SPECIAL EVENT: The Flower Oracle

[polymods]

✖ Meet The Oracle

A low thrumming sound builds in the background noise of the raised village, starting so softly that it would be easy to mistake it for the ever present hummingbirds. It keeps building slowly, somehow managing to be both a sound and to bypass the ear as it hums in the bones. The local Temple Guardians bump heads and brush against each other, quietly affirming their bond as they divide their duties: one staying with the local Temple and the other winding through the paths of the village down to the bud of the Flower Oracle in its place of honor in the city center.

The villagers stop what they’re doing, not quite in a panic, but their speed is deliberate and definite. They gather things on their way, flower wreaths, fish, beautiful food, sharp knives, until everyone has something in their arms. There is an ecstatic tension in the air, after all, the time has come when these people will yet again see substantial proof of their god, and it seems they have forgotten all about the Travelers who might have joined them. There is plenty of room for everyone to gather in a circle around the green bud that has grown even larger.

The thrum rises until it is hard to breathe, until some of the structures around begin to groan in the onslaught, and then it stops, suddenly. In the vacuum of silence, there is a wet and meaty sound as the bud begins to open, a first hint of things that look like red lips and white teeth. A canny Traveler might be forgiven for running at that point. The visceral sound of the splitting, of this birthing, continues as the bud splits, then splits again as the four sepals fall open, exposing an inner surface that glistens red and is lined at the edges with white sharp growths that may be fangs. The villagers ignore the implicit threat. They have eyes only for the structure in the middle.

Who can blame them? Translucent petals form a breathing tower, curled tight and perfect as a seashell. A glow pulses like a heartbeat as the petals slowly unfurl, collapsing elegantly to reveal the Oracle and provide protection against the threat of the sepals. The Flower Oracle is beautiful, glowing, soft and round. She is initially surrounded by four guards, each masculine and clearly dangerous, but they move aside to leave a clear path. The villagers line up with their sacrifices, and there is ritual patience in the act. Everyone will have their time with the Oracle, and anyone must be allowed their time alone within the petals.

Notes:
Characters who wish to approach the oracle need to respond to the thread titled ‘Meet the Oracle’. After they get their response, they can post a separate reaction thread to play out some of the consequences of the event.

Responses to the Oracle Thread should include: a short description of their IC reaction/actions, a description of what they bring for a sacrifice, and their question for the ancient. Villagers will have let them know that traditional options include: fish, flowers, art, blood, secrets, or memories. Characters/players may come up with their own sacrifices. Please include a note if the character helped decorate the local temple this month.

WARNING: Contacting the Oracle may result in negative IC results for characters, and there is a degree of randomness in how the mods assign results.

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Comments

Wrench

[wwrench]

He can't think of a time in his life that he's felt his whole body consumed with such sensation. Disbelieving as he is of the whole idea of ferrymen and planets and opportunities for redemption, Wrench feels compelled to follow the trail of devout. The tension in the air is all-consuming; his body is wracked and rattled down to the very marrow of his bones. Still, Wrench falls in line with the others. He doesn't look very much like the rest of them. By this point in his journey, at least half of what he wears has been dyed an inky black. His shirt still bears the splotches of brilliant oranges and teals, but it's apparent he's made provisions to change what he can. In a world with such brilliant sprays of flora surrounding him, the dark color sticks out better than it blends in.

The line shifts forward, and even after the stillness erupts he can still feel himself quaking from the outside in. His feet feel a little unsteadier on the solid ground, his head a little more filled with possibility. Wrench isn't yet beyond the stage of questioning everything he sees that doesn't line up with his reality, but something about the impossibility of the bursting bloom only makes it more incredible. He stares openly, trying in vain to make sense of it all as the crowd advances.

Not until he's next in line does he realize how fast his heart is beating, and the fact he's woefully unprepared for this. He has nothing on him save what he carries, and no sense that any question he asks could be anything more than a reflection of his (possibly) drugged subconscious. The crowd at his back seems to pulse in hopeful anticipation, so Wrench steps forward.

Is there a point when no amount of atonement can outweigh what's already been done? His palms sift up and down, like a set of narrow scales weighing its load. If justice is real, can't a person be too far gone?

Wrench seems to realize he's asked without offering. After a moment's contemplation, he draws the bowie knife from his waist and passes the sharp blade through the middle of his palm. He barely winces as the line starts to pool with hot, fat drops of blood. The gesture may be dramatic, but giving a pound of flesh is about the most familiar thing he knows.

[polymods]

Wrench is walking a difficult path as a new arrival and a nonbeliever. He is welcome. The Ancient has never required the belief of those she chooses. However, she is not always forgiving of their missteps. There are costs to making even an innocent mistake in a ritual. The sacrifice must come before the question for the bargain to be properly struck. Wrench will face the consequences.

The tenderhearted Oracle can only temper the punishment as her eyes darken with the Ancient's presence before a sacrifice has been accepted. When her tendrils reach out to collect the blood, they are delicate in their touch, taking only blood and demand no meat. As the tendrils withdraw, a fine powder coats the wound, leaving first numbness that blossoms into fiery pain. If Wrench is able to flush the wound with water and bind it, it will heal after a day of considerable pain. If he does not, he will find the hand frozen and unable to move for a month. Either way, there will be a scar as a reminder.

This should be the only result, but there is wiggle room left by his mistake. Wrench did ask an essential question about the nature of the Isles, and this in itself pleases the Ancient. The Oracle's eyes are still dark as she signs. If Wrench can focus despite the pain, he will see her answer: Our justice is not the balancing of a scale. Our justice does not demand the undoing of what cannot be undone. Our justice repairs and reconciles. Our justice demands growth and responsibility. Some will fail. Some will not.

The darkness fades from the Oracle's eyes, and Wrench is ushered off to deal with his hand.