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!
[ 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..
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
valoirs
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..