As usual, here's a brand-new open post for all of you to post characters, mingle, and tag each other!
Seriously, post whatever you want. Empty toplevels? Open starters? Starters closed to specific people? It's all good — just enjoy! And as always, tag out and have fun!
[Excellent, since I love that too! I've came up with her Allagan backstory being that she was one of the leaders of one of the many unsuccessful uprisings near the empires end, then she got captured and the rest was history - her memories have been slowly returning, so he could def touch on them
Lesse... I'm pretty much up for anything too, maybe a sort of spin of when they arrive in Amaurot, where Persephone does initially go alone because her aether is already horribly unstable thanks to the experiments and doesn't trust herself not to change rapidly? Only to be hit with major nostalgia as she wanders through the city - ]
[ Well I am starting to formulate ideas so I am going to lead us off then in this dance, need to clear one more post off the plate then I shall definitely post up the starter ]
[ Emet-Selch had known it the moment that the Warrior of Light had entered his sanctuary. Actually he had known the moment that she had entered the Tempest, a swirl of waves and brine that had turned the sea to a hollowed out bubble underneath. Ah, he had to applaud the ingenuity of the Scions and perhaps he would-- that is if he was focused on anything but her sheer presence. It had been unmistakable, and once she had entered the game board; that was when he almost nearly flipped sides without a care. His brethren was quite used to him going rogue; he'd done it several times through-out history. A flippant disregard for what was good for the rejoining-- in lieu of his own wants and desires.
His tempering to Zodiark had always been the most powerful but it had also been the most unstable for it's magnitude.
If he had been godless, perhaps there would've been another primal that could've arisen from his tempering-- and thus she would've been made whole again. But no, it was Zodiark that had been there it had been Zodiark that he had called out to in his anguish. Instead over and over he had to see throughout the annals of time, her being placed on the board over and over again as if she was a divine test to his devotion for His Most Mighty Name.
Often it was said that a man could not be tempered to two different gods-- but they did not know Emet-Selch.
Flowers on the sea floor-- he could almost smell the brine carry them to his highest tower. There was a strange inevitability to this, to her presence and while he knew the outcome, it didn't stop him from thirsting for this moment between them where everything was stripped away and nothing remained. Oh but he knew that she had her pride, and he did too. But in every time there was a moment shared between them, an acknowledgement between them-- a small frisson that pointed to a red thread of fate that connected her to him.
And yet he waited.
Emet-Selch did not dare go to her, not yet. He wanted her to walk his city; this twilight dreamscape that in and of it's core was a love song written solely for her and only her. Idly, he wondered if she would recognize it for what it was ]
[It is with the Scions that the Warrior of Light arrives into the Tempest, yet it is Persephone alone who steps into the dreamed city. She had left them at the doors of the elevator, forced back by a swing of her axe and left to pound against unrelenting doors once she stepped in - leaving them with a crooked smile and an apology, before the doors sealed her in. She... needs to see this city alone, as herself. No pretenses as the Warrior of Light, but a woman uncertain of memories that nag at the corners of her mind. Persephone, not the Warrior of Light, needs to face him alone.
It had all started spiraling down ever since she saw those murals - felt her heart shatter so completely, despite not knowing why. It was a sadness so potent that her ever present smile almost faltered, and no amount of re-visits and closer examinations or anything could answer her question. Why did this matter to her? She was from the Source, an experiment broken free. A woman with no past. This should mean nothing.
Yet, it only ached more, when she looked at Emet-Selch after first witnessing the history laid out on the cave walls. She needed to talk a brisk walk after that, to clear her head of the muddle and chaos that threatened to overwhelm her. It was only when her vision blurred that she actually noticed the tears beginning to overflow.
And as she steps into the dimly lit streets, her one visible eye (and only eye really, the other scarred and unseeing from the moment she emerged from the Tower) peering up at the buildings that tower above her, all she can feel is that sadness again. A tug at her heart, something telling her that this - this is so important.
Alone she walks the streets, the click of her heels against the ground almost too loud for her ears. Her mind is a mess, torn between the foggy memories of a time before her captivity and the longing she feels for this city - how she wants to reach out to every phantom that walks by her. How she wants to see the man who should be her enemy, more than anything else.]
I don't understand. [Persephone doesn't expect an answer. Maybe she hoped speaking would snap her out of the fugue she found herself in, torn between what she was expecting and what's happening now.
She isn't smiling anymore. There's no need for that facade here.]
Why does it feel like this... [One of the tall figures overhears her, crouching down to address the woman with a concern so genuine it makes her eyes sting. Teeth grit as she shakes her head, disturbing blossoming flowers in her hair and horns, giving no answer as she turns on her heel. She must go deeper into the city. She needs to understand. What she feels, and who she really is.]
[ Perhaps it would've disturbed Persephone a little bit to know that she was being watched once she had entered the city proper from the elevator, but there was very little hard-eyed scrutiny because he viewed her approach with nostalgia. Throughout their interactions, he had touched briefly on thoughts and feelings and perhaps there had been a bit of healthy irritation that she had not remembered. But here within this realm, he was hit the hardest-- perhaps it was the soft light of the Tempest, the trees that lined the avenue replete with purplish pink blossoms and spires that seemed to climb ever upward as if reaching for some divine truth.
Had they not walked those same avenues in the past and talked of their hopes, their dreams for the future-- back when the world was exactly as how it should be and he had not wanted it to change in the slightest. But as time proved, change was a cardinal force. He'd seen it well enough throughout the eras where calamity upon calamity had ravaged the Source. A wonderful irony really that he and his brethren had to force change in order to make things go back to exactly as they had been.
They'd known each other many times throughout time though the last time that they had fully interacted had been with the demise of the Allagan Empire. Off the radar she had fallen and considering the nature of the Crystal Tower, was it really any wonder? Oh but he had recognized her the moment he had seen her from a distance in Eulmore and that had caused a rather drastic shift in plans. No surprise of course as he was used to theatrical improvision-- but it made him want to creep closer and closer until invariably he could not keep it inside anymore and he effected due introductions. Oh that the Scions did not care, like they had ever mattered. No, he had maintained eye contact with her the entire time.
Yes, fielded their questions as they barraged off of him, but truly-- all he really needed was Persephone to acknowledge him in a way that proved satisfactory. There had been a few times when he thought he'd almost had her, but then she slipped back into a vauge fog that he knew was only the minds defense mechanism. That still did not stop him from trying.
But here in Amaurot, he could hear the questions in her heart and there was just as much thirst within him to answer those questions. If she wanted answers, he would give her those answers. After all it had always been hard not to give her what she wanted just as much as it was hard to let her get even a little bit away from him.
A snap of his fingers and very soon, Persephone would see a figure making it's way down the street of Amaurot. A familar form that perhaps she had been expecting and despite it was clear that their paths would intersect by his machinations alone. and unfortunately when it came down to it, all of this was just that-- a divine show of machinations made to jog her memory.. her memories. ]
[Of course, many a time she had looked at him through their travels and felt a nagging sense of... something. She simply chalked it up to the unease of being so casual with an Ascian, smile unflinching even when his eyes remain so fixed on her own when he introduced himself. Many seemed fixed on her due to her title, and so she assumed the same of him - she was the obstacle in the way of his plans, after all.
But she wonders now if her title ever mattered. Her head throbs as the city forces her to remember, fragments of a time within the Allagan Empire - and a nostalgia of this place. She considered Ishgard her home, but this... This felt so truly like home, yet it was bittersweet. A home she could never return to.
It didn't make any sense, Persephone knew she was from the times of the Allagan Empire, but this city was from so long ago. Far from the time when she was part of one of the uprisings, when she first laid her eyes on him -
- Her head throbs, that memory both right and wrong. A hand cradles her temple as she forces herself to keep walking, jaw clenched as mismatched fragments float to the forefront. She... knew Emet-Selch? Not as he is now, but so far back then, when the Empire was at its most powerful - No that's still not right, is it?
Is this why he seemed so focused on her? Because they knew each other, once upon a many moons ago? But even back then, she was an obstacle, a force that was trying to drag down the Empire and even worse, she was failure - warped and changed into who she is now. A woman on the brink of her soul shattering, aether horribly corrupted - though her mind already feels as though it will shatter first.
Footsteps approaching her snap her from her stupor, her one eye flicking up at the figure that - narrowing as their paths start to pass. Wincing as there's another harsh tug in the back of her mind, pulling her memories from another direction. And as the figure steps past her, a hand reaches to stop them.
Then she stops. This is familiar too, reaching out with darkness obscuring half her vision - she did this before. So many times. With them, with others -
"I could heal it, but it's a good reminder to not get too cocky, yes? My own fault for thinking fauna with teeth was a good idea -"]
Ah... [That's all that escapes her, all she can manage as her hand recoils to against her blind eye, against the thorn-like scar that streaks across it obscuring iris and pupil. When... did she get the scar? Why did she become blind like this?
"I woke up with my eye like this, I'm not sure why - " " - The Empire didn't do this, it was always like this -" " - Being born with my eye like this doesn't make me less capable! I can still fight against the Allagans!"
"Really, it's fine like this. Makes me more dashing, don't you think so -"]
- Hades. [It comes out before she can stop herself. It takes a second for her to realize she even said it, shakily brushing her hair back to obscure her eye for the first time in centuries. Hades... Ah, even thinking of that name makes it feel as if her heart would burst.]
I knew you... I've known you for so long, and I kept forgetting. [First when she... She shattered, and again when she was shattered once more. Years ago she might've remembered, when fate brought them together on opposing sides, but then the Tower warped her so completely her memories left her again.
And here she is. Once more his enemy, once more having no memory of him.]
Never apologize... I only take offense to mediocrity (which this isnt!)
[ Oftentimes it was said that eyes were windows to the soul. Also eyes averted could denote lies and subterfuge, however if there had been anything with Emet-Selch's dealings with Persephone, it had been that he had always mantained precise eye contact with her and those eyes, they were unflinching but they held truth within them. The thing was that his eyes had always been truthful, even when the truth had been painful. And oh how history was built upon such heart-wrenching and soul crushing moments, weren't they now? Victories and defeats-- history that manifested so many puzzle pieces into but a whole-- and evermore it kept building and building, layers upon layers that twined around fragments of memory.
And at the center of it, the gnarled broken roots of a tree, a tree that at the very core was mangled seemingly beyond any hope of repair. Those roots that had had started to crawl once the star had been sundered, and with that his one true desire. Time though hadn't taken the goal away from him so while the roots continued to twist and grow, his objective never wavered. It had been something beyond Zodiark, a means to an end. His brethren had their own motivations-- their own paths and so too did he.
He'd been the Architect of the Allagan Empire too. It had been he who had given Xande the power and it had been he who had orchestrated Xande's ressurection, and there had been not a stage quite as grand as that particular empire and he had such a fondness for it, and on that stage, Hydaelyn had chosen to put her vessal right on the stage with him so that the two of them may 'dance' again. And now once again, she was here and he was here and to a place that harkened back to where it all began.
However when they met at the Allagan Empire, there had been elation. A thrill between them, a challenge.
'Aha, you don't remember me, but I -most certainly remember- you...' // 'Does it unsettle you to know that I remember something that you clearly do not? But I shall -not- tell you, that would take all of the enjoyment out of the dance, my dearest' // 'But you always -were- one to rush headlong into things, that scar fits you but let it serve as a -warning- too-- of what happens when one flies -too close- to the sun.'
But now, there was no elation- rather a weary sort of melancholy, of one who had been alive far too long and had seen far too many things. Even the conductor would get tired at the very end of a very long run. The walk that Emet-Selch had right now, with slightly stooped shoulders and a measured and slow gait, perhaps it was the after effects of finishing out a life in an old decrepit vessal. But hadn't he chosen to live out the totality of life within that frame instead of moving on to the next one? It had been completely his choice and perhaps he was nearing that end, and perhaps he'd seen that end in Persephone's eyes at the very first glimmering hint of remembrance there.
And then his name, his true name-- she speaks it. He hadn't heard it in so long; it had been a name that he had been trying to get her to remember in another lifetime, edging her on, hoping upon hopes that she'd remember, that she'd come back to him; she'd stand by his side like she had once before, before the world had been split into 13 reflections. And yet he had a feeling that it may be too late even for that, but that acknowledgement-- perhaps it was worth it in the long run. ]
Let us put aside our differences for one final time?
[ and with that Emet-Selch, no Hades offers his arms to the Highlander woman. She had a space of time before he would let her go, would let her go back to the Scions, to bring them to the core of Amaurot where fate would dictate who would be on the right side of history. At the very least he would have this moment with her, perhaps a chance for her to remember, at least a little bit. ]
Allow me to show you Amaurot-- you should feel something for it was where our story began..
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valoirs
no subject
Lesse... I'm pretty much up for anything too, maybe a sort of spin of when they arrive in Amaurot, where Persephone does initially go alone because her aether is already horribly unstable thanks to the experiments and doesn't trust herself not to change rapidly? Only to be hit with major nostalgia as she wanders through the city - ]
no subject
sorry, might have gotten away with myself here
[ Emet-Selch had known it the moment that the Warrior of Light had entered his sanctuary. Actually he had known the moment that she had entered the Tempest, a swirl of waves and brine that had turned the sea to a hollowed out bubble underneath. Ah, he had to applaud the ingenuity of the Scions and perhaps he would-- that is if he was focused on anything but her sheer presence. It had been unmistakable, and once she had entered the game board; that was when he almost nearly flipped sides without a care. His brethren was quite used to him going rogue; he'd done it several times through-out history. A flippant disregard for what was good for the rejoining-- in lieu of his own wants and desires.
His tempering to Zodiark had always been the most powerful but it had also been the most unstable for it's magnitude.
If he had been godless, perhaps there would've been another primal that could've arisen from his tempering-- and thus she would've been made whole again. But no, it was Zodiark that had been there it had been Zodiark that he had called out to in his anguish. Instead over and over he had to see throughout the annals of time, her being placed on the board over and over again as if she was a divine test to his devotion for His Most Mighty Name.
Often it was said that a man could not be tempered to two different gods-- but they did not know Emet-Selch.
Flowers on the sea floor-- he could almost smell the brine carry them to his highest tower. There was a strange inevitability to this, to her presence and while he knew the outcome, it didn't stop him from thirsting for this moment between them where everything was stripped away and nothing remained. Oh but he knew that she had her pride, and he did too. But in every time there was a moment shared between them, an acknowledgement between them-- a small frisson that pointed to a red thread of fate that connected her to him.
And yet he waited.
Emet-Selch did not dare go to her, not yet. He wanted her to walk his city; this twilight dreamscape that in and of it's core was a love song written solely for her and only her. Idly, he wondered if she would recognize it for what it was ]
no worries, this is perfect!
It had all started spiraling down ever since she saw those murals - felt her heart shatter so completely, despite not knowing why. It was a sadness so potent that her ever present smile almost faltered, and no amount of re-visits and closer examinations or anything could answer her question. Why did this matter to her? She was from the Source, an experiment broken free. A woman with no past. This should mean nothing.
Yet, it only ached more, when she looked at Emet-Selch after first witnessing the history laid out on the cave walls. She needed to talk a brisk walk after that, to clear her head of the muddle and chaos that threatened to overwhelm her. It was only when her vision blurred that she actually noticed the tears beginning to overflow.
And as she steps into the dimly lit streets, her one visible eye (and only eye really, the other scarred and unseeing from the moment she emerged from the Tower) peering up at the buildings that tower above her, all she can feel is that sadness again. A tug at her heart, something telling her that this - this is so important.
Alone she walks the streets, the click of her heels against the ground almost too loud for her ears. Her mind is a mess, torn between the foggy memories of a time before her captivity and the longing she feels for this city - how she wants to reach out to every phantom that walks by her. How she wants to see the man who should be her enemy, more than anything else.]
I don't understand. [Persephone doesn't expect an answer. Maybe she hoped speaking would snap her out of the fugue she found herself in, torn between what she was expecting and what's happening now.
She isn't smiling anymore. There's no need for that facade here.]
Why does it feel like this... [One of the tall figures overhears her, crouching down to address the woman with a concern so genuine it makes her eyes sting. Teeth grit as she shakes her head, disturbing blossoming flowers in her hair and horns, giving no answer as she turns on her heel. She must go deeper into the city. She needs to understand. What she feels, and who she really is.]
I am glad!
Had they not walked those same avenues in the past and talked of their hopes, their dreams for the future-- back when the world was exactly as how it should be and he had not wanted it to change in the slightest. But as time proved, change was a cardinal force. He'd seen it well enough throughout the eras where calamity upon calamity had ravaged the Source. A wonderful irony really that he and his brethren had to force change in order to make things go back to exactly as they had been.
They'd known each other many times throughout time though the last time that they had fully interacted had been with the demise of the Allagan Empire. Off the radar she had fallen and considering the nature of the Crystal Tower, was it really any wonder? Oh but he had recognized her the moment he had seen her from a distance in Eulmore and that had caused a rather drastic shift in plans. No surprise of course as he was used to theatrical improvision-- but it made him want to creep closer and closer until invariably he could not keep it inside anymore and he effected due introductions. Oh that the Scions did not care, like they had ever mattered. No, he had maintained eye contact with her the entire time.
Yes, fielded their questions as they barraged off of him, but truly-- all he really needed was Persephone to acknowledge him in a way that proved satisfactory. There had been a few times when he thought he'd almost had her, but then she slipped back into a vauge fog that he knew was only the minds defense mechanism. That still did not stop him from trying.
But here in Amaurot, he could hear the questions in her heart and there was just as much thirst within him to answer those questions. If she wanted answers, he would give her those answers. After all it had always been hard not to give her what she wanted just as much as it was hard to let her get even a little bit away from him.
A snap of his fingers and very soon, Persephone would see a figure making it's way down the street of Amaurot. A familar form that perhaps she had been expecting and despite it was clear that their paths would intersect by his machinations alone. and unfortunately when it came down to it, all of this was just that-- a divine show of machinations made to jog her memory.. her memories. ]
also let me know if i'm going too over the top!
But she wonders now if her title ever mattered. Her head throbs as the city forces her to remember, fragments of a time within the Allagan Empire - and a nostalgia of this place. She considered Ishgard her home, but this... This felt so truly like home, yet it was bittersweet. A home she could never return to.
It didn't make any sense, Persephone knew she was from the times of the Allagan Empire, but this city was from so long ago. Far from the time when she was part of one of the uprisings, when she first laid her eyes on him -
- Her head throbs, that memory both right and wrong. A hand cradles her temple as she forces herself to keep walking, jaw clenched as mismatched fragments float to the forefront. She... knew Emet-Selch? Not as he is now, but so far back then, when the Empire was at its most powerful - No that's still not right, is it?
Is this why he seemed so focused on her? Because they knew each other, once upon a many moons ago? But even back then, she was an obstacle, a force that was trying to drag down the Empire and even worse, she was failure - warped and changed into who she is now. A woman on the brink of her soul shattering, aether horribly corrupted - though her mind already feels as though it will shatter first.
Footsteps approaching her snap her from her stupor, her one eye flicking up at the figure that - narrowing as their paths start to pass. Wincing as there's another harsh tug in the back of her mind, pulling her memories from another direction. And as the figure steps past her, a hand reaches to stop them.
Then she stops. This is familiar too, reaching out with darkness obscuring half her vision - she did this before. So many times. With them, with others -
"I could heal it, but it's a good reminder to not get too cocky, yes? My own fault for thinking fauna with teeth was a good idea -"]
Ah... [That's all that escapes her, all she can manage as her hand recoils to against her blind eye, against the thorn-like scar that streaks across it obscuring iris and pupil. When... did she get the scar? Why did she become blind like this?
"I woke up with my eye like this, I'm not sure why - "
" - The Empire didn't do this, it was always like this -"
" - Being born with my eye like this doesn't make me less capable! I can still fight against the Allagans!"
"Really, it's fine like this. Makes me more dashing, don't you think so -"]
- Hades. [It comes out before she can stop herself. It takes a second for her to realize she even said it, shakily brushing her hair back to obscure her eye for the first time in centuries. Hades... Ah, even thinking of that name makes it feel as if her heart would burst.]
I knew you... I've known you for so long, and I kept forgetting. [First when she... She shattered, and again when she was shattered once more. Years ago she might've remembered, when fate brought them together on opposing sides, but then the Tower warped her so completely her memories left her again.
And here she is. Once more his enemy, once more having no memory of him.]
Never apologize... I only take offense to mediocrity (which this isnt!)
And at the center of it, the gnarled broken roots of a tree, a tree that at the very core was mangled seemingly beyond any hope of repair. Those roots that had had started to crawl once the star had been sundered, and with that his one true desire. Time though hadn't taken the goal away from him so while the roots continued to twist and grow, his objective never wavered. It had been something beyond Zodiark, a means to an end. His brethren had their own motivations-- their own paths and so too did he.
He'd been the Architect of the Allagan Empire too. It had been he who had given Xande the power and it had been he who had orchestrated Xande's ressurection, and there had been not a stage quite as grand as that particular empire and he had such a fondness for it, and on that stage, Hydaelyn had chosen to put her vessal right on the stage with him so that the two of them may 'dance' again. And now once again, she was here and he was here and to a place that harkened back to where it all began.
However when they met at the Allagan Empire, there had been elation. A thrill between them, a challenge.
'Aha, you don't remember me, but I -most certainly remember- you...'
//
'Does it unsettle you to know that I remember something that you clearly do not? But I shall -not- tell you, that would take all of the enjoyment out of the dance, my dearest'
//
'But you always -were- one to rush headlong into things, that scar fits you but let it serve as a -warning- too-- of what happens when one flies -too close- to the sun.'
But now, there was no elation- rather a weary sort of melancholy, of one who had been alive far too long and had seen far too many things. Even the conductor would get tired at the very end of a very long run. The walk that Emet-Selch had right now, with slightly stooped shoulders and a measured and slow gait, perhaps it was the after effects of finishing out a life in an old decrepit vessal. But hadn't he chosen to live out the totality of life within that frame instead of moving on to the next one? It had been completely his choice and perhaps he was nearing that end, and perhaps he'd seen that end in Persephone's eyes at the very first glimmering hint of remembrance there.
And then his name, his true name-- she speaks it. He hadn't heard it in so long; it had been a name that he had been trying to get her to remember in another lifetime, edging her on, hoping upon hopes that she'd remember, that she'd come back to him; she'd stand by his side like she had once before, before the world had been split into 13 reflections. And yet he had a feeling that it may be too late even for that, but that acknowledgement-- perhaps it was worth it in the long run. ]
Let us put aside our differences for one final time?
[ and with that Emet-Selch, no Hades offers his arms to the Highlander woman. She had a space of time before he would let her go, would let her go back to the Scions, to bring them to the core of Amaurot where fate would dictate who would be on the right side of history. At the very least he would have this moment with her, perhaps a chance for her to remember, at least a little bit. ]
Allow me to show you Amaurot-- you should feel something for it was where our story began..