5450/Astral Flux: The King's Road

Astral Flux: The King's Road
Date of Scene:	27 September 2018
Location:	Astral Plane
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Shadow King, Phoenix
Tinyplot:	Astral Flux

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Shadow King has posed:
    Breaking into the Astral Plane again is far more difficult than before. The place is pulsing with the power of the current force of mind that has claimed it. At first it's virtually impossible to access. Previously, attempts were just rerouted and those who tried flung out - except those who are very powerful - but now? Even those are finding it difficult, and the place actually feels like it is sapping, licking at energy, in some way. A hunger permeates the souls that make it.

    And then suddenly access is granted. The astral plane feels thick, vaulted, distorted, in ways that should not be possible. And the awareness pulses through all of it, as if eyes were all around. Curious. Interested. Hungry.

Phoenix has posed:
    Ever since returning from the most difficult X-Men mission of her career to space, Jean has been changed. Needless to say, seemingly dying and then returning is one serious change. But there are other affectations, some in the form of nightmares. Some in the form of urges. Some in the form of passions. Some in the viciousness of her attitude towards certain individuals, such as criminals. But she's not yet come to the full realization that she may be more than just herself in her body.

    But then something like her attempt to breach into the Astral Plane sans Cerebro, finding it extremely difficult to latch on, and then suddenly sensing a surge of tremendous telepathic energy as her body engulfed in flames, was an oddity. She does, finally make it, she is there. Which leaves meditating over the different kind of anomaly to another time.

    For now, there is the matter at hand. After discussions with the Professor, and going over past events, and the unique power at play, she had come to the theory that a very old nemesis of the Professor is behind the curtain. So now, standing at the distorted plane, she looks around her, an orb of solar light shining from her like a spying flashlight in the darkness, she asks, "...I visited before, clueless, I come again, with a question...is this the home of royalty?" Appeasing to one's ego usually helps, she assumes if anything, a show of respect at the least would grant her an audience if it is the Shadow King, as she suspects.

Shadow King has posed:
    The whole plane is drenched with the consciousness of the mind that has taken it as his own. There's an extreme arrogance to that, and the power flexed there to have made that happen. It is well beyond what Should Be. And so it is that the very essence of the place around her is amused. The air warps with the emotional response that this character openly shares, because he just doesn't care or mind.

    The plane's distance distorts, as rules are simply adjusted, easy, just so. A lurch of the reality of the plane, and the massive fortress that spans higher than the mind can even comprehend is suddenly, jarringly directly in front of Jean. Yet somehow that lawn is worse than Versailles - it will exhaust anyone attempting to cross it. Armies will slowly wither and die in the years required to cross that unrealistic distance, that yet somehow does exist, because the rules are whatever this mind thinks is best.

    But under it, making up that field ahead, the castle, all of it, is not just thoughts, but emotionally charged. It is a location that twists, to create nausea, disorientation, sickness, as the vile quality of it seeps into any visitor or intruder.

    "You have no concept of 'royal'," is the laughing, dark thought. But she did get a reply. "Or you would already be kneeling."

Phoenix has posed:
    "You would have me kneel at a notion...?" Jean asks cautiously, as she jarringly appears before, and yet so far from the castle that wasn't there before. Yet Jean has a sense this castle may well be the idea that houses the power that is distorting an entire plain. "I tried to estimate who or what might be capable of changing a very core set of rules in a place such as this, where the mind creates and destroys..." she continues, her words carefully choosen, to show she's no mere visitor and yet making no claims that she's here to fix everything. "I believe you must be the Shadow King...? If so, you've danced with my mentor...Charles Xavier." The term 'dance' elected to appeal to refinement, so much more pleasant on the mind than something base as 'fight'.

    "I am very much impressed with what you've done, a rare feat indeed."

Shadow King has posed:
    "So cautious you are. You are right to fear a misstep. But I am merciful," the answer replies, chidingly, as one might to a poor child. Arrogance is thick; the 'grass' of the field is twisted and made of it. It is a field of sins, garishly painted in a whim of pretending to look like something living. No, his 'grass' is as much an organic pleasant thing as a corroded metal or plastic, giving off toxic fumes slowly into what excuse for 'dirt' is under it.

    "I suppose that's the only way he gets to dance, he must MISS it. Mmmmm. Ah, you seek to judge what I am off of what /was/. Let's see how that works out for you," says the citadel. There's a sadistic pulse through that comment, and a sudden crawling squeeze on her essence and mind as he snoops. The power level is not his alone, though. It feels augmented. Much like Cerebro, in some way. "What power do you actually expect to have here?" The amusement lingers still, he's having a good time, although the place is feeling oddly claustrophobic, as his thoughts turn to torture as another option for furthering his 'good time.'

Phoenix has posed:
"I am not here to attack, I am not here to destroy, nor am I here to test my strength. I just seek understanding...and the first step, is to know the man, if one may still call you such, King," she elects to use the royal title. Seems he is pleased with her flattery at the very least, no harm in showing respect.

"Truth be told, he hadn't had chance to stretch out and dance quite like he might with you as a partner," Jean offers her observation, after all, who would truly challenge Professor X? And he himself, is so good a man, he doesn't seek to overpower others though he has the ability. Or has he...? Jean might be blinded by the fact he is her mentor, and the man who got her out of potential life in insane asylums.

While the Shadow King himself is clearly augmented, to the point Jean can sense it, he may well feel the same. On the surface, she's no doubt a powerful telepath. Easily amongst the top 5 in the world, but there is something far more powerful, seemingly dormant hidden within her. Something, not of the Earth. Doubtful she herself is even aware of it's potential. "I will not hide who I am, I am a student of the man, but I am not him. And I do not seek to judge, I seek to understand, if you will allow me the pleasure." Further flattery, suggesting understanding him is pleasure itself.

As the sensation of claustrophobia is slicking in around Jean, despite the clear open expanse, she closes her eyes and regulates her breathing. "If I learned anything at all about this place as it should be, I have precisely the power I imagine to have...so a false step is to imagine myself weak before any threat. But you cleverly changed a few core functions, or otherwise altered, it seems to mostly play by your rules...your thoughts. I'm..." she lingers, clearly the respect she gives the Shadow King, if it is indeed him, evident in how careful she is with every single word, "jealous," she finally concludes.

Shadow King has posed:
    "A student," echoes the citadel. Thoughtful. "Seeking to understand. I see. You're not the first, but perhaps one of the more /worthy/. You are here to learn, then," says the King with a somewhat bored dismissiveness. It isn't quite that, there's something else going on, and the master manipulator is simply adjusting and adapting on the fly to show what he feels like showing. "Let's get you off the lawn, for starters," he suggests, bending the dimension with a whim's flex.

    The area collapses and reforms at the speed of thought, disorienting as the lack of 'gravity' kicks around, and thoughts blend into another separate area. They can be in two places at once: eight places, whatever suits him. Both on the 'lawn' but also the throne room, now. A decadent disaster of a place that is gilded and crusted in opulence. Not just gems and gold, but food, beautiful 'souls' twisted into the fabric of the drapes, screaming essences tortured artistically making each panel of floor that are also partially the King. It's a castle of fear and horror. But he's giving her something to focus on, an etch of a figure of himself made of nothing and everything, draped over a throne of vegetative minds. It is as much 'him' as the citadel is, but at least it is a focal point to stare at.

    "You have something in you that burns. I see it clear as anything," he says, fingers stroking down the arm of his thone. "Yet I wonder what YOU know of your embers."

Phoenix has posed:
    Jean takes note of the fact that the Shadow King seems in full control of transportation within the realm, so it was a good thing she remained passive and allowed him to dictate location. For all the games of flattery, the feat was truly astounding, and something to be further discussed with Xavier at length.

Standing before him, Jean's recalls his earlier remark, and figures there's no harm in playing to his moniker. But even as she thinks of kneeling down before him, before she can move to do so, something stops her. Freezes her. She will not kneel down. Jean herself seems surprised when her intent was to do just that, but she makes no remark of it, rather she instead tries to look at the Shadow King with respect. Her green eyes ever so slightly downcast. The most she can offer as a show of respect. "The embers...?" She muses, as he speaks to a visual that's been plaguing her dreams, her nightmares, and then burned her very room not that long ago. "I know there is a will inside me. A strong will. Strong enough to return from death." It is all she offers, perhaps all she knows, "I wish I understood more...I've been through an experience in space. I believe it changed me. For better or worse."

"This is the first time I see you in person...as much in person as is allowed here, I cherish the moment. I've heard stories from my mentor...I never expected to be in your presence." Jean looks around the room, the mashup that it is, "so I understand you are ancient...at least much more so than I, why then shut the Astral Plane before all other telepaths? Do you claim it for your kingdom?" She wonders aloud.

Shadow King has posed:
    "'Shut' is a too-simple interpretation. It's filtered, of course. I select who benefits from its use, not just every moron with a spark of awareness," the King replies, watching her, but not hawkishly. "Those who come, do so under my pleasure. Such as the fungus. So useful, it is, so willing to be whatever I want." The floor is watching her with a more penetrative sense. After all, forgetting he is the whole room, not just the puppetted idea on the throne, would be quite a mistake. He is a coil of thought of his perception of himself, a shadowed form of bulky smoke and muscle, lengthy fang and claw, tongue rich in red and coiled with odd serpentine expressiveness inside his jaw. Yet his self perception displayed is also kingly. A feared king. He knows what he is, and his confidence level is realistic.

    "I feel your war inside yourself to keep your silly pride, and not give proper homage to me. You do not realize that I could change your perception of your knees to where you could no longer stand at all, here, I think," he muses. "Everything here is in my power, little bird. You are here, you are in it. Claim? Of course I claim: and everything inside it. And those who arrive and grant me free use of their physical bodies while they are here." A big, very fanged and eerie grin shows.

    "Shall I tell you what I did with your body while you are here talking to me?" He teases her darkly. But then waves a hand negligently. "But I digress: back to your inability to bend your knees. It is not as if I were requiring fealty or oaths, although I COULD. My students are, however, required to acknowledge my mastery. I can tell you seek to learn without giving up anything, not even a scrap of pride. Ha! Dump that stubbornness, and perhaps I'll tell you what your embers mean, and perhaps teach you even more. Visit again without proper humility, and I'll rip your mind's eye out and wear it as a ring, and make you watch what I do with your physical body," says the shadow on the throne. Something about the 'random' reference to a 'ring' catches. There's importance there, he didn't just randomly choose that. But then, with a sleek little wink, he ejects her from the Astral Plane, in an easy manner akin to simply blowing out a candle.

Phoenix has posed:
    "I believe I may have had the pleasure of sensing your 'strings' as it were," Jean shares what no doubt he already knows, assuming his cast afflications on other telepaths are observed rather than a wide scoped wild lashout. "It cost me my room, luckily there were no else present," she admits to something he made her do without her intention to do so. Albeit her understanding is lacking, what actually happened was she was being willed into criminal activity, and the Phoenix severed the control over her, at the cost of a flameout that burned her room. At the same token, she's now self exiled from Xavier's, which hurts her ability to guide students.

But she will need to end that exile sooner or later, if she intends to have words with the Professor. At the least, she should reach out to others, Rogue knows the Avengers, perhaps an avenue worth exploring. Even if they do have their own problems at hand.

    "I...was meaning to pay you homage," Jean admits when the Shadow King reveals he sensed that conflict within her, stopping that gesture of humility. The host may not have pride to cloud sense, but the Phoenix Force is a proud being. A conflict indeed. But then he suggests to her that while she's here, he has free reign over her own body, which happened at the time to be in Antarctica, so thankfully not too many that can be hurt in the immediate vicinity. Nevertheless, she is a great deal concerned about anyone at all using her body like a puppet on strings. "I understand," she notes, albeit she means the rules of the game. To stop him in the Astral Plane, one must be willing to give up their physical bodies to his whims, but can he not end their physical bodies before they end him in the Astral Plane? A conundrum indeed. "Your offer of lessons intrigues," Jean concedes, though she cannot smile, a rather harrowed expression taking over her visage.

    The last thing she makes out clearly is the motiff of the ring, bringing immediate allusions to the famous book and the famous line: one ring to rule them all. Can't possibly be anything of the sorts, but the power he displays, in essence, he has found a 'one ring', whatever it may actually be.

    As she is ejected from the Astral Plane, having survived an encounter with her mentor's nemesis, Jean is gasping for air, and falls down into the snowy ground. Her green eyes stare into the heavens. She doesn't even realize her pupils have taken the form of a fiery raptor for but a moment. The being ever ready to protect its host, and the threat thrown at her, was quite severe. "I was right," she gasps out the words, "I must inform the Professor."