Farm Livin' [open]

[abheirrant]

Who: Carlisle Longinmouth, farm animals, and anyone else who might wander into the area
What: With Anchor's #1 Ranch Hand gone, someone had to take care of the animals.
When: Late June/throughout July
Where: Agricultural Level, mostly near the barns/livestock and the adjacent forested area
Warnings: Will update as necessary!


As someone who had everything he ever knew either ruined, upended, or permanently changed for the worse within the near-year he's been aware of himself, Carlisle is glad to have some semblance of a routine back. True, it came at an awful cost, but in an effort to maintain his nerves — and therefore keep his more volatile, necrotic energies in check — he will take what victories he can get, however small they may be.

It started when he first moved into the barn. He's been there for well over a month now, and it took most of that time for the animals to adjust to his presence; with his head-to-toe outfit and fastidious nature, Carlisle is a far cry from their former farmhand, but he simply couldn't let Kieran's animals be without a caretaker. Given the man disappeared so soon after he'd been healed — and after Carlisle had begun to form the barest notion that they could be friends — the former clergyman is quick to blame himself for Kieran's vanishing. What's one more addition to his long list of sins? He has so much to atone for already, and a seemingly endless existence to do it. Who better to be responsible for Anchor's loss but him?

It's self-fulfilling prophecy, of course, but Carlisle is hesitant to label it as such. He felt a genuine bond with Reynir, who then disappeared. The same goes for Kieran, and now he's gone. Carlisle has yet to be proven wrong, shown that the misfortune he's said to breed with his very presence isn't a guarantee, but with only his own experiences to go on, he cannot say he believes otherwise. The only reason he remains in the colony at all is because of the insistence of a few individuals — that, and his own cowardice toward what lies in the wasteland outside of Anchor. The vast, open expanse is enough to have him reeling.

As it is, he told those same few individuals that he was moving from the housing quarters to the barn, slowly converting one of the sheds into a private home as the days went by. He claimed it was for the sake of the animals, and that it'd be a good exercise for him. By surrounding himself with living creatures who depended on him, he'd have to not only have to continue to live withing Anchor, but he would have to master his often destructive energies, keeping them in line lest he wanted their deaths on his hands. It was grim motivation, but motivation none the less. There was a heavier truth lying just beneath that reasoning: he felt that if any animals disappeared, no one would notice, whereas being in proximity of people put them at risk — those he would consider his friends included.

And so, he moved away from them, keeping his distance much as he did in life. It didn't do him any good then, either.

Well, that's not to say that living at the barn hasn't done him some good. Carlisle has indeed gotten a better hold on the necrotic magic that animates him, been able to practice wielding them in the safety of his solitude. He no longer rots everything he touches, can walk across the grasses of the fields without leaving a trail of dying, withered stalks behind him. Animals do not shift uncomfortably at his touch, and there some satisfaction in that. Each day, he feeds them, brushes them, goes about his prayer, watches over those who need him, works a little more on making the barn habitable. It's a routine, and one that often has him interacting less and less with people.

But just because he doesn't seek them out doesn't mean he's completely away from them. He actually has help on the farm some days: there's Pratt, who has shown him how to more or less manage the animals, and Ami, who comes by the brush the horses on a regular basis. Try as he might to fully isolate himself, Carlisle finds that he can't... and deep down, he isn't sure he wants to, no matter how he may seclude himself, both unconsciously or otherwise. Despite everything that's happened in his vicinity, everything he's done as the Blight Heir, Carlisle doesn't want to be alone. He's constantly trying to make amends for an endless guilt that festers in his gut. At least the animals don't judge him as harshly as he judges himself.

When dropping by the agricultural area, one might see Carlisle tending to the start of his garden: he's built up a bed of soil and surrounded it with rocks, hoping to deter the few chickens he has from plucking the new sprouts as they emerge. Acting as an additional deterrent is a tiny dragon, the blue-and-white wyrmling often nestled atop a pole in the center of the bed. Though barely bigger than a chicken himself, he does his best to act as a guard dog, keeping watch over the budding plants and hissing at anyone who would approach, letting loose a breath of chilling air.

When not there, Carlisle can be found over by the field as he tends to the cattle, letting them graze on the grasses to their hearts' content while he prepares their hay or (badly) fixes the fence. Sitting among the cattle is their protector: a hulking beast of an undead abomination. Its malformed body is no less than eight feet tall when sitting, closer to nine or ten when standing, making it out like a sore thumb among the cows and bulls; its rib cage has far too many ribs, and houses a vibrant, blue light that blazes like fire within its cavernous torso. Its frame is built of materials of all sorts, mismatched fragments of both human and animal bone, as well as a twisted branch or two making up its many limbs. The skull of a long-dead cow acts as its head, its eyes shining with the same blue light that burns in its chest. Most notable is a collar that hangs from the human-spine-turned-neck, a shiny bell dangling there for all to see.

And on rare occasion, Carlisle is outside the barn, etching into its walls an elaborate glyph. He accomplishes this with what appears to be a screw with a crude handle added to it. While it may not be a precision tool, it gets the job done, so long as he can work uninterrupted. No matter where one sees him, it's apparent he's attempting to adjust to his new life: in addition to his usual garb, Carlisle now tends to wear a pair of work gloves right on top of his normal ones, as well as a leather apron. With only one proper outfit that masks his emaciated frame, he's not eager to get stains on it.

Then again, he's not always eager for company, either. There are just some things he cannot avoid.

[ooc: alternatively, if none of these prompts are up your alley, hit me up on Discord or Plurk, and we can plot!]

Comments

[abheirrant]

[Qubit says he doesn't see it as a crutch, and perhaps he doesn't now that he knows who he is, but he still has doubts. It's just how magic is seen in his world, Carlisle is reminded -- as a reason for skepticism, as an excuse rather than reality.

Though apparently, it is real after all. Carlisle's brow tightens.]

How rare? Is the art even considered extraordinary, given the existence of your Psionics?

[Which aren't magic, of course.]

[superposition]

Oh, yes. Bear in mind, psionics are also extremely rare. Like I told you - prior to a few decades ago, supernatural abilities of any kind were completely unknown to the general public.

[abheirrant]

[He nods.]

Yes, I recall you saying that. They're rare, relatively unknown, and many would prefer to keep their abilities and identities a secret. Did they exist prior to that? Or did something happen that caused them to come into existence?

[superposition]

[ Another, more affable shrug. ] Well, that's the thing. We don't really know. There are some confirmed cases, dating as far back as antiquity. Gil, for instance - he's both a prime example and an eyewitness. But even he can't say for certain how any of it came about. It's one of Earth's great unsolved mysteries.

Their more recent proliferation, however... [ Qubit scratches his chin. ] It's not very exciting, but there's a strong possibility it's nothing more than a statistical illusion.

You see, Earth has seen explosive population growth worldwide in the past century. So even if the occurrence of superpowers per capita were a constant, there would still be more of us total than at any time in history. Add to that recent advances in communication, and now when something unusual happens, people actually hear about it.

[ He pauses, though, with that look he gets when debating whether he should include something. ]

... That said, there is ... one event ... that I haven't ruled out. This is pure speculation, mind you, I have no proof one way or the other, but...

[abheirrant]

But it is a possibility, however speculative.

[Carlisle gestures for Qubit to go on, wondering how — if it does — this all ties into the existence of magic in his world, what said magic entails, and how it is used. The magic with which Carlisle himself is familiar varies quite a bit from magician to magician, after all. How different might it be in an entirely separate world?

Reynir was a small glimpse into an answer for that question, but he wasn't well-versed in magic, even the sort he performed. Perhaps Qubit, skeptic he may be, can offer a more interesting discussion on the topic.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit nods once. The idea he's about to float isn't falsifiable, and thus impossible to prove - in other words, more imagination than hypothesis - but for the same reason, it's impossible to rule out, so maybe it's still worth voicing. ]

Thirty-five years ago, Earth was visited by a pair of extradimensional explorers. Calling themselves Eleos, they possessed unfathomable psionic powers, including a mastery of spacetime so effortless they could travel to the heat death of the universe with little more than a thought. No exaggeration. [ He's been there! It's not as exciting as it sounds. ]

Luckily for Earth, they came in peace. They were seekers of knowledge, and I do believe their claim that they never meant to interfere... but evidently, their many powers did not include foresight.

[abheirrant]

[Well, that sounds like a terrifying concept. And a somewhat relatable one, shockingly.]

They were practically gods, then. Or powerful enough to be considered as such.

[superposition]

[ He raises an eyebrow and smirks, amused. ] You just love ascribing godhood to things, don't you? [ I mean, that's what, the fifth time this conversation? I'm not gonna go back and check. Maybe it's simply Carlisle's eagerness to believe in something, though, which is ... endearing? admirable. ]

Well, I'm sure you can guess my stance on that. At any rate, they certainly weren't omniscient or infallible.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle pushes a quiet, indignant snort from his nose at that first remark, though it's the second bit that makes him question it.]

I would assume not, if they lacked foresight. But coming from another plane with extraordinary abilities, and potentially altering the world around them by their mere presence does describe what gods I know.

[The barest pause.]

Are the gods where you come from omniscient and infallible?

[superposition]

[ Qubit pauses, then wobbles his hand "so-so". ]

Some of our religions would say so. It's more common in the monotheistic faiths - polytheists tend to give their deities a little more leeway.

[abheirrant]

[Though not entirely familiar with the terms Qubit uses, Carlisle figures them out well enough from context.]

Well, I serve but one goddess, and glorious as she may be, I am aware she is not a perfect being. None that I know of are.

[He has described his goddess as aloof on more than one occasion, after all, and that's putting her disinterest in mortal affairs politely.]

[superposition]

[ He nods. That tracks with what Carlisle's told him regarding the Clarity, and it is a polytheistic faith, so it's not surprising. ]

Frankly, it's a subject of debate even within the religions that believe it. For instance, if there does exist a God who's all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent - [ he ticks them off on three fingers ] - then how do you explain the presence of evil in the world?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle's brow knits as he considers what the answer to that particular question could be, if there truly is one at all.]

One would have to assume evil came from that all-powerful being, though for what purpose would be the true question to be asked.

[superposition]

Right - and moreover, what purpose could possibly justify it? In that scenario, can God truly be considered "good"?

[ Though it's a deep philosophical question, Qubit poses it unsentimentally, as if reporting on someone else's argument. This is not to say that he lacks his own opinion on the subject - but that sort of opinion, he's had plenty of practice keeping to himself.

Not wanting to go further down that rabbit hole, he dismisses the tangent with a casual wave of his hand. ]

That's just an example. Common thought experiment. Anyway, where was I...? The Eleos.

[abheirrant]

Yes, the Eleos. Extradimensional beings of incredible power who did not mean to alter your world, but likely did all the same.

[Or at least that's the conclusion he's drawn.]

[superposition]

Yes. Well - [ he corrects himself, folding his hands ] - not directly.

[ He pauses a moment, brow furrowing, but finally pulls in a deep breath and sighs through his nose. ]

You see, the Eleos were Tony's birth parents.

[abheirrant]

Ah. So not only did they alter your world — however indirectly — but they also created one of its greatest monsters. They must be very proud.

[Apparently, his opinion of Tony is still abysmal.]

[superposition]

[ Qubit folds his arms slowly, his mouth drawing into a thin line. Obviously Tony's crimes deserve condemnation, but... it still bothers him that Carlisle's unwilling to acknowledge the rest of it. He doesn't expect him to pardon Tony, not by any means - but if he's taking Qubit's motives and circumstances into account, then he ought to do the same for Tony, isn't that so? ]

They didn't create a monster. As you said, Tony made that choice himself.

[ But what did they create? An autonomous probe, irreparably broken by a single unsanitized input? No. An unearthly infant, marooned on an alien world? Sort of, but not exactly. What was the Plutonian, really? If you had to sum up this one-of-a-kind being in a single word... ]

... They created a golem. A psionic construct, of sorts - an idea given flesh.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle decides not to be too pedantic about how Qubit dissects his wording, as it's not really the point. He does, however, roll his eyes just a bit, his exasperation showing.

In good news, said exasperation dissipates at the very idea Qubit presents with his assessment of what Tony was.]

A construct with a human heart, capable of all the same virtues and vices. The very notion sounds nightmarish.

[And apparently was to a degree, given how Tony turned out.]

[superposition]

Hmph. [ Not really the reaction he was hoping for, but what did he expect? They've discussed the concept of golems before; in both their worlds, the term refers to artificial beings that, through magic, are endowed with a crude imitation of life. Carlisle's always been outspoken about his distaste for them (as well as anything else he can lump under the same umbrella). "It is too akin to necromancy for my taste," he explained once, "bringing to life that which should not live."

Yeah, all right, fine. That's what Carlisle needed, one more thing to hate about the Plutonian. It's Qubit's turn to show some exasperation, briefly rubbing his forehead between his eyes. ]

Well, I'm sorry, that's the best way I can think to describe it.

[ He sighs and returns his hand to his forearm, drumming at his sleeve for a second. It resumes gesturing as he elaborates. ]

The idea that shaped him wasn't theirs. All they meant to create was a - a data-gathering tool. A shapeless probe with simple instructions - wander, observe, experience. The human emotional spectrum had caught their interest, so this was supposed to empathically sample that spectrum and emulate it. Like a ... a blank slate, if you will. [ A better analogy would be a neural network or learning AI, but Carlisle would definitely not understand those. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle remains silent as Qubit continues, sensing the tension in the air. There it is again — that recurring desire Qubit has to defend his former friend, right down to his conception and analogous description. He lets it slide, swallowing his discomfort; despite everything, Qubit cannot help his loyalty toward a man who, for a time, represented the best of what his world had to offer. Carlisle cannot say he wouldn't do the same for his own bloodline.]

And in its work, it took on a life of its own, I suppose. But how does his birth relate to the appearance of more individuals with psionic abilities? Was it that their tool affected those it observed in its wanderings before becoming something more?

[superposition]

[ Qubit shakes his head. Once again, Carlisle's trying to breeze right past the most important part of the story. ]

No, it's not that. For one thing, it only ended up observing one person - and she had a far greater effect on it.

[ Then his voice softens, taking on an undertone of... pity. ]

... We don't know her name. But we do have an idea of her mental state. At the moment the probe found her, she was... distraught. Overcome with grief and guilt and shame, consumed by a single, overwhelming need.

The probe essentially imprinted on her. The Eleos had unwittingly provided the clay, but this woman's desire was what gave it life. The desire...

[ He inhales deeply. ]

... to undo her wrongdoing. To bring back the infant son who, in a moment of madness, she had just murdered.

[ The Eleos might have considered Tony their child, but ... in Qubit's opinion, this woman was the closest thing he had to a mother. He certainly took after her more than he did them. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle would have been perfectly happy to move past the continued Tony facts, but that next bit is enough to give him pause, his brow furrowing, eyes widening in silent horror as his mind puts the pieces together.]

And so it shaped itself into a son for her?

[If that's the case, then Qubit's description of Tony being akin to a golem is unfortunately accurate, to say the very least. And even more unfortunate would be the fact that he was brought into being by someone who had already crossed the threshold of madness, whose immediate guilt and remorse no doubt colored her every interaction with her newfound son.

As a man profoundly shaped by his own guilt and grief, Carlisle knows that's a madness all its own.]

(oh right um) cw: infanticide & suicide mentions

[superposition]

[ Qubit nods somberly. ]

Of course, he wasn't an exact replacement. His alien origins gave him incredible strength and durability from the moment he was born. So, conveniently, she had received a child she physically could not harm... no matter how many times she tried.

[ He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air for a moment. It was definitely more than zero. Nevertheless, he can't bring himself to condemn her. Her actions were horrific, true, but even from the little he saw, it's pretty clear she wasn't in full control of them. She wasn't well. She needed help, and that help never came. ]

... She suffered from severe mental illness, as you might have guessed. Eventually, it drove her to take her own life. Tony survived the attempt, obviously, but with no family or friends to take him in, he ended up in the foster system.

[abheirrant]

[Ah. She was given something that she needed, or what she thought she did — but it wasn't. She was instead gifted a being who, despite being the second chance she wanted, likely only served to remind her of her guilt, his relative invulnerability allowing him to survive her madness... but at tremendous cost to both of them. As such, she continued her downward spiral.

Carlisle hms softly to himself. His hands on the table reach for one another, and he cannot help wringing his thumb in private discomfort.]

Foster system? The orphanages of your world, I assume.