Jonathan 'Eyebags' Sims (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beholding_archivist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
beholding_archivist) wrote in revivalproject2021-05-11 11:00 am
(Not) Everyone’s A Hero
WHO: Jon & YOU
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
The sky darkens. It's a gradual effect beginning above the Institute and spreading outward from there. But what blocks out the sun aren't clouds, it's pure darkness. And as the city is swallowed by it, the Institute's building shifts and warps, reshaping itself into a massive, dominating tower, swallowing structures and skyscrapers around it as magical reality gets challenged by eldritch magic.
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
The sky blinks open above the city and its massive pupil focuses on literally everyone.
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
He isn't touching the ground. He simply has decided that he doesn't need to and so he doesn't touch the ground. Because reality is what he makes of it.
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
[[ Anything else and stuff goes here. ]]
WHERE: Billy's fantasy city
WHAT: Supervillain Time! - Includes a 'Beat Up Some Nasty Monsters' sort-of mingl-y option?
WHEN: May
WARNINGS: E Y E S - Also low amount of Zalgo text.
While not as imposing as some of the skyscrapers surrounding it, the building of the Magnus Institute is not one easy to ignore. It has the weight of age and knowledge to it, easily looking way older than the city itself and yet no one can truly say just how long the Institute has existed.
No one but Jonathan Sims, head of said Institute despite his little habit of referring to himself as The Archivist. And maybe he does fulfill that role. Maybe he doesn't. The Archives are about as off-limit as the research lab, the artifact storage and the man's very private library. Both sit way beneath the Institute and are places he won't even bring his mothcats into. He rather lets them roam the city while he busies himself down there, keeping their eyes on heroes, villains and pedestrians while their master contemplates his most recent acquisitions.
It's an odd collection: A tape recorder, a golden lighter with a spider web design and a framed artwork of an eye that he can't help but feel very much observed by. Despite wearing thick gloves, Jon feels reluctant to touch either of these items even though he desperately wants to.
Is that eye drawn out of hundreds if not thousands of smaller eyes?
Jon shudders slightly and pulls his hand back upon realizing he has been reaching for the drawing again, but he remains unable to shake off that growing sensation of wrongness. Of having forgotten something. Of buried knowledge pressing its way back forward, trying to make itself known again.
Hundreds tiny eyes focus on him and he can feel their gaze, feel them attempting to inflict their knowledge on him and he winces, remembering. "...no."
The Tower
These two powers colliding is hardly a competition. It's a struggle of each power attempting to swallow the other, magic crackling and clashing and illuminating the dark sky above.
Down below at the steps of what used to be the Institute, the Archivist staggers outside, grimacing against the throbbing pain in his head and struggling to close bright green glowing eyes. But he can't. He has to see.
He has to see everything.
The Eye [ Jon won't react to this option. But go wild beating things up or borrow them for other prompts. ]
Everyone already adept at sensing magic will notice a much darker flow within the magic present in the city. It pulses with a need. A mindless hunger. And it gets stronger the closer one gets to the dark, now looming tower. But that isn't the only thing increasing the closer one gets to the tower. Flying monsters the size of small cars and looking like giant eyeballs with further eyeballs sprouting from them roam the streets and places around the tower.
These Beholders will stare straight into a person's very being and draw out what they fear the most to drink in that terror. If threatened, they will fire beams of twisted reality from those smaller eyeballs connected to them.
Another type of monster lurking especially around the base of the tower is more human-shaped, and, in fact, they may have been humans at some point. They appear like slouched-over figures wearing dark robes and will lie unmoving on the ground unless they detect nearby movement. Which is when these Servitors will rise and reveal that underneath the hood of their robes is nothing but a single eyeball, a little larger than a human head would be. They don't pursue as actively as the Beholders, but they will grab and hold a person daring to come too close to the tower, seeking to extract what secrets and vulnerabilities the potential intruder might have.
And then there are the cameras. Large creatures that venture even farther than the Beholders and made entirely of eyeballs of different sizes. They? Will only watch. But they will do so relentlessly.
The Archivist
The chuckle escaping Jon's throat is discordant, his voice shifting with a variety of distortions. He hasn't decided what his voice should be just yet. But he will figure it out. But until he has made that decision, Jon will make a few others. Important decisions such as that certain buildings in his way simply shouldn't exist. That the terrified screams of those that have just lost their homes are really just shades of purple. That this rental car over there is better off flattened for no particular reason.
Unless terror is a reason, of course. For he finds himself at the receiving end of the most wonderful dread, both due to his own actions and the creatures he has inflicted upon what reality used to be.
But just as he sets his mind on a new target, Jon spots something else. A person. One of those- Heroes?
"I̻̎ s̙̝͆̽e̼͔ͨ͆ͥẽ̟̩̰ͥ́.̫͋͐"
The Wildcard
no subject
It's a bit of a shame that he already knows that this shot won't reach its mark. And yet he watches it fly higher and higher and higher, neither moving nor commenting but with a calm expression of neutrality on his face.
"B̮ͬ͡é҉̱h̸͇͌o̷̦ͯl̔҉̞d̬͐͟i̟̚͡n͓̆͘g̬̿͠ ͇̋͢d̲́͢o̶̥̽e̩͂̕ş̖ͬn͈̒́'͙̍͘tͧ͜ͅ ̤̚͠h̬̓͝oͨ͏̗ļ̠̄d̛̝̾ ̝ͮ͞g̡ͩͅr͍ͦ͝u̺͊͡d̠̏̕ḡ̡̫e̪͒͡s͓̄͝,̟̾͘ ͖͑͟ḃ͏̰y͊͏͍ ͋͡ͅṯ͌͢h̶̹͐ẽ̮̕ ͔̓͟w̢͖̍a̫͆́y̹͒̕.̫͂͟" He informs the Exo after watching the shot for a little longer.
no subject
Cayde stumbles back, gaping up at the unblinking eye as the licking flames around him begin to fade off. That had taken a bit out of him, but he stubbornly stands himself straight, forcefully shoving aside the helpless thoughts that threaten to slink in. He looks at Jon again, and for once he can't find a response, not immediately. A moment later he snorts, forcing a grin.
"Well good. I think I need a bigger stick for this job."
no subject
The two creatures move without any warning, darting towards Cayde and trying to grab him while a few beholders shift into existence as well, blinking their large eyes open before turning them towards Cayde.
no subject
The appearance of reinforcements has Cayde step back again, but in no way prepared as they suddenly make a move for him. He hadn't actually thought Jon would do anything. His mistake.
"Hey! Get off me! Jon, get your creepy friends to back off or I'll- gah, what the hell!"
no subject
Three more servitors rise out of the ground behind Cayde with two more of those floating eyeballs spinning into existence. All these creatures don't hesitate to move on to the Exo as well.
no subject
As more eyes surround him Cayde is forced to admit to himself what he's been yo-yoing back and forth with in denial: they aren't his friends here. This is a new world and practically everyone he knows has been fit right into it. It's not a perfect fit, he knows because there's Lark, and he'd managed to help Ikora pull loose, but there are still very distinct holes, and the big difference for these is that those people are very much here. They just don't know him.
He sags between the grip of the servitor's, letting that weight settle for just that moment. Within, there's that warmth of anger but with nothing to direct it at. He can't give up here. He just has to find another way, right?
"I'm always in the way," he says, forcing some lightness into his tone, clinging stubbornly to that jovial mask of his, even though this place has been testing it considerably. "Sorry Jon." He grasps that warmth, the heat of solar flames. His body once again ignites, and he in hoping he catches those servitor's off guard, he throws himself into a twist, flaming knives in hands, flinging out towards them. He needs space. He needs an egress.
no subject
And yet the Exo remains difficult to read, even for the Archivist.
The responds gets a scowl, though the Archivist doesn't step back even when Cayde starts to glow, gathering up another attack of his. The barrage of knives easily takes out the gathering of servants the Archivist has called and one of them even hits the man himself in the shoulder - An outcome he possibly could have prevented. But he does nothing other than being pushed back by the impact, snarling faintly at the Exo and just a little puzzled by the apology and the odd familiarity the name is spoken with.
Why does he have such a hard time knowing this one...?
"L͞e̴a͢v͡e̡.̵" Is all he says. It's not quite an order. Neither is it a demand. At this point it's leaning towards being a request.
no subject
Looking as though he'd say something, he instead gives a curt nod, taking a step back, then another before he turns and starts to run off, soon lost in the shadows as the fire cools and lets his form blend into the darkness.