dpscheck | shadowbringers

shadowbringers

beneath the stars

It's been a week since our newest expansion officially launched! And, I know, I know... some of you already have a lot of feelings that you need to air out. But canon updating in your games is a struggle! And so is finding PSL partners! Luckily, that's what we're here for.

This is a post for you to play out all the Shadowbringers-related content you might be dying to write. Behind-the-scenes nonsense? Between-the-scenes angst? It's all welcome here!

1. Toplevel your character. Include any details you might think are relevant. Or don't. As always, we're not the cops.
2. Reply to other people's top levels!
3. Have fun!

⚔ Please clearly mark all spoilers in your thread subject lines. Clearly indicate whatever spoiler preferences you may have. We're only a week into the expansion, officially, and there's no shame if you're not far in it or haven't started it yet.

⚔ You are welcome to play characters who are new to Shadowbringers. However, please try to avoid topleveling with icons and descriptions that convey major plot-related spoilers.

If you aren't certain about a character's playability, feel free to PM

parser.

TEMPLATE CODED BY

valoirs

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Felih pouts at that, tail flicking from side to side.

"But you lived as one of those ants, once, at least. You lived among us- sired children, founded an empire, all that. Wasn't that interesting? Now that I think of it, you must have had a wife then, even if only for politics' sake. You had a child. To live as we do- did it not grant you some new perspective?"

"Several wives. Several children." A minor detail, but worth noting. "And the only perspective it ever granted me was that your lives are so small, so futile that it's a mercy to end them."

Another huff, another swish and thump of his cloud of a tail on the ground.

"If our lives are to end regardless, why not just let them run their course? We enjoy being alive, for the most part," Felih replies, before humming and curiously looking intently at Emet-Selch. He's clearly examining his face in particular, and after a minute of more silence, be finally says something.

"You mentioned using just one body, since it was easier. How old is this one? Is this only as old as 'Solus' is? Or does it predate that? Actually, now that I think on it- did you create this body? Or did you possess one like this and just decide to keep it?" he asks, ears perking forward curiously, eyes glinting as if searching for something interesting.

That is...an awful lot of questions and honestly he's not sure how to handle this. Emet blinks before deciding to humor the Warrior. What is he going to do with the information, blackmail him?

He taps his chest. "This particular body is a clone. My dear grandson is interested in cloning and decided to use my body as a test subject, which of course means I have plenty of spares back on the Source should I need them. The original Solus body was the the body of some noble Garlean boy that I decided to make my own shortly after he was born, though I have admittedly grown fond of this form."

Felih starts purring. A soft, faint one, but it's there. "Is that so... what makes you fond of this one?" he chirps, his tail now swaying idly behind him, the silky, long fur shimmering in the scant rays of light that make it through the forest canopy.

He's far more intrigued, and the closer he seems to get to the heart of his curiosity, the more pleased he seems.

"After all, you must have had the worlds at your fingertips, for choosing or making a form. What makes this one worth keeping?"

"Should an Ascian make a form, with the world as it is, we will lack a shadow and out all who see us to our true nature. It's much easier just to find one we like and borrow it for a bit."

He glances down at his hands, thinking. How deep does he really feel like going with Felih?

"As for why I like this one so much...well, I like being tall."

Felih's eyes light up and his tail fluffs up a little, quivering behind him as a grin spreads across his face. It was... not the answer he'd been expecting, but that's what made it so delightful. That purr grows louder and he leans in, filled with mischief- for this one moment, this Ascian is not an enemy, no- but just someone he can play around with. How much are Ascians and the mortals similar? Clearly, they still experience existence in similar ways.

"Truly? So height matters to you? Vanity!" says the hypocrite, who is also vain as all hells. "You like to be tall- what else do you consider aesthetically pleasing, then? Clearly, you have preferences and certain things you enjoy- you were a creator, once. What things do you find beautiful, or pleasing?"

And here he was expecting to get yelled at for giving him a non-serious answer. Hm.

Well, he can humor the hero a bit. The questions are harmless and it's been ages since someone asked him what he liked. Not even his last wife...

"You've seen Allagan ruins, haven't you? I was always fond of that aesthetic, and sadly Garlemald can never hope to achieve it." A sad, resigned sigh. "Though I claim no responsibility for Allagan fashion. That was entirely Xande's wife's doing."

This is... strangely thrilling. To just... sit and talk with an Ascian, as if this were normal. As if they hadn't been at each other's throats a short time ago. It's interesting, and for someone as endlessly curious as Felih, he can't help but take advantage of this moment and enjoy it for as long as he can.

"Oh- so the architecture! Were you an architect- a creator of structures and form? Or did you create all manner of things?" he asks, tail wiggling behind him now as he settles down, relaxing just a little more.

Still, the comment about fashion has Felih giving a small, sharp exhale through his nose of amusement, shaking his head. "Tell me about it- 'twas a mess. No sense of elegance- and I should know," he hums. He himself strives to be fashionable at all times, part of the reason he's so finicky and fussy about his appearance, his grooming, keeping his long hair silky-soft and shiny, skin smooth and unblemished. It's too bad that the life of an adventurer leaves him with so many scars.

"It was a mess and I am ashamed that was my daughter. I know I taught her better than that." Oh, he misses her suddenly. She was a good girl, for a savage.

But that first question gives him pause. He looks at Felih, searching. "Why do you want to know? It doesn't matter. Never again will I create."

Felih can't help but feel thrilled to hear him speak like this. He insists that men are nothing like what Ascians once were, but he sounds now just like any other man, fussing about his daughter. His eyes are bright and he keeps purring, but the sound falters a little when Emet-Selch looks at him dead-on like that.

Surprised, Felih hums again, a habit he never grew out of. Humming old melodies while he thinks and composes his thoughts. Never does the music seem to cease, with him.

"I simply wondered," he replies. "What it was like. You go on and on, about how lovely the world used to be- but you never tell us about it. I wonder, what it was like? To create. To imagine something, and see it simply... become. What kinds of things did you find important, I wonder? What kinds of things did you delight in creating?"

"...after all, 'tis not so different from men, in some ways. Though we lack the innate power to simply will something into existence... I feel there is merit to be had, in working material with your own hands, to bend the world around you to create something lovely."

An ear flicks, an ornate earring glinting in the light purposefully. "It is... soothing. Rewarding. When I fuss about the last details of the metalwork, or when I am at the loom, ensuring every last thread is in place... to see the completed project fills me with delight."

He looks back up to meet the man's gaze, head tilted. "I wonder, what was it like, for you?"

Emet-Selch turns away, looking up.

"Nothing so...primal as that, I fear. To create was to breathe for us. Imagine a world where the youngest of us can simply will a bottle of milk in their hand, and their mother simply will it away. Where if a friend has a new toy you desire, you could simply ask your father to go to library and check out the concept to craft your own, free of charge. Where your stories could almost come to life as you told them, flashes of characters and settings and battles manifesting as you spoke. And to find all of this mundane."

Felih smiles softly, weakly.

"You did create, at least. For a while. Mayhaps not in the way you once did, but create it you did. You sired children, brought new life into these worlds. You created empires. You created new experiences for both yourself and those around you," he murmurs. "Mayhaps that is not so grand as what you knew. But I think it's incredible. After all, just now, you sounded every bit the father any other man may be."

"To learn to use these bodies of ours, to create... the skill to weave, to work metal, to cook or do anything- even create a new life- the work and the practice and the struggle, it makes things interesting," he murmurs. "Is there not merit in being able to fight against a world we cannot simply will to bend, and instead taking it in our own hands to do so?"

He doesn't bother pointing out that he had children before the Sundering. Of course he sounds like a father.

"Not when it's unnatural."

"Unnatural to you, mayhaps. But the nature of existence is that it changes." Felih hums a little.

"And still. You never did answer my questions about the things you liked, and the things you created," he murmurs, his long tail finally curling around his hip and draping over his lap, until it coils around himself tidily. He starts to comb through the fur with his fingers, lacking his brushes at this moment, as grooming was ever a stress-relieving task for him.

"You liked this body enough to keep it, so you must find some part of it pleasing, even if it's only its height. You must have liked your wives, I think. Enough to tolerate them, enough to have children with them, at least. You must have liked your children, at least enough to raise them."

"Do you really care?" He has to ask. "Does it really matter anymore? Yes, I loved my wives in a way. Yes, I loved my children in a way. Yes, I even loved those I was never married to but still took to bed or called my friends in a way. What does it matter?"

"As much as you seem disinclined to believe me," Felih hums, a wry smile on his lips, "I do, actually, care. I would not bother asking if I didn't." He sighs a little, and tries to catch the man's gaze once more.

Know your enemy, goes the old adage, but Felih can't help but realize that the more he learns about this man, the more they could have simply been friends, had things been different.

"Love matters. Life matters, no matter its form. Did the experiences not bring you at least some manner of joy?" he murmurs. "It isn't a terrible thing, to enjoy those things. Those relationships and lives and carnal pleasures- fleeting, but no less enjoyable for it. After all, you did indulge in them, did you not?"

His efforts to catch Emet's gaze are in vain, as he's steadfastly refusing to look at Felih now.

"I did, and every time I was reminded of those I had lost. Of those who had given themselves over to Zodiark in hopes of restoring the world. Of those who betrayed us and broke the world and left me not even a grave to mourn."

It was easier, in the end, to remind himself that these creatures aren't truly alive. That they are a temporary stain on the world, soon to be gone forever. That his attempts to find some semblance of suitability in them were an exercise in futility.

Once more, there is quiet. Nothing but Felih's soft humming, the melody helping him work through his multitude of thoughts, before he sighs softly. Is this a trick? It might be. If it is, it's very convincing, and it's working well. But at the same time, Felih looks at the man before him and just sees a part of himself.

So he shifts and settles, his smaller frame easy to find a spot against the Garlean's, and gets comfortable there, pausing once more before he steels himself and bunts up under the man's chin, soft fluffy ears folding down as he tucks his head there.

"...I'm sorry," he murmurs. "It must be lonely."

Emet-Selch freezes and stares down at the tiny Miqo'te pressing up against him, head forcibly tucked under his chin. He wants to protest, to throw him off and ask "how dare you", and he should!

But he can't. Suddenly he's back in Amaurot before the end of days, back in his apartment after a long day in the Capitol and ready to spend the night alone...only for them to knock on the door, tired of their own apartment and much preferring his.

Damn, but he hates the Warrior. How dare he. How dare he not remember. How dare he still be so fractured.

So he doesn't do anything. He hardly reacts. He simply...lets Felih do what he will.

"You have no idea."

Felih is... surprised. More by the fact that he hasn't been attacked or thrown off, if anything, but at the same time, he feels as if he shouldn't draw away just yet. Something about Emet-Selch has always bothered him, deep down. Something that felt off- more than Ascians normally felt. For him, mage so obsessed with the healing arts, and with all kinds of magic, and studying aether- something about Emet-Selch was just... different.

So instead, he starts up a purr- something meant to soothe. A comforting purr, the frequency one offers to a loved one when they're stressed, the kind that tries to ease heartaches or fears, and his long, lush tail moves to instead sweep over the Ascian's lap and around him, as he nestles a little closer.

Felih's lonely, too- mayhaps it is the only real reason he has, for this wild idea of his. Cuddle the Ascian, he'd thought, that's a real smart idea. And yet, it still didn't get rid of the compulsion to do so.

Besides, if he had to guess, Ascians don't often get the time to act so freely, so leisurely. When was the last time Emet-Selch had been close to someone? Was it like this for all the Ascians- closed off, alone, denied even the most basic comfort of human touch? For some reason, the thought of an existence where one could possibly go years and years without being held, being touched... that made his heart ache more than anything else. What a deep, painful loneliness it must be.

Very quietly, he murmurs, "I wonder. Were Ascian bodies like this? Anything similar to ours? Did they rest close together, like this? The mortal men and beings I know crave for touch. But Ascians sound so much like gods- above it all. But mayhaps they were corporeal beings, too..."

Purring. Dear gods, he forgot Miqo'te could do that. When was the last time he was anywhere near one? The last time he was one? He knows the last time he was touched like this was before his Garlean wife died from illness.

"We had physical bodies, obviously." Was that ever in question? "They just aged so slowly as to be immortal--and our souls are. The only way an Ascian could truly die was to wish it, and there were always some few who would every century or so. They would allow their aether to be dispersed, perhaps to be a cat next or to make up a brand new soul or a pair of shoes or whatever."

"So you did, then..." Felih hums, lips a little too close to the man's skin than most would consider wise. But he's going to rest here, bunting under the man's chin, purring and keeping his tail coiled around them like this, as he gets a little more comfortable.

"There were those, even then, who wished to leave it all behind," he muses. "Though, becoming a cat doesn't sound so bad. Rest and lead a life of leisure and freedom, have folk fawn over you and feed you and adore you just for looking cute," he says, managing a little laugh against Emet's shoulder.

"...being immmortal... tell me. I wish... to know," he murmurs. "Does this ever grow tiring? Boring? Does- does being close to a person... feeling another's touch. Does it ever stop making warmth bloom in one's chest? Even after centuries and centuries?"

Insatiably curious, he is, but at the same time, it is a fear he has. All his loves, fleeting and short, gone before they bear fruit, stolen away from him over and over again. But had they lived- had he been with them- would there come a day, when one day, they tired of him? They found him boring- no longer inciting that spark and warmth that once bloomed between them?

That makes him laugh. "Ask me when it hasn't been decades since the last time I let someone touch me like this. In my experience, however, it does not get old."

"Oh," Felih says softly. "So it- it's been... decades?" Oh, seven hells. Why is his heart going out to him? He's not supposed to feel pity- no, sympathy- for the man responsible for so much death, so much suffering, so much misery- for the man who was their enemy!

...but damn him, Felih's always been soft-hearted.

He keeps purring, and tries to sound more playful than he feels. "Well, if that's the case, ought to take the opportunity, hm?" What in the name of the Spinner's sodding scissors was he doing? "Not every day you've got a beauty like me right here," he chirps, "With such luxuriously soft fur, at that. I'll let you touch it just this once."

He even gathers the courage and audacity to push up a little, bunting against the underside of Emet-Selch's chin and down along his neck, much like any affectionate cat.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject