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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 ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small} parser. |
TEMPLATE CODED BY valoirs
valoirs
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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?"
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"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."
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"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?"
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"Not when it's unnatural."
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"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."
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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?"
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"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.
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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."
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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."
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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..."
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"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."
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"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?
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...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.
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"Since my last wife died, yes." Ah, to hell with it. He's not even supposed to be alive right now anyway. One pet. That's all. "She was extremely affectionate for a Garlean."
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But the mirth fades at the mention of death, and he nuzzles into Emet's shoulder once more.
"Oh... I'm sorry," he murmurs once more. "You say 'for a Garlean,' though. So 'tis true that Garleans are not the most... emotional, of folks?"
Whenever Emet-Selch deigns to pet him, though, Felih purrs a little louder and lets his tail move into his touch.
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"Very true. You know Nero tol Scaeva? A disaster of a human being, if you ask me," he purrs, happy to gossip. "So many misplaced and misdirected feelings. 'Twould have been better if Garlemald were not so stifled. It feels useless- unhealthy, even- to deny one's emotions, to deny them outlet."
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"He's entertaining to rile up," he purrs, relaxing as he gossips. Shit-talking Nero was always fun, alright? "I'm not sure if he counts as traitor, exactly, being presumed dead and all. He simply realized that the Empire was not the best place for him to be- he seems to be going about wreaking his own manner of mischief, still determined as ever to create new marvels of engineering."
Suddenly overtaken by a hint of mischief (that he may regret), Felih pulls back just slightly to look Emet-Selch in the eyes, before cracking a playful smile again. "Hm... I wonder, did your wife ever tell you that you'd look better if you smiled?" he teases, purring still, a finger coming up to poke at the corner of the Ascian's mouth.
Don't poke the lion, Felih."You chose a handsome face, I suppose, but it doesn't help much if you insist on looking so dour..."
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"No, she didn't. I was the better looking of the two of us."
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Well, if he dies, he at least dies doing something most folk can say they never accomplished.
After another few moments of a hummed melody, Felih does murmur much more softly. "...you know, you can hold me back. If you like. You did say you weren't intent on killing me just yet..."
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