cultor | (OPEN + CLOSED) The Forsaken

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(OPEN + CLOSED) The Forsaken | Calcutta Catch-All

Who: The Forsaken and you!
What: Open top-level + closed starters for the Calcutta event
When: July

week one ∞ i am caught, tangled in

( after the Murmur becomes active and the Forsaken becomes aware others are present in Somnia. )

He wakes, again, as he had woken time and before. This place is unfamiliar, too. It is far from the glittering orchard, closer to the blood-red moon and the monstrosities beckoning She is beautiful. Look at Her. Still, it is different. He wakes in a tunnel, with a path of metal and rotted plank that beckons towards a halo of light. He follows alongside, bare feet tender against sharp gravel. At the end, he finds strange belongings, abandoned: clothes, a coat among them, and a leather satchel. This last item, he takes with him, not yet cognizant enough to question why he feels the need. Before it had been a dream, though he awoke several times, each to a new landscape, further decayed. Now that he is awake again, he wonders if it is not the same dream still. As his eyes adjust to the light at the end of the tunnel, the scene that spreads before him is wondrous and strange and entirely alien. Monoliths tower so high he cannot crane far enough to see their tops. Wandering closer, he discovers he can venture inside through doors, windows that were once filled with glass though are now empty. Not monoliths, then, but buildings, impossibly tall. Steps ascend seemingly endlessly, and he finds his body growing tired.

Fatigue is not the only new sensation he experiences. A pain, gnawing below his sternum, begins dull and spreading, then grows sharp and focused. It is not for some time that he realizes it must be the human sensation of hunger. Many of the Lost have come to him with their bellies empty, their cheeks hollow with starvation. He supposes, then, that he must find food. Only, he has never hunted, and the unnatural grotesquerie of form suggests even to him that the creatures that roam and scuttle about may not be safe for consumption.

Glass from a storefront window lays shattered on the broken sidewalk. By the flora that has crept up from the sidewalk and across some of the window, it has been there for some time. More recent, though, is a trail of red droplets slowly seeping into the worn concrete. Following them will lead to an almost ethereal, androgynous figure sitting in an empty storefront windowsill - much like the first, though this one is mercifully absent of glass. The Forsaken sits, the hem of his white robes dragging the sidewalk, now dirtied. He examines the sole of one foot, and the shard of glass embedded in it. Or, one might follow the trail instead inside the store, where the Forsaken curiously searches what remains on the bodega's shelves. He finds parcels that rustle strangely, some of which are painted with depictions of food he recognizes - fruit, mostly, and some array of brightly colored packages that depict potatoes (though the weight of them is so light as to feel nearly empty; surely it cannot contain potatoes). In either case, it can be safely assumed this man needs help.

{{ If you are interested in a thread with the Forsaken for a different prompt, just let me know in my plotting comment, or at

ricorori and I will write up a starter for you! (feel free to add me on plurk, just let me know who you are if your character isn't in your profile please!) }}

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[ Find the others.

He had seen no one, since waking. And he is truly awake this time, he thinks. Something is off, always, not always the same something — but the scenery does not shift and change as it had. And he is different— something gnaws at his stomach, the air bites at his bare arms. Something dreamlike had crept in, anyway: emotions not his own, whispers, voices. One, in particular: Espera. He had reached out and she- she had reached back. Find the others.

So he had wandered. The whispers continue, flickers of memories he has never seen. It is stronger, wearing the veil he had found. He mislikes it, more now that he know it is from Her, but this strange place seems endless; the buildings, too tall and too numerous to search one by one.

In the constant murmur, one thread becomes familiar, then louder. Within it, two sensations carry like a pulse: pain, and fear. The Forsaken thinks of the Lost. His steps hasten with purpose.

They carry him past skyscrapers, and buildings with odd shapes, and signs that were once bright, now unlit and overgrown. He does not find what- or who- he seeks with the first, or even the third building. Find the others, Espera had said, and yet he finds no signs of life save strange fauna. Finally, he stops in front of a shop, gaze lifting from behind the veil to the crumbled facade. His first step onto the cracked tile inside is heralded by a tinny sounding bell above the door.

The Forsaken removes his veil. Someone is here, he thinks. It smells different, and the air is warmer, not as still as other buildings. Tentative, he calls: ]

Hello?

[At first, the sound of the bell shocks Ignis into stillness. He's used it as an indication there was someone or something around more than once now. However, before now, no one has actually called out to him. Another human voice. Oh, how he's missed the sound.

Still, he has to be cautious since he knows he's at a disadvantage without his vision. Plus, it would just be his luck for the pain to return just as he is trying to defend himself from an attack. There's not much he's found in this store, but he would hate losing it as a shelter until he is back on his feet.

Ignis doesn't pull himself out of the shadowed nook he's sitting in yet knowing his dark clothes and the dark blindfold over his eyes will make him hard to find, but he does answer that tentative call.]

Hello? Store's closed I'm afraid. Some blind fool ransacked the stock.

[He's hid his emotions behind dry humor his whole life, and it's one of the few defenses he still has now.]

[ Bare feet still on the floor, and the Forsaken waits for his vision to adjust to the darker interior. He doesn't venture further, only a short distance from the door. He can hear the other person, and they can clearly hear him.

An amused sound answers Ignis first, not unkind. That sort of humor was rare with the Lost, but not unfamiliar. ]

I might be looking for him, if he's still here.

[ There's silence for a moment, as the Forsaken takes in the shapes forming in the dim light. ] I am the Forsaken. You need not be afraid.

[ It's a line he must have said a hundred times. A sense of a tired sort of familiarity fingers at the strange threads of voice and memory he has found himself part of, a brief glimpse of sand and ruined marble shrouded in fog. He isn't sure if this is the person he seeks through that connection, but fear is a response he is used to.

A small click of a metal clasp follows his voice a moment later, the rustle of fabric against leather as the Forsaken pushes the veil into the satchel hanging against his hip. ]

[The corner of Ignis' mouth twitches up in response to the amusement he hears from the stranger. The Forsaken, hu? Not exactly a name that inspires pleasent things, but if he can appreciate Ignis' odd sense of humor, it's a point in his favor.

There is the soft sound of movement and should The Forsaken turn toward it, he will see a shadow unfurl itself from another shadow. Ignis' dark, purple and black leopard print shirt, black pants, shoes, and blindfold are great for helping him disappear into the shadows. The only giveaway his messy dishwater blonde hair.]

My name is Ignis. Pardon me, but I don't know you. Why would you be looking for me?

[Perhaps if they had meet in the dream, he would understand better, but Ignis doesn't recognize his voice, and considering voices are his main way of identifying people now, he's certain he would recognize it if they had met before.]

[ His attention shifts. In the still of this strange... city, if that is what it once was, it is easy to hear the movement. His eyes light on the stranger, his unfamiliar dress (though he has seen similar articles, in what he can only imagine were once shops), his blindfold.

The god considers his answer for a moment. Hearing voices and feeling the emotions of other people is... not a skill he has always had. The dream from days (and it has been days, he thinks,) is mostly hazy now, though two things remain perfectly clear: the taste of fruit on his tongue, almost effervescent, and an emotion he had long forgotten not only springing forefront unbidden, but springing to others nearby.

Why it would be the same here, awake, he isn't sure but— ]

I have been hearing the voices of others when they are not nearby. One told me to 'find the others.' And... [ He trails off for a moment. There is a smile in his voice when he continues, a note of apology. ] This place is passing strange. Forgive my forthrightness, but I began feeling someone's fear, and pain. Those feelings were strongest, here. I thought I might find someone Lost.

[Ignis is so used to hiding when he's in pain or even just discomfort that he starts to deny what the strange man has said before he knows it. It's the memory of the whispers he's heard over the last few days, even one that seemed to be reciting some kind of journal entry, that stops him. To deny his pain, and yes, his fear, means he's denying the whispers they've both heard both here and in the dreamscape. He's a logical enough thinker that he can't deny the proof before his eyes.

Or in this case, his ears.

Finally, he sighs, lips pressing together into a thin line.]

I was rather badly injured saving my king right before I was brought here. The pain didn't afflict me in the dream, but here it has returned with a vengeance.

[While he doesn't comment on The Forsaken's mention of someone being lost, he most certainly is. Not that he will admit it even to himself. Ignis isn't hiding; he's waiting for the pain to pass. He's not denying what is around him; he's just gathering information to form a plan with.

He's hiding. He's lost, but he's also very good at convincing himself otherwise.]

[ The Forsaken notices Ignis neither mentioned the fear. He doesn't view it unkindly. It is wise, in fact. The Forsaken knows he is a stranger, and both of them, it seems, strangers to this place. There are many weaknesses someone willing might prey upon, and fear is certainly one of them. He saw it leveraged time and again against the Lost that found their way to him, the toll it took.

So he does not comment that Ignis admits neither that he is afraid nor lost. ]

A heavy burden indeed. Your king is fortunate for such a steadfast guardian. [ is what he says instead, voice still soft, even gentle. He is not placating, nor disingenuous. If anything, there is a tinge of sorrow in his tone.

He remains where he is, but takes in the other man's form once again. There are no visible injuries, and the Forsaken does not note that Ignis appears to hold himself favoring one side or another. ] Have your wounds been tended?

[Ignis doesn't mention the fear out of a need to deceive or even to hide a weakness. Instead, he doesn't mention it simply because he's not aware of how strongly it's affecting him. He's buried it so deeply that he think his actions related to it are just the normal reactions of one in pain.

Somehow, even though he doesn't want to admit to the pain either, it's easier to go with that than admitting to the fear.]

He will be furious at me if he ever finds out how it happened, and he will blame himself despite it being my choice. I don't dare tell him.

[Out right lying to Noctis is not something he ever wanted to do, but Ignis knows the young man he calls his little brother far too well. He has to lie. Noctis will shatter mentally otherwise.

When the man asks about his wounds, Ignis raises one hand stopping just short of touching them. They haven't bleed or done any of the normal things that such wounds should since arriving. They've just hurt. Is it because they are magical in nature?]

The best I've been able to do is wash them with boiled water. Unfortunately, I can't see to do much else and I don't have any medical supplies.

[ The Forsaken listens passively, without judgment. Without judgment, but— figures crowd the Murmur, few in number but grown and yet obscured with time, looming in size until the memory of them seems to choke the space. They had been dominating in their sentencing, and he, small and weighed with a guilt for a crime that was not his alone. Fear sweeps around him within the strange connection that had brought him here, invisible and yet tangible, suffocating.

As quickly as it comes, it is gone, like a book snapped shut. In its place is only the feeling of a feeble, forlorn sort of envy, a distant echo after a scream.

A heavy burden indeed. He feels no shame in wishing someone had carried that burden for him. The Forsaken makes no note of it aloud, as if entirely unaware. ] Be not startled, [ he says instead as a warning of his approach. Delicate fingers reach to touch Ignis's arm lightly to make him aware of his presence, and his voice is softer for proximity when he speaks again, head tilted to be able to examine the other's expression, the blindfold. ]

May I see? I have nothing on my person for bandage or poultice, but I could search for something suitable for you, perhaps.

[It seems as if something shifts in the space between them, an emotion that Ignis can't put his finger on, though deep down he knows it's there. For just a moment, concern fills the parts of his face that can be seen, then The Forsaken is in motion and the moment passes.

It's something Ignis will have to think on later.

For now, he braces himself just because he's not used to letting strangers so close to him; however, he's well aware of how agonizing a death dying from infection will be. He can't let this opportunity pass by.]

Please. I would be very grateful for whatever help you can provide.

[Carefully, ever wary of the fact his blindfold could start sticking to the wounds at any time, he removes it, revealing the full scope of his injuries to The Forsaken.

It is the left side of Ignis' face that born the brunt of the injury, and if the Forsaken's eyes are keen enough, he might even spot some much lighter, but still present scars on the inside of Ignis' left hand. They are spider web-thin lines that are almost invisible compared to the scars on his face.

The scars are no doubt from burns, but they are some of the strangest burns that The Forsaken may have ever seen considering they all seem to have a fading silvery sheen to them. Somehow Ignis' eyes have been spared, as shown when his right eye cracks open ever so slightly showing a milky orb beneath. The scars are far too heavy on his left eye for it to open now, though perhaps it will be able to in the future.]

I am no physician, [ He warns with a reassuring smile in his voice, ] but neither am I a stranger to all manner of wounds. [ He watches as the blindfold unwinds. He thinks he notices only something strange on Ignis' hand; in the dim light, he cannot make out that they are scars. But the wound around his left eye in particular - that, he can make out.

The Forsaken rests a hand on Ignis' shoulder in warning, before lifting his touch to the other's cheek. He traces the edges of the burn, though is mindful not to touch the wound itself. ]

You were burned by something? [ he asks, just to confirm. That is what it appears to be. They are strange; he has never seen the silvery cast these burns have to them. But basic care will surely be the same, he thinks. He is also sure he can find something better than only boiled water.

Honey, herbs for a poultice to prevent infection and the bandage sticking to the wound. Fresh herbs he doubts still exist - he has yet to find anything resembling a garden save patches of grass wilted and grown over with strange fungus. Honey, though, does not spoil. So if he might find some jarred, that could at least help.

His hand returns to Ignis's shoulder, then falls away. The Forsaken takes a step back. ]

Mm- I know some things that should help a little, at least. If it please you, I'll go search. There are other places nearby that once appeared to be shops as well. [ A light humor lifts his tone, something to put Ignis more at ease. ] Since someone ransacked this one.

Nor am I, though I did handle healing duties back home. That magic didn't follow me here, unfortunately.

[Ignis hasn't taken much time to think about why he can't use his magic from home here, but now that he has a moment there are two possibilities that spring to mind. One, he was changed enough by whoever brought him here that he just can't use it anymore. This seems to be the more likely option, though he is loathe to admit it.

The second option is he can no longer use the magic because its source, Noctis, is not here. As much as Ignis would like this to be the case, he never felt his magic in the dream even when Noctis was there. Would having his king here make a difference? As much as Ignis would love to see him, he's not sure he wants Noctis in a place like this.]

Magic. Very powerful magic.

[At least this question Ignis can answer easily enough. For over two thousand years, the kings and queens of Lucis had their magic and their souls stored within the ring. It's why it was so precious to the family, and why Lady Lunafreya gave her life to get it to Noctis.

And, it was why the price was so high for someone not of the royal bloodline to even attempt to borrow that power.

It seems a long time ago now, though Ignis knows it's only been a few days. Who knew that using that forbidden power would only be the start of his "adventure?"

Ignis folds his hands into the bandana to hide how insecure his is about the idea of The Forsaken leaving. Not being alone has been a relief, and he didn't realize just how much a relief it was until he was facing being alone again. Still, if the man made it here by himself, surely he will be okay searching for a few supplies, right?

His smile is a little uncertain as he replies, though the joke does help some.]

Yes, just do be careful. I've heard what sounds like large felines roaring at times. I don't want you getting hurt because of me.

Edited 2025-07-08 02:41 (UTC)

[ Another denizen familiar with magic. The Forsaken finds it strange: in his realm, only the gods truly had access to what one might call magic. Other worlds (which in itself is an odd concept) are less restricted, it seems. His own powers did not follow him here, either, but that is less important to share in the moment than managing the man's wounds, lest they fester. This world is far different than his own, and he does not yet know his way. ]

I shall be mindful, [ he promises. He isn't a warrior, not in the way some of the other gods were. But he can avoid the creatures as he has been (and intends to continue). ] I will return.

[ With the chime of the shop door bell, the Forsaken is gone. For hours, the bell is silent. Finally, when the hour is late, a quiet knock sounds on the glass, and the shop bell again chimes its warning of someone entering. ]

Ignis? I've returned. [ It has grown colder, and the Forsaken is grateful for the warmth of the small shop, however slight. He ensures the door closes properly, before padding quietly further into the shop. He has a candle, this time, lit that he might see better. (It is a little unwieldy in its glass cup, and with a strange fragrance, but it is better than nothing.) ] Forgive my absence.

[It will be interesting should The Forsaken ever mention the state of the magic he knows as the magic on Eos is actually a gift from the gods to one family they chose to safeguard something for them. That magic can be shared with others, but both those who are born with the magic and those who share it suffer for the use. After all, the power was never meant for mortal hands.

Ignis tries to keep himself busy while the man is gone, but it's hard because there is only so much he can do within the little shop, and he has already searched the immediate area for anything of value. There are a few more hard to reach areas he needs to get into, but with The Forsaken possibly coming back at any time, Ignis doesn't want to be in the middle of moving things when he returns.

Eventually, he settles down to make some tea since he hasn't had anything to drink yet. He's just starting to pour it into the beat up tin he uses for a cup when the bell sounds.]

There is nothing to forgive. You're just in time for tea. Did you have any success?

[If nothing else, the man doesn't sound as if he was injured and that is a success in Ignis' book whether or not he found anything.]

After a fashion. Medicine appears to be quite different here than I am used to. Still, I hope I should be able to help.

[ It had taken so long, the Forsaken is grateful Ignis is not yet asleep. He had meandered from shop to shop, unsure what name an apothecary's shop might bear if it was not labeled as such. Pharmacy was the name he found where he had luck with bandages, but a smaller corner food shop was the only one he found with honey. At least, he supposes, he found some.

He sets the lit candle on the counter to reach into the leather satchel at his hip. (Pink Sands, the worn label reads.) The metallic click of a clasp sounds, followed by rustling and clinking. The Forsaken lays several things out on the counter: the clink-thud of a glass jar of honey, the crinkle of bandages in cellophane, the thmp of a bottle of water, and the soft pap of a paper box of dressings that say they are specifically for burns - though how he can read the language, the Forsaken isn't sure.

Maybe it has something to do with the reason he can hear other people's thoughts or feel their emotions.

His attention returns to Ignis. ] I've never had tea. [ Not that he can recall, anyway. ]

If nothing else, perhaps it will match a little closer to something I'm familiar with from home. If not, we will just stumble through this blindly.

[Blindly. (Ha.) At least he didn't mention the blind leading the blind?]

If this is your first time having tea, then I am sorry it's being brewed in a flask from bags that are likely expired. Tea doesn't usually go bad, but the taste can weaken. I believe this one has some peach in it. The water has been boiled so neither of us will get sick from that.

[Ignis pauses to listen as The Forsaken unloads what he found. Just on a whim he tries to identify things as they are set down, but can only guess reasonably at two which he assumes are wrapped bandages of some kind.]

I don't suppose you found anything that might serve as a cup while you were looking? I've been using these small tins, but mint tins are a poor excuse for a cup.

[At least he had been able to identify what had been in them by the faint minty smell that still lingered in the tin. The only reason it was still there at all was because the tins had been closed since they were emptied.]

[ His lips purse at the mention of 'blindly,' as he's not sure whether Ignis is poking fun at himself again - but he can't stop the audible huff of amusement, or that it lingers in his voice when he answers. ] I hope it shan't be so difficult as that. Either way, we'll make it through together.

[ The clasp of his satchel clicks again. ] I have a cup and a vessel with a lid, if that will serve? [ He isn't sure how, but the leather satchel, which looks as though it should fit at most a couple of large tomes, can carry quite a lot. It is particularly handy, especially trying to crawl through ruins overgrown with who knew what.

The Forsaken extends a thermos, gently brushing the powder-coated metal against Ignis's fingers so he knew where it was. ] The lid is large enough to drink from, too. It is clean. [ He had first found a coffee cup with a broken handle and I ♥ NY printed on it but barely legible now, and the thermos after when searching for water. The thermos is slightly dented, but in altogether better shape. He had considered only keeping that for space's sake, but given the unnatural capacity of his bag... well. It's useful now, isn't it? ]

You had tea where you're from, then?

[Ignis is poking fun at himself, but it's part of his coping mechanism. After all, when it comes down to either laughing or crying he would rather the former than the latter.]

Oh! That is a bloody improvement from what I have been using.

[It may seem like such a small thing to be delighted about, but Ignis is picking his battles and as a cook, having proper utensils is very important even if it is just an actual cup-like thing to drink from.]

Before you leave, remind me to fill this with boiled water or tea for you, whichever you end up preferring. It's the least I can do for the help you are giving me.

[Proper vessels in hand, Ignis begins pouring something for them both to drink. His wounds have waited this long, after all. They can wait a little longer while they both warm up.]

I do have tea on my world. We also have another drink called coffee which tends toward the bitter side if you drink it without adding anything to it. Both drinks are made by seeping leaves or ground beans in hot water. Here. Please sit and tell me what you think.

[Ignis holds the top of the thermos out to the Forsaken.]

Just don't drink it too fast. It is very hot. We need no more burns around here.

I thank you, but it is no trouble. [ Isn't it? He surprises himself with that answer, spoken without thought. It isn't that Ignis has been disagreeable at all. Rather, he is a human, and a capable one at that. If it weren't for men like him, who had protection when they didn't need it, and when that protection wasn't extended to him... ]

I've seen humans preparing it in certain places, though coffee is less common.

[ With the state of the human realm as it is, long-distance travel is treacherous, if not impossible. Humans seem to brew tea from whatever herb or flower they can (as well as actual tea leaves), but with the limited range of where coffee grows, few societies use it. He's never tasted coffee, either. — Or any food or other drink that he can recall, for that matter. He knows he did, once, but that has been so long.

The Forsaken accepts the cup back, and looks down at the drink. It smells fragrant, in a way that calls to mind the orchard of the dream he had awoken from here. It isn't nearly as strong, but he can smell the fruit, nonetheless. At Ignis's warning, he hums in agreement. Blowing gently to cool the liquid, his eyes return to the other.

Maybe it is that Ignis reminds him of the Lost. After all, he too, is here, far from his home, far from his king, injured. He isn't helpless; he seems to have done well enough for himself, after all. But to be blind in a hostile environment is nonetheless a difficult position. The Lost have come to him for less.

Cautious, he ventures a sip. The tea is surprisingly hot, still, leaving a strange sensation on the front of his tongue. Still, he manages to avoid a burn, he thinks. The flavor isn't as strong as the smell, the Forsaken imagines that is the expiration Ignis mentioned. And it is curious: smooth in a way he can't explain any other way, not quite sweet, not quite bitter. After blowing again, he takes another sip. ]

I like it. You said it is normally stronger?

Coffee is harder to grow than tea is. It needs very specific growing conditions that don't tend to be widespread. With the war having lasted as long as it has, we're lucky that we still have regular trade to bring it into Insomnia.

[Considering some of the trade meetings he's sat in on, Ignis knows very well how lucky Insomnia is to have a great many things-things that the normal populace would never know how to survive without. The king really did his best to protect them from the effects of the war, though they rarely acknowledged his hard work instead preferring to focus on the fact he was trying to help the refugees too at imagined cost to them.

Ignis blows on his own tea for a few moments to cool it and then takes a cautious sip. Yes, it's definitely showing it's age, but things could have been worse. It wouldn't have taken much dampness in the store to ruin the tea bags all together.]

For fruit teas like this one, their taste tends to match their smell when it comes to strength; however, if we are talking about some herbal teas or those made with flowers, the smell often will be strong while the taste itself is quite delicate. Those are the kinds of tea I've seen used most often at tea ceremonies.

[Unknown by most, the Marshal had a fondness for the ritual of tea ceremonies. Ignis, himself, had only found out by chance.]

Have you ever witnessed a tea ceremony?

[ The Forsaken sips at his tea again, careful for Ignis's warning. He listens quiet, finding himself curious for the world he comes from. Regular trade, an ongoing war... War is not uncommon in the human realm he knows; resources are rare, even fertile ground that might support farming for more than a few families. But war on a larger scale or lasting longer than a few battles or a siege is unheard of. Even the Godswar- well. That was a long time ago in any case. ]

I think I'd like to try a fresh fruit tea some day. [ Although it is unlikely to be found here, and where else would he have it? The Forsaken frowns to himself. ]

Ah- a ceremony for tea? I have not, no. [ Curiously: ] Is tea worshiped...? Or- used in worship of something else? [ That makes more sense, he thinks. ]

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(OPEN + CLOSED) The Forsaken | Calcutta Catch-All

@shatteredlenses | week one ∞ and i wake, say your name

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[CW: Minor descriptions of facial scarring/eye injuries]

today on weird things I've googled for RP: historical burn treatments

I appreciate your RP devotion! :-D

gotta be accurate with my [checks notes] demigod treating magic burns...!

LOL! My turn will come soon enough. This guy knows too much about too many things!

the best/worst thing about knowledgeable characters lol

YEP!

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