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.

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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.

This is...probably the single most bizarre interaction he's had in a while. And he shouldn't be tempted to pet Felih, but honestly it's hard to resist.

"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."

...good gods. It- worked? Felih feels a smile quirk on his lips as he keeps purring, unable to help it. This was... thrilling, admittedly. Still a delight, just in a way he'd never expected. How could he have ever guessed he'd be able to talk the Ascian into this- but more than that, he hadn't expected to see just how human Emet-Selch was.

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.

He shrugs, steadfastly refusing to let the urge to just relax take over. It's so tempting, though. "It's frowned upon, yes. Mothers are affectionate with their children and lovers are more prone to touching than other sorts but other than that....well, you've met them."

Felih laughs again then, mind immediately flitting to a certain fussy engineer, and his equally-ridiculous rival.

"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."

"Scaeva? He's still alive?" That's impressive, honestly. "He's not still part of the army, is he? I kept waiting for him to turn traitor like Garlond."

Felih laughs again. "You didn't know? Well, yes, he lives. Were it not for him, a great number of things would not be as they are..." The Crystal Tower, for one. And how Omega had been handled...

"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..."

And the vague good mood is mostly ruined now. Emet-Selch frowns harder at Felih's shenanigans, swatting his hand away and leaning back.

"No, she didn't. I was the better looking of the two of us."

Felih laughs again, bright-eyed still, and tucks himself back under Emet's chin with a loud, steady purr. "If you insist. She must have found you nice enough eye-candy to marry, after all," he chirps, before adjusting himself, moving to settle in the man's lap instead before lazily looping his arms over the man's shoulders, in a rather laid-back embrace.

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..."

"Because there'd be no point, not because I'm particularly fond of you." And yet here he sits, letting the Warrior of Whatever laze about in his lap. What are the worlds coming to. "Why are you even here?"

Felih pulls back, still with his arms looped around his neck, and purrs, smiling up at him. It's a simple thing, and he replies, "You happened to be here, and I wanted to take advantage of the rare opportunity. Is that so odd? I can't help but be curious about you. And it does not take a genius to know that you find my companions and I worth some interest, otherwise you would not deign to tag along with us."

"Wanting to ask me questions is one thing. This--" He gestures between them, eyebrow raised "--is quite another."

That, however, gives Felih pause. Some warmth rises to his cheeks, but he shuts his eyes to think.

"You said you hadn't been touched in decades," he responds slowly, his ears slowly drooping. "...I cannot imagine what you must be experiencing. But to me- to be alone, without this warmth- without another's embrace... it would be so bitterly, painfully lonely."

He lets out a slow, deep sigh, the mirth gone as he looks aside, refusing to meet the man's gaze now.

"...call me a fool all you like. But it seems that is something I could not wish on even my worst enemy, as it turns out," he murmurs, a wry smile on his lips.

Oh.

Damn, sometimes Felih makes it hard to ignore who he once was.

But he'll never admit it. Emet-Selch merely frowns, studying the Warrior. "If this is pity for the enemy, I may have to adjust my assessment of you."

"Not pity, not quite..." he hums so very softly, more melody following as he tries to order his thoughts.

Felih still doesn't dare to look up at him.

"You of all folk should've noticed by now," he adds quietly. "I- I can't sit still. Not when- not when there are wounds to be tended, illnesses to be treated, things to be fixed and repaired, hearts to be comforted, people to be helped."

"I don't know," he finally mutters. "It's as I said. To feel that loneliness would be agony, to me. Just as being stripped of my voice, of song, of any part of me. And- well. You insist you're not lying, and you insist you intend to be on peaceful terms with us for now, and so- so..."

He bows his head.

"...it's not the same as yours, I know. But I know what it's like to be alone."

A pause.

"You're right," he finally admits. "You don't know what it's like. You can't, not as you are. And yet you insist on...affection? Towards a likely enemy?"

That earns the Ascian another short laugh, though weak.

"Even I get tired of fighting all the time, you know," he says softly. "I'll be dead one day, one way or another. What's the point of spending what precious little time I have on conflict- on wounding folk- when I don't have to? I'd rather help. What's the point in making my life one that brings more harm, than help? What's the point of drowning myself in hatred and anger and war- when I could just take respite in the brief moments of peace afforded to me?"

"Scorn me all you like," Felih murmurs, "but if my enemy would lay down their arms for a day, I would not deny them that moment of peace, too. At the end of it all, we're just two people trying to get through another day."

"...even you must get tired, musn't you?"

...perhaps Felih is more than just a--

No. No that way lies pain.

Emet sighs and relaxes at long last, giving in to Felih's odd ways. "I am exhausted. But, as they say, no rest for the wicked."

Felih manages a weak smile, but moves back in, head resting against the man's shoulder now, as he shuts his eyes and just holds him. It still surprises him that the man feels warm. Of course he does, he's in a living body, after all- but Felih has grown too accustomed to the idea of Ascians simply being spirits of darkness, cold and ethereal.

"Yes," he murmurs, "so they say. I'm exhausted, too."

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