sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

WHERE: Corn field next to the inn
WHEN: 31 October, all day and night
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Please warn as appropriate in your subject lines
NOTES: Please make sure you have read and understand the event details! If you have questions, drop them here. RECOMMENDED BUT NOT REQUIRED: Put your SCRUBS COLOR in your OTA subject line for folks doing bingo. Time your OTA for the harvest feast, the masquerade, or both. Costume matches and details for folks who did not get matched are here.

This morning, our intrepid villagers awoke to a surprise of the nicer kind: A bundle of clothing left at the foot of their bed, tied with a bow. There is also a note: Put on your new outfit and join the festivities in the corn field next to the inn.

You may be thinking, what corn field next to the inn? The one that sprung up fully-mature overnight, of course.

In the middle of the field, villagers will find an autumn feast: Tables piled with harvest time food and drink, warm and rustic decorations, the day's sunshine fending off any chill in the air.

Tuck in and enjoy, villagers, but take note: Things often look different in the dark, and you might be one of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That's an understatement." He shook his head, arms wrapping around himself in a moment, fingers drumming against his bicep. It was- could be that they're from the same world. Maybe. He didn't want to pin anything down as concrete if only to spare Altair the grief of not knowing.

Sacrifice being worth something- that was a heady validation to have. Handing it out wasn't Tony's bag, he hadn't meant to- but he wouldn't take it away if he could help it. "Templars? No. Pretty sure they were disbanded after the Crusades ended, but the Masons get caught up in conspiracy theories involving them more often than not."

"That would be where you are wrong. They were dealt a heavy blow, but they were not disbanded. Robert de Sablé was their head, but others stepped up after him." He spoke with authority - as one who knew. "They were forced to be covert instead of in the public eye. Their organisation is different from those who marched alongside King Richard, though they worked to make it appear that they wished the same as he.

"What they wished instead was to end war by controlling the minds of men. When all think alike, they claimed, all would cease all warring and conflict. True enough, but mankind should not be so controlled."

Speaking this way, his years became more evident, experience adding weight to his words. He had seen this, heard it with his own ears, and said it as fact. "And what I have seen tells me that even into the future, these Templars will survive and continue along this path - which is a part of what I spent my life to work against."

"...That sounds eerily familiar to another organization, not as old, that exists back home." With all of Schmidt and Hitler's curiosity about the occult and the near mythical aura surrounding all things Templar- he wouldn't be surprised if there was some crossover. But even if- and it's a bit if- they were connected, they were the same thing-

He can't say that they managed to pin it down and wipe it out. The more overt branches, sure. But Hydra dug in deep for a long, long while before one of it's heads got dragged into the light. Assuming they've gotten it stamped out would be foolish.

Tony shifts, shoulders tightening somewhat as the weight settles across them again, lips pressed thin. "We've got something called Hydra where I'm from. Similar goals, similarly clandestine, hard to wipe out. It's...a mess."

"It would be," Altaïr agreed. "When I knew of them, they sought an artifact. The Apple of Eden. It granted great power. The power to control men's minds, to project illusions, to give secret knowledge, but also to corrupt the one that wielded it if they wielded it without dire focus and will. I killed those who sought it for selfish purposes, and it showed me, Malik, and Malik's men that it was not the only one of those artifacts.

"Laying plans to make certain the Templars never gained them and allowed the end of the world was my life's work." But then, he looked at Tony with a knowing sympathy utterly absent of pity. "I see in your eyes that, though the world has gone on, it hasn't gone on well."

"...so help me if there are six of them in a technicolor rainbow of suck let me tell you right now to destroy them as soon as possible. Or leave word behind that they should be destroyed." Maybe they aren't from the same world but- fuck. What is it with magical mcguffins twisting things around? Apple of Eden- it sounds like the mind stone, like the reality stone- maybe a little of both or neither.

Tony scrubs at his face, rocking back on his heels, one arm wrapped around his ribs in a self soothing gesture. "It's a mess. It'll always be a mess but- it's...you do what you can. And sometimes it's not enough."

"You are right," he agreed, reaching a hand out with the intent to comfort - but he kept himself from touching Tony's arm. Now, having had time to look back on his own reaction, he could remember seeing the discomfort in Tony's face at being touched. Especially, he thought, by a stranger. So his hand stopped at Tony's sleeve, touching only the fabric before withdrawing. "It is possible to do everything in one's power and still fall short. What matters is what is done afterward. That is something I fell short in, myself. More often than just once. But I learned. And I have kept learning, even as I've taught."

But then, he raised his hand, waving the idea away. "Ah, listen to me. Going on as if you were one of my novices."

It's an aborted gesture- or at least one diverted, caught before actual contact can be made and- its a consideration for his neurosis most people meeting him for the first time either don't notice enough to work around or don't care. Maybe it's all the years Altair's got tucked behind his youthful face, maybe it's a part of the time he's from, most likely? It's just. Him.

Tony nods faintly, lips pressed in a thin half smile, slightly sharp and as ever? The blade's turned inward. "I always heard I could stand to listen to my elders a little more."

"Then I will make my greatest effort not to be overbearing," Altaïr answered, his answering look gentle and understanding. He could see the knives this man turned in on himself, how he tended to give blame and pain instead of calm. And Altaïr could neither judge nor advise him on that. He knew what it was to blame himself. He still carried so much and he knew he would never let it go.

What he could do was refuse to let any more pain come from him. And that was what he did now, saying, "At least I can assure you that none of the artifacts I sought to secure were coloured as a rainbow. Most were simply gold or silver, so the things that haunt you are not the same as the ones I knew."

"Oh thank fuck." Another world with that shit? It's bad enough that it's happening- had happened- back home. More than one reality having to put up with Thanos would be more than he could handle. He could barely handle what'd happened to his world. "Still, its awful that-"

Tony shook his head, reeled it all in. Shit happened. Shit happened more often when you were aware enough to see it happening, that was an ache he knew pretty damn well. "It's awful."

Sympathy had Altaïr nodding. Though the old concern was back, it wasn't such a horrible thing. It was a concern he'd had years to get used to, and years to accept that he would be dead long before that day would come. Now, he could see that even his remains wouldn't be in that world - or so he figured, given where he now stood.

"It is awful," he agreed, "that such fates can befall anyone. But all that can ever be done is the best effort that can be put forward. None could have a right to ask more than that. We are human. We have limitations. Even the best of us."

"There's never enough time." Which was what frustrated him the most back home. Only so many hours in a day, only so much time he could pour into his projects, into building defenses, into trying to protect his family and his planet- and look what came of it? Failure.

Yeah, no, he jerks his mind back to the present, offers a thin smile and a weary shrug. "At least the problems here are simpler."

"For a certain meaning of 'simpler.' The challenges here remind me of home, but it seems no one here understands how to solve them as we did. I've seen no large gardens, no plows, no beasts to pull them." Of course, he'd also heard no calls to prayer, no religion - nothing but reason, and in a way, that was its own balm. Religion had caused wars that spanned his lifetime. If this place was free of that, he would be grateful for one thing, at least.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject