the back of your wrist. You intake the line of silvery powder in one forceful inhale, wiping away any trace of its silvery substance.
An immediate rush of revitalizing energy courses through you, perking senses and lending strength to stay focused beyond mortal ability.

Lin just thought:
"Not as fast as scintilil... oh. Oh, oh. Oh..."

Lin just thought:
"What is this, what is this...?"

You think:
Fuck it - I'll dig the whole temple out of the rock myself if I have to.

You have emoted: Sibatti follows suit, but manages to keep one of her hands clasped to Lin's arm - perhaps for stability, perhaps to keep him from taking off somewhere without her. She squints one of her eyes and sniffles after wiping her nostrils clean, turning over her shoulder to glare at the construction site-in-question.

Lin seems fated to clear his passages for quite some time after, caught up in hoarse, noisy sniffing, his nostrils flared on a semi-permanent basis. All he can do for a little while is blink, over and over, following your eyes without as much appreciation for context - it's just something for him to look at. He takes your arm in the same way, getting his hand around your bicep, and not with any sort of gentleness or care. "Doesn't-- doesn't it feel amazing," he growls out.

You think:
[ Not as much of her thing, compared to the effect of mushrooms - but in a certain context.... yes ].

Lin just thought:
[His mind is buzzing, fielding thousands upon thousands of energetic impulses, his body screaming at him to do something, snap into motion, dump all of this sudden energy into something, anything].

Muscles twitch with the aching desire to be used, urging you to find the next source of strife under which you may grow.

You have emoted: "Like fire in the blood," Sibatti murmurs agreeably. Her response is less frenetic; the drug seems to settle in her like a thickening agent, her limbs tensing into steel immovability. She appears to be tracking something exclusively in her peripherals, never quite settling on any one subject in particular. Lin's responses now hardly seem to register.

Lin's brain is commandeering his hands autonomously now, bidding them to find something warm and living to grab on to. He can't get his hands off of you, squeezing an arm or a shoulder or your side, though sometimes he'll leave off entirely and uncontrollably wring his fingers through his hair or roughly rub his face. His tongue lashes across his teeth constantly, making smacking sounds as he licks his chops. "Let's build the temple -now-, right now, what's the wait?"He asks, "Or we could go hunting, or-- or let me pull you down somewhere private on the beach and --" he could probably keep going like this for a while. Different substances can produce different effects in people, and he's -wired-, hyperfocused and yet queuing up a hundred different potential suitors for his attention.

Your muscles tense, tighten, then bulge with renewed strength beyond your normal capacity.

You have emoted: If any of Lin's grabbiness bothers Sibatti, it isn't clear one way or the other. He may as well be a toddler monkeying around and atop her. "Or kill something," she inserts, with none of the eagerness of excitement present in her tone - she practically growls it, as one might sound when entertaining an unhealthy impulse. Her tail carves through the air, in sharp twisting angles.

"Or kill something," Lin parrots. His tail is not typically sluggish or still, but presently flaps and waves about so hard it seems improbable that it isn't hurting him. His urges hijacked by your own, he fixates suddenly on the notion of death, making the torqued-wrist motion, the inhuman swelling and lumpen shape in his forearm that typically preludes the emergence of his grisly weaponry. "Or someone. This was a gift from the gods, made from another man's folly...!"

Lin just thought:
[A dragonfly swarming through tall grasses; they crackle when the wind acts upon them, stiff and half-dehydrated where they thrust from the sand. Distant voices, shoppers, hagglers, pirates, and thieves coming from town, a short trek away. They are distinct and he imagines he can make out at least thirty separate people. The wind is rasping over his body, eliciting goosebumps...].

You have emoted: "Come on," Sibatti tugs at Lin's arm, a movement reminiscent of how she had greeted him upon first arrival, but in name only. Here she is urgent, impatient, bidding him follow her as her impulses seem to lead elsewhere.

Perhaps realizing that half-seizing you will only make trying to move inconvenient, Lin relents a little, squeezing your arm one last time before he eases off. He doesn't know where he's going at all, but starts off almost at once, picking a direction until you can course correct him, proving just as eager to move.

A crowded market centre.
The noonday sun shines down, tinged grey by its passage through the thick clouds above. A rounded section of the paved street draws in a chaotic crowd of people from all ends of Sapience. Street signs are scribbled with the day's orders, and bins and barrels are overflowing with goods waiting delivery. Shouts of bid orders and the scent of ripe produce and salted meats overwhelm the senses, leaving a distinct and dizzying impression of this branch of the trade city. A cloaked peddler keeps a watchful eye out here. Its top resting low above the ground, a round burl wood table is here. A chromatic column commands the area, chaotic candescence churning at its core. Massive in size yet statuesque in its stillness, a giant eland stands here, its gaze alert. Like a bird-shaped hole in space, a dark raven spirit glides through the air. Lin the Rojalli is here. This area has been overgrown with a swathe of seething plantlife.
You see a single exit leading northwest.

You have emoted: In the bright of day, Sibatti navigates through busy streets as if she were looking for something. Her pace is swift, scanning her surroundings and engaged in a perpetual task of entertaining and discarding ideas rapidly. She leads Lin into a particularly busy market, hanging back from the throngs of people, and murmurs something to Lin under her breath.

You murmur to Lin, "No... something that matters."

Lin is dangerous company to bring through Esterport; he turns eyes wherever he goes, for anyone who brushes into him or strolls by him feels a brace of claws, the man picking his way through the crowd by touch, the way you think of hired killers rifling through potential marks. His chest rises and falls fearsomely with each breath, and the air that comes out from between his fangs is as hot as a furnace. "What matters," he asks with dangerous interest, his infectious smile refusing to leave his face. The silvergrit has put him into one hell of a mood, fearsomely cheery, all the manner of a jubilant, bloodthirsty shark.

You have emoted: In lieu of an answer, Sibatti wordlessly climbs up onto her patient eland and turns towards Esterport's western gates.

<< Moving >>

Lin follows you to the southeast.
Ancient Dryad Burial Grounds.
The sun shines down warmly from the cloudless sky, standing at the apex of its arc through the heavens. Wilted flowers releasing their seeds, sprawling lupin blankets the area. Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly flits about happily as her wings agitate the air.
You see exits leading southeast, south, southwest, and northwest.
Lush plantlife sprouts beneath your feet, blanketing the vicinity in quick motion.

You use Primality Lightning on Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly.
Crackling violently, radiant lightning coalesces rapidly within your palm. With a sudden forward thrust of your hand, an arc of electricity strikes Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly.
You have scored a MUTILATING CRITICAL hit!
Damage done: 7440, electric, magical
The final blow proves too much for Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly, who expires, pitifully.
Having slain Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly, you retrieve the corpse.
A rush of energy fills you as you feel ready to deliver a devastating blow upon your next target.


<< Moving >>

Lin follows you to the southeast.
Within the chilly Moonglade.
The noonday sun shines down, tinged grey by its passage through the thick clouds above. The watery Ashasa sits under the willows, bathing her feet in the pond. A cluster of limestone ruins rises up from the waters of the Moonglade. Shades of blue drift through the watery form of the undine Myrtiah. Shades of blue drift through the watery form of the undine Mischah. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A lustrous tidal pool of luminous deep blue water bears a variety of colourful sea creatures, the vivid coral rising from its depths cradling a sandstone and seaglass altar. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. All filled with blood, an offering of buckets resides here, the sharp, coppery smell spreading far. There are 6 wooden buckets here.
You see exits leading east, southwest, northwest, and down (closed pine door).
Lush plantlife sprouts beneath your feet, blanketing the vicinity in quick motion.

You pick up 6 buckets.

Lin keeps pace by dashing alongside you, coursing through the fringes of the Ithmia and following/chasing you down into the depths beneath the Moonglade. By now the silvergrit has fully taken hold of him, and his wide eyes blink only seldomly, while he impulsively licks at his teeth like some starving wolf. "There's-- you can't-- there's nothing to kill in here," he hisses, though as his claws punch forth from his fingertips, one might wonder if he's so sure.

You have emoted: "Yes there is," comes Sibatti's severe reply, purred out in her usual rough timbre. You don't know why there were six buckets of blood at the edge of the Moonglade, and she does not comment whatsoever when she picks them all up to take inside.

<< Going inside Lin's den >>

A crumbled pagoda, invaded by earth and water.
Numerous hallways end in this enormous space, an open place of religious purpose, vaulted by a cavernous ceiling of unhewn stone and compacted earth. Gargantuan tree roots reach down into the fringes of the space, a great wooden net cast across the engraved walls - these are the tendrils of the Great Oak. The northern end of the pagoda leads to an ornate staircase, its ancient bronze without luster, a raised platform looming above. The walls have caved in here and there, exposing raw soil, festooned with lichens and phosphorescent moss, feeding from the lapping and frigid waters of an underground river. Like a bird-shaped hole in space, a dark raven spirit glides through the air. Lin the Rojalli is here.
You see exits leading west, up, and down.

This is the first thing that has managed to shut Lin up since the two of you chanced upon someone's silvergrit stash. He follows from aggressively close proximity, enough that if you don't account for his presence, trying merely to walk will end up dashing your feet against his, or bumping against him shoulder to shoulder. As the span of his den takes the two of you deeper and deeper beneath the earth, his tail begins to hover high overhead, and his breath speeds and grows thinner. By the time the two of you have reached the ancient temple complex proper, his eagerness begins to overwhelm his sparse patience, and he makes a grab for your tail to stop you. "Spill it," he urges, "Tell me what you're thinking. I -know- you have a plan."

The smell of old dust and decay pervades the area.

You have emoted: Though Lin's den is not new to Sibatti, there is a bit of lingering unfamiliarity with navigating it, for her. She moves instinctually, pausing at the centre of the pagoda and looking around for something that isn't readily apparent.

Lin follows you to the down.

A dark place.
The dark is absolute, bereft of the ambience to which the eye is so good at picking up and amplifying - there is nothing to adjust to. The chamber appears to be a storeroom of sorts, small and ovular in cross section, nothing more than roughly hewn stone walls and a floor of bare dirt. Strewn about are what could be crates or chests, heavy rectangular objects that most likely are framed paintings, and a great number of scrolls, illegible in the black. A space has been cleared out at the very back of the chamber. Erratic handfuls of salt have been sprinkled in profusion over the sacrificial tableau. A jar of strange, glitzy dust rests nearby an old, forgotten barrel. A jar of lavender oil sits at the ready, just a handspan away from the idol. A figurine of a jade skewered boar has been placed at the base of the statue, amidst numerous offerings. Lin the Rojalli is here.
You see a single exit leading up (open pine door).

You have emoted: At this exact moment, you know - Sibatti has been focused on getting here all along. She moves in with purpose, setting everything on the ground that she had hauled up from outdoors.

You drop 6 buckets.

You drop the corpse of Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly.

Lin just thought:
[This chamber has queer associations in his mind; the presence of his mate here sounds alarms, and obviates a feeling of urgency and possible danger. He hasn't entered this room since his days in prayer to Corruption...].

You think:
[ She has been here quite a bit in recent times ].

The chamber is too dark for mere mortals to puzzle out details, but Lin's eyes glint predatorily in the oppressive low-light conditions. Compared to the more wide-open expanses of the temple above, this place is cramped and claustrophobic, the sound of your breathing and the distant-yet-close hiss of subterranean water flow immediate in the ear. "What are you doing," he demands, and for the first time lets worry creep into his voice. He stumbles against a bucket, setting its contents sloshing, and you can hear him swear beneath his breath. "You don't just bring -blood- down here, Esry..."

You start to wield a lavishly embellished dagger of curved bronze in your left hand.

You have emoted:"Do you know why it was so unexpected, so ... out of nowhere? When I declared war against Her." Sibatti does not answer Lin's question otherwise, and ignores his comment on the buckets of blood. It is convenient that the space is cleared already for ritual, in its own way, for Lin would recognize the way she is setting up to perform something very familiar.

You start to wield a simple wooden bowl in your right hand.

You pick up the corpse of Xarebes, the black-winged butterfly.

"I wonder a little, I confess," Lin allows, lurking there in the cellarage somewhere behind you. In truth he flits from spot to spot, aghast to discover that this forbidden chamber has been used, with things not quite the way he left them, sacks and barrels moved aside, the thick concentric rings of salt disturbed. "Esry, are you coming down here?" He asks outright, "What have you been doing?"

Lin just thought:
[He wants to leap right into the air; he wants to sink his teeth into meat; he wants to run as far and as fast as he can, just to feel it...].

Your attention fixates from one topic to the next, thoughts racing past your mind's eye with untold wisdom.

You have emoted:"Because I hate Her," Sibatti answers simply, her voice a suspiciously-high lilt.

Lin just thought:
[Four words. They sink right into his brain. Their greater significance is of no immediate use; he can already sense he's going to be thinking about this for a long time].

You have emoted: Sibatti's pause is purposeful - she scrapes whatever remains of Xarebes into the bowl in hand, barely more than crushed black and gold powder by the time she's through. "And I didn't used to hate Her," she continues, as if launching into a tale of her own creation.

Waving the dagger through the air carelessly, you say, "I didn't think about Her at all."

What a predicament; Lin's body thrums with unspent energy, coming out in the shake of hands or in the constant thrust and retraction of claws, or ventilating poorly through the ceaseless beat of his tail. Yet he has nothing he can do but watch this sacrifice play out, daring to come no closer, as if fearful of disrupting whatever dark magics you have wrought into being, here at the bottom of the ruin. "I think about Her every single day of my life," he claims, "And remind myself that no good will come of returning to this-- this cell. What -is- this, Esry? What changed?"

You think:
[ She is convinced of her rightness. The time of inaction has passed. Her muscles are practically straining against her skin ].

You have emoted: "We drove Her out, and not by force - but a cowardly retreat." Sibatti recounts the recent events in a voice that is crisp with distaste, internal fury poorly packaged by a veneer of calm. She gestures with her knife hand with the same careless disregard for anyone or anything near her. She does end up nicking her own arm, though it's apparent that this one was on purpose. Lowering her cool gaze to the bowl, she lets her blood mingle in the crushed biomatter at the bottom.

Lin simply doesn't know what to do - try to help? Stand and watch? Go back to trying to grope you? Most pressingly, the reek of blood is beginning to get to him just as much as the silvergrit, eliciting an awful lot of teeth-clenching and wincing. Your ritual practice is disturbed by the occasional crash, Lin's fist smashing into a wall or a stored and forgotten crate, and in between, a constant tap-tap-tapping, the claws of his feet clicking on the floor as he paces. "And you what - mean to curse Her?" He asks.

You cease wielding a simple wooden bowl in your right hand.
You cease wielding a lavishly embellished dagger of curved bronze in your left hand.

You have emoted: "Do you know how to destroy a momument, my love?" Sibatti stows her dagger safely away, now one degree less dangerous, and drops to crouch on the ground with a simple wooden bowl in hand, where she sets it on the salt-strewn floor. "We would have done it, had we been able to pursue our hunt - but was left unsatisfied."

Lin just thought:
"What did I take...? What -was- it, where can I get more...?"

The wickedly varied tones of a many-stringed quartet languish amidst your outlook, drawing it to meet their solemn and sonorous melodies.

Lin's footsteps grow closer and closer. There's an airy sound, a flapping of something or an abrupt sigh of breath, and then his hand, heavy and clammy on your back, his outspread fingers claiming the entire span between your shoulderblades. "I haven't had to destroy one in ages, not since--" He can't even try to focus on the question; it simply doesn't seem urgent. "How are you doing this? I can't hold still - I'm going to lose my mind. Did-- did you not take as much? Am I reacting badly to it? What are you doing?" What are you doing? He asks, over and over. Not in those words, but that's the meaning of every question lobbed your way. He hasn't been comfortable since the two of you set foot in this room, and all he seems to want to know is -why-.

You have emoted: There is a crackle from Sibatti's small bubble of personal space as a light is flared to life, and lowered to catch the contents of the bowl on fire. It burns, immediately acrid and foul, and she slowly rises up to her full height again. Her fingers reach behind her back to find Lin's hand, seeking to intertwine between his fingers, while simultaneously pulling him close for embrace. "It requires blood.... a -lot- of blood," she clues Lin in.

You think:
This place should not be here.

Your head bobs lightly with the beat of a soldier's drumming beat, focusing you as the rhythmic tonalities direct you onwards.

You can feel the effects of silvergrit beginning to wane and will cease to feel any positive effects stemming from it within minutes.

The odor of sacrifice hits Lin full in the face. It is a warm and tangible wave of ill omen, a nigh-caustic scent that sees his eyes watering, and stern lines ramify in his brow and throat, speaking to considerable facial clenching. His arm drapes heavily around you, his claws digging into your flesh with intimate familiarity. "I can't take it anymore," he speaks in a low, loving snarl, and without warning rakes his hands down your arm and back, cutting your clothing, splitting open your skin where his nails catch and split. "I can't take it...!"

Lin just thought:
"Bleed your dark moon..."

You have emoted: This was entirely unexpected - Sibatti sucks in a hitched breath, hissing out a gasp of shock, followed quickly by a "Lin---!" She arches her back sharply, in an attempt to twist away from Lin's claws and minimize future contact. Low to the ground, but moving quickly, the end of her tail loops around Lin's leg, both for grip and balance.

No longer is Lin content to follow after you, caught in the throes of silvergrit intoxication, and ask question after mostly-unanswered question. A call for blood is concrete and actionable; and what streams from his claws does not seem to be enough. He has begun to start after you, as if eager to keep the sacrifice coming, though not so quickly, so aggressively you'd be forced to escape him. Mostly he menaces you with outstretched arms, as if hoping you'll run back into his clutches. "Come, we'll give blood together, enough blood to chase any devil from this hole!"

The flow of energy through your body redirects itself, pooling beneath your footsteps and enriching the soil. Fresh growth unfurls from underneath your soles, sprouting and blooming in your wake.
You have gained the greenfoot defence.
Lush plantlife sprouts beneath your feet, blanketing the vicinity in quick motion.

Lin just thought:
[He isn't thinking very clearly. He's gotten a taste of that feeling - that sensation of flesh opening beneath his claws, and he knows it would feel so, so good to keep going, to feel it more and more, to feel it in his claws and his teeth...!].

You have emoted: Age, experience, and familiarity with bloodshed has not made it any easier for Sibatti to endure such lacerations - namely, when they come from an unexpected source. She glowers in Lin's direction, but her expression is exuberant and afire, the steel-like tension in her limbs solidifying her gait as she stalks over to the line-up of blood-filled buckets. "Destroy it..." She says through a snarl.

You pick up a wooden bucket.
You pour out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

You pick up a wooden bucket.
You pour out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

You pick up a wooden bucket.
You pour out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

You pick up a wooden bucket.
You pour out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

Lin picks up a wooden bucket.

You pick up a wooden bucket.
You pour out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

Lin pours out the contents of a wooden bucket on the ground.

It may not be exactly what his body's screaming for, but as you begin to crash around and drown the grotto in blood, Lin follows your lead, upturning a bucket of his own, relishing in the feeling of red vitae sloshing around his feet. It may have satisfied him for the time being, even inspired him to keep his claws out of your skin, but he's already looking after you, ready either for more guidance, or another chance to pounce upon you.

You have emoted: As Sibatti empties bucket after bucket of dark blood, directing her dousing into the center of the chamber, close to where the bowl burns its unholy cook. From around her legs, the floral vines that receded earlier have begun to re-emerge, coating themselves in the visceral liquid before expanding to all four walls of the dark space, chokingly.

Lin just thought:
[He no longer understands what is happening, and barely knew in the first place - but this feels good, productive... even holy].

With little more blood to spill, the two of you already wading in it, Lin turns elsewhere to channel the destructive energy coursing through him; there are numerous bits of storage, wood and burlap and jute and ceramics alike, already being devoured by the rising levels of blood, and to these Lin turns his fists, smashing open barrels and old urns, this deep, claustrophobic chamber growing ear-shatteringly loud, a locus of sensation and noise. Left panting hoarsely from only half a minute or so of sheer thoughtless exertion, he turns his eyes to survey what the two of you have done: the stink of blood fills the air, and thick red vines cover everything in sight. Spattered and soaking with the stuff, his eyes are wild and excited.

You have emoted: If Lin is a dervish of unfettered energy, Sibatti is as contained as a sepulcher inviting death, written in a language you recognize but cannot read. She stands in the center of the room, watching Lin's destruction with a cool gaze. When he turns back to her, at the end of his exertion, she simply holds out her arms to him. Her foot moves with deliberate precision, knocking over the burning bowl and ash and letting the flames go free.

You scream in agony as the horrific flames crackle over your melting flesh.
Lin screams in agony as the horrific flames wreath themselves about his body.

There's a split second where Lin occupies a space in the real and mundane world. An instant of alarm, pale and frantic eyes, his attention stolen, just for a blink, by crashing incense and blood and flame. Then it's gone, and occupying this burning chamber with you is a man every bit deserving of the moniker 'demon,' his rictus grin and unnerving eyes the last thing you see before he envelops you in his arms.

"You were right, absolutely right," Lin snarls, as the flames begin to climb higher around the room, licking their way up the walls, "We should destroy it all..."

Hot flames lick around you - you are on fire!
Hot flames leap around Lin, charring his flesh.

Lin just thought:
"I love her I love her I'll never worship anything above her again..."

Deadly flames lick around you - you are on fire!
Deadly flames leap around Lin, charring his flesh.
A lash of energy whips out towards Lin, culling the soul from his body.
The flames prove too much for Lin, and he falls to the ground a withered, charred heap.
The overgrowth choking the vicinity begins to wither and die, leaving the ground littered with browned stalks and leaves.
The flames prove too much for you, and you fall to the ground a withered, charred heap.
You have been slain by Lin.

Aloli

I loved reading this.