Prison World #3: Panultima (tw violence, torture, coercion)
Characters: Ensemble Cast, maybe even you!
Summary: The third prison world in Xistentia is a terrifying subdimension where sentient people exploit each other in order to run technology that will fend off D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. The 'ruling' class, Primus, are bound to a system of coupling (see: fake dating!), legacy and nepotism, whereas the Servus are put through an elaborate media circus (see: Hunger Games). You're here to study this world. And perhaps even to free those captured.
Date(s): February 8-20
Warnings/Notes: Violence, torture, coercion
If you thought Earth was a tough neighborhood, welcome to Panultima. Here, life is sweet. At least, as long as you're one of the Primus class.
It's a sprawling city of wicked spires and elaborate canals, covered in a luminous, translucent shield. Rather than a circular planet resting in orbit, instead, it's a flat plane of matter suspended in space, the foundations of the buildings rooted in only a hundred feet of stone and unknown technology. But the vast majority of citizens care little for that. After all, the city has every amenity and experience one might desire.
Restaurants line the streets. Theater is at an apex in development, with a particular focus on integration of moral philosophical themes. Gondolas run the canals, whereas a railway races over the winding laser-track in the air. Fashion is diverse, colorful, characterized by wild shapes, patterns, and accessories. Food imported from worlds both thriving and dying across the multiverse. At the numerous colleges and institutes, premier technology and opera are under constant invention and reinvention.
Primus culture emphasizes couples. Trios. Larger groups of lovers than that, even. After all, with romantic love and loyalty to care for, and survival hanging on it... who has the time or energy to care about justice for all?
Not these guys!

In this world, the mission and pleasure roll together well. The implant picks up information, so your main job is to explore. Perhaps you and your partner might enjoy yourself a glow-in-the-dark cocktail in a smoky bar where a two-headed singer is providing the music, a tour of the massive shield generators in the sparkling complex. Or pick fruit from one of the hundreds of bonding trees in the city's central park— so named, because it requires successful completion of questions to "the newlywed game" for each before one of the luscious, sweet fruits is released from a vine.
But for the little guy, life is considerably shittier. Welcome to the arena, the fully manipulable bubble reality set up to torture the slave class. The emotions of pain, fear, anguish, and wild, adrenal victory.

Most days, it looks like a forest— incidentally, very much like Xistentia. There are dozens of hybrid creatures in it, most of which are edible, others toxic, several very dangerous. However, the ground below can change at any moment, turning into mud or belching acid baths. Or you might find yourself abruptly attacked by a bear with biological armor growing from its huge shoulders. The control room, operated by Primus, is concealed from view. Its role is to keep the environment challenging for those competing, shifting the settings of the place to advantage some and cripple others.
But the arena's programming isn't the only threat.
Instead, you have a motley host of macabre killers, other Servus locked up in here just like you. Some have survived in here for years, earning favor from audiences thanks to the amount of pure horror they squeezed out of their victims. Some of the better-known brands are the Bantam Butcher, a fallen angel whose first kills were those who took his wings, and now thrives on torture. The trapmaster seems to have control over environmental factors that rivals the control room. And the baker trio will eat the flesh from your bones if they catch you.
For infiltrators, the challenge is worse. Not only might you need to kill, survive, and explore the arena with your implant— but if you want to save the very same people who are out to murder you, how are you going to do that?
Several days into the mission, and that's when it happens-- the control room shuts down, under attack. And suddenly, there's pandemonium. Within the arena, some of the servus know immediately what this means— and they're willing to make a break for it, cutting each other down, crippling each other if it means that the Primus might have slower-moving people to contend with and allow them to escape. Others seem to have long since given up, failing to respond as the trees suddenly go dark and motionless, the birdsong dying into silence. After all, where is there to go? It's either D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., or to join the system that hates them, isn't it?
Are you inside the arena, or out? Are you there to help the fleeing Servus, or are you merely ready to scramble on home yourself and save your own skin?
Summary: The third prison world in Xistentia is a terrifying subdimension where sentient people exploit each other in order to run technology that will fend off D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. The 'ruling' class, Primus, are bound to a system of coupling (see: fake dating!), legacy and nepotism, whereas the Servus are put through an elaborate media circus (see: Hunger Games). You're here to study this world. And perhaps even to free those captured.
Date(s): February 8-20
Warnings/Notes: Violence, torture, coercion
Panultima
You cursed your gods and died
The Primus Life

It's a sprawling city of wicked spires and elaborate canals, covered in a luminous, translucent shield. Rather than a circular planet resting in orbit, instead, it's a flat plane of matter suspended in space, the foundations of the buildings rooted in only a hundred feet of stone and unknown technology. But the vast majority of citizens care little for that. After all, the city has every amenity and experience one might desire.
Restaurants line the streets. Theater is at an apex in development, with a particular focus on integration of moral philosophical themes. Gondolas run the canals, whereas a railway races over the winding laser-track in the air. Fashion is diverse, colorful, characterized by wild shapes, patterns, and accessories. Food imported from worlds both thriving and dying across the multiverse. At the numerous colleges and institutes, premier technology and opera are under constant invention and reinvention.
COUPLE STUFF
Primus culture emphasizes couples. Trios. Larger groups of lovers than that, even. After all, with romantic love and loyalty to care for, and survival hanging on it... who has the time or energy to care about justice for all?
Not these guys!




THE SERVUS LIFE
But for the little guy, life is considerably shittier. Welcome to the arena, the fully manipulable bubble reality set up to torture the slave class. The emotions of pain, fear, anguish, and wild, adrenal victory.

But the arena's programming isn't the only threat.
Instead, you have a motley host of macabre killers, other Servus locked up in here just like you. Some have survived in here for years, earning favor from audiences thanks to the amount of pure horror they squeezed out of their victims. Some of the better-known brands are the Bantam Butcher, a fallen angel whose first kills were those who took his wings, and now thrives on torture. The trapmaster seems to have control over environmental factors that rivals the control room. And the baker trio will eat the flesh from your bones if they catch you.
For infiltrators, the challenge is worse. Not only might you need to kill, survive, and explore the arena with your implant— but if you want to save the very same people who are out to murder you, how are you going to do that?
Breakout!
Several days into the mission, and that's when it happens-- the control room shuts down, under attack. And suddenly, there's pandemonium. Within the arena, some of the servus know immediately what this means— and they're willing to make a break for it, cutting each other down, crippling each other if it means that the Primus might have slower-moving people to contend with and allow them to escape. Others seem to have long since given up, failing to respond as the trees suddenly go dark and motionless, the birdsong dying into silence. After all, where is there to go? It's either D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., or to join the system that hates them, isn't it?
Are you inside the arena, or out? Are you there to help the fleeing Servus, or are you merely ready to scramble on home yourself and save your own skin?
no subject
Rings held carefully in her hand, she uses the other to take Aymeric's in her own (or perhaps more accurately wrap her hand around the ends of a few of his fingers, as his are so large where hers are so small). Era isn't sure where they're meant to go from here but knows that he likely had the bureaucratic nonsense figured out ahead of time.
She keeps him to her left, as that is where she lacks a horn and is most vulnerable until it grows back. What Era cannot hear coming Aymeric most certainly will - a fact that eases any lingering tension. ]
no subject
He's happy to take her by the hand to get everything situated. They forgo a formal ceremony despite the insistence of the Primus filing the paperwork that it's such a joyous occasion and worth celebrating. Aymeric might agree, any other time. He thinks those things are true of marrying Era still but that fanfare isn't anything both of them are up for as they'd discussed.
It's a basic exchanging of rings under someone watching to officiate. He's careful and delicate with hers, promising in his on the spot vows to do it again properly someday in the near future. It's all said and done in a few hours time. They're returning to his overly spacious apartment sometime late in the evening. This world never seems to sleep, colors and celebrations going on during all hours of the night,
but he's certainly tired.
He can only imagine Era's exhaustion. ]
I suppose it's time for me to fulfill my promise of becoming a pillow, [ he says, to try and alleviate some of the tension. ]
no subject
Somehow it isn't surprising to find that Aymeric's current residence is larger than her cottage back in the Lavender Beds. It gets a tired breath of a laugh. Why do people need so much space to live in? Anima would likely wish to explore every nook and cranny, were he not safe in Xistentia with Peki.
Her dear friend - now her dear husband (and that will take a good long while to get used to) - does indeed lessen the tension with his statement. Era has been yearning to simply curl up against Aymeric's chest and be held in his arms for days on end. It's a tad bit frightening how much she has come to need these things from him in her life. Is that what love is? ]
If you would be so kind. I shall get ready for bed.
[ Her posture screamed of how exhausted she is as soon as she stepped through the threshold into Aymeric's apartment; spine curved and steps more a shuffle than a stride. It's as though gravity has put in extra effort to drag her down.
Era offers her friend a smile before making her way to where she believes the bathroom to be. She takes a moment to wash her face and brush her teeth with a spare toothbrush she scrounged up, then trades her ao dai and tights for her favourite pink yukata (minus the obi) and her favourite pair of lace-trimmed cotton panties.
With that finished, Era exits the bathroom and looks for Aymeric. ]
no subject
Not that it matters. They'll be free of this world soon. Not soon enough, of course, but he hopes it goes swifter than drag on for the remaining days. ] Of course, [ he says to that, moving away from his wife (also a mental adjustment he'll have to make) and to getting himself ready for bed.
By the time she's finished getting ready, he's already lounging on the overly large bed. His back is propped up against the headboard. He hadn't wanted to get too comfortable without her, you see. His gaze turns to her with a warm smile; unlike most men on their wedding night, he isn't anticipating anything more than what they've already discussed. It wouldn't feel right to besides not with Era injured and exhuasted. For as traditional as he can be, too, he doesn't buy into the one that claims sex is the only way to consummate a marriage. ]
I hope it isn't too soft for you, [ is all he says, knowing her preference for firmer beds. Unfortunately, the population of Panultima seemed to enjoy emulating sleeping on clouds. It was a bizarre trend. ]
no subject
Luckily for them this is not the case. She is here now, chest warmed by the sight of Aymeric waiting for her in a bed that will most certainly be too soft. Her lips curve upward into a small smile.
With anyone else Era would feel uncomfortable bearing so much bruise-mottled skin with already-healing scars and damaged scales - and that isn't even taking into consideration her missing horn (which she does feel uncomfortable bearing even for Aymeric). But for her dear friend and now husband, she does not mind letting her yukata slip from her shoulder and onto the floor near the bed. It had kept her warm on the journey from the bathroom to the bedroom, and now that Era is here with Aymeric to keep her warm instead it's no longer needed.
And perhaps maybe a small part of her did want to do something slightly more 'traditional', even if it was simply allowing him to see her bare breasts for the first time.
Era doesn't make a big production of it - there is no delay between her removing her yukata and moving to the bed (she does pause to crinkle her nose in distaste at how much her hand sinks into the mattress when she puts her weight on it, however). She doesn't make an effort to cover herself with any blankets, simply slides under the sheets and presses herself against Aymeric's side with a quiet, weary sigh.
She is not the type of person who says I love you out loud, but the way she makes sure to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his jaw expresses it well enough. ]
no subject
If he didn't know any better, he'd believe that Nymeia herself wove Era out of celestial silk with how soft her skin is to touch. Even bruised and battle-worn, he can't remember anything feeling quite as nice. She's radiant as her name Warrior of Light has always implied, yet, the glow around her right now is much softer than he's used to. She tends to burn bright as the sun with a fiery passion for what's right. Currently, however, it's a gentle warmth just for him and something he meant wholly sincerely when he said he would covet for the rest of his days.
A kiss is all he needs to be content as she settles in next to him. Truthfully, he hadn't been about to ask for anything even close to this. Perhaps that why he's treating it with such sincere appreciation because he understands just how valuable this moment is. He isn't the overly sentimental type or someone who says I love you either. The way his arm curls around her though with an instinctual desire to hold her close to him hopefully says it clear enough on his part too. ]
no subject
A soft hum of contentment escapes her as Aymeric pulls her closer. Every part their bodies touch tingles with a warmth she can't put words to. It fills her chest with joy, while his arms bring her much needed security.
The only good thing about her missing horn is that it allows Era to press her cheek flat against Aymeric's chest, feeling the rise and fall with each breath more closely even if she cannot hear his lungs fill or heart beating away. Era keeps one of her hands over his heart to feel it beating away - a reassurance and comfort.
She loves Aymeric so fiercely that it's almost frightening. It is frightening, how quickly she went from loving him as she loves all her friends to loving him as his wife... But Era has a hard time feeling anything other than a bubbling joy about it.
It's more difficult to stay awake with each passing moment no matter how much Era wishes to continue enjoying her current position. Aymeric won't begrudge her her sleep, she knows, but that doesn't mean she wants to just yet.
The Warrior of Light knows a losing battle when she sees one, however, so Era finally speaks up: ]
I will see you when I wake.
[ With that out of the way she allows herself to - finally - drift off for a much needed sleep. ]