escordvi | December open log

Who: Emet-Selch and YOU
Status: Open
Where: See individual prompts
What: The new-ish Ascian on the block hasn't even been here a month and he's already fought off a tombstone spirit(?) and gotten recruited into a crew, what more shenanigans could this place possibly pull him into?! LET'S FIND OUT TOGETHER
Warnings: Out-of-context spoilers for prompt 1 and 3

(Will match format)

1. The Picture of Dorina Grey (MANTA General)

What manner of portrait could a blind woman possibly paint? That is the question he asks himself as she cajoles him into taking a seat. Were she any less insistent or, indeed, possessed of the usual sight, he would have stood firm and walked by. But time is something he has an abundance of to waste at present and he is still reeling from the realisation that the last twelve thousand years of his work have been for naught.

So, it isn't unfair to say that he welcomes some time to talk through the sordid details of his long, long...long life. Summarised, of course, for her benefit.

The end result shocks him into silence. He hardly knows what he had been expecting, but it certainly isn't to gaze upon his original face, with a clarity that he has long forgotten. Sharp yellow eyes, irises gleaming like the stars above, yet the expression twisted into one of savage glee as it gazes upon the viewer. Like an emperor gloating over their final victory. A psychotic man enjoying the fires of purgatory surrounding him being visited upon others because he knows no other way to make them understand his pain.

Is this what I look like? he wonders.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he doesn't notice anyone approaching until they're right beside him or they speak up.

2. Magitech Madness (MANTA General)

Having successfully introduced non-magical means of energy to the natives, is it any surprise that they would immediately turn to thinking of ways to weaponise it against each other? Emet-Selch gazes upon the workshop he's been enthusiastically invited to assist with open resignation on his face. This is how mankind is and always will be. This is the sort of world that the Warrior of Light and their friends are intent on defending.

Sighing to himself, he finds an empty spot at a table for himself and starts to tinker with some of the leftover munitions and scrap. Should one choose to join him, one can either find him building a crude, Garlean-style gunblade prototype or testing its firing capability on targets.

3. Fountain of Blades (MANTA Paladin)

Emet-Selch has a lot of memories for the pools to use against him.

Being a solitary man, he, of course, has set off without a companion. With his magicks, he's confident that he won't run into anything particularly troublesome. Besides, he doesn't care for the 'competition' that the other paladins are making of it, to see who will be the first to find the sword. He's only here to clear his mind and distract himself from brooding.

Once he reaches the pools, he carefully navigates across the wet and slippery terrain. As he does, he glances idly down into the water.

(3-A) Firstborn
"Lucius?" he says without thinking. He wades further into the water, tiny little fish darting away as he reaches for the face he sees in the pool's reflection. Cold and still as death, he thinks with an aching heart. He doesn't realise that it's because his hand is submerged.

(3-B) Home
Amaurot is beautiful any time of day, but it is almost certainly more beautiful at night. Windows softly lit by gentle lights, its twisting spires reaching for the heavens, wide, beautifully paved streets and gentle slopes - oh, how he misses home. Emet-Selch stares at the image in the water and ignores those trying to pass by him, lost in his own homesickness.

(3-C) The End
Emet-Selch yelps as he slips into the water. There, in the dim, ruddy depths, he sees a fireball hurtling towards a group of cowled figures fleeing through broken streets. Water churns and Emet-Selch almost swallows some trying to stop the meteor striking his people. Coughing, spluttering, filled with indescribable terror, he flings his own dark magic indiscriminately through the cavern. Watch out!

4. Untitled Goose 2 (Bounty)

If it weren't for the large bounty being offered, Emet-Selch wouldn't bother. However, in a new land, with few resources, it's prudent to gather coin as quickly as possible. With the reward from this, he should be able to use it and invest in something to gain an easy return - or so he tells himself.

First, he has to slay the damn thing.

His arena of choice is one of the ports. He's not foolish enough to challenge it on the open water. Of course, he isn't the only one trying for the bounty. Plenty of strangers ~~(i.e. NPCs)~~ have turned up hoping to get a share. While they distract the goose-hydra, Emet-Selch has found a high position roughly eye-level with the monster to set up his spell. He stands in the middle of an arcane circle with his eyes closed, chanting. At the final line, he thrusts out the arm that has thin, red 'vines' twining around it.

"Begone!"

A thick streak of dark magic laced with red sparks shoots forward and strikes one of the goose heads directly. It seems to do heavy damage...but it's not enough to completely take off the head. And unfortunately, his strike has the effect of attracting the goose's full ire.

Help?

5. Wildcard

For anything else!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The warped expression leaves much to be desired, as it appears far more like an intentionally cruel caricature of him than a proper rendition.

But that's not what catches most of her attention.

"If it's one thing that resembles you most...," she begins, gently. As Emet tilts the canvas so that he may peer at it again, Rem leans in a mere millimeter more to inspect the piece further. Then, as she hovers near his shoulder, her eyes swivel to glance at his profile from her periphery. Rem's lips purse together in thought as she studies him, and after a few moments of silence, she speaks again. "It's the eyes."

Rem eases her lean, hands linking with twined fingers behind her back as she straightens. "They're... striking."

The way he appears before her doesn't have that same vibrant and luminous luster in his gaze as portrayed by the painting, but his eyes are no less golden in hue. In her world, she's only ever seen such a color of their irises belong to one other. Hers.

"Hah! My eyes..."

How difficult it had been to find a man with golden eyes who was also a prominent member of the Garlean military. He had wanted a vessel as close to familiar as possible.

"This isn't my original body, as you have no doubt guessed by now. I never described what I looked like to Miss Gray and yet she has somehow captured my face."

Not his original body.... And yet he currently has golden eyes like how his face is depicted. From the way he speaks, she hazzards a guess that this portrait is like looking into a mirror that reflects his past (in all but expression).

"...May I ask," she says. "When was the last time you've seen your true face?"

He is silent. It almost seems like he won't answer, but...

"I lost my physical body some twelve thousand years ago."

Obviously one doesn't forget their own appearance immediately, but that length of time would change anyone.

Twelve thousand is a time she can hardly quantify. Orience's current calendar barely includes the history of one thousand years. And by his tone, she suspects there's no means of returning to that body.

"...You must miss it dearly." This could be an assumption on her part, but it feels reasonable to empathize. Being in any body not one's own must be an alien experience. It wouldn't feel like home. "I'm... sorry that this picture couldn't capture your original face in a more nostalgic way."

He's silent again. He tries not to look in the mirror too often but it's unavoidable when you're living someone else's life. People ask questions about your aversion and those questions can lead to doubts about his character. Emet-Selch prides himself on playing his part to perfection - if only it were so easy to discard the memories associated with them too.

"'Twas a small price to pay for the work that had to be done. Vanity of the self pales in comparison to the needs of the people. I only regret it now because I failed that duty in the end."

Not long ago, they had worked on constructing magitek together. During that time, he had made a disparaging comment about mortals as a whole. She had assumed, then, that he could care less of their well-being overall. Yet:

"--to the needs of the people. I only regret it now because I failed that duty--"

Rem doesn't know if the 'people' and his duty, in this case, refers to mortals or otherwise; however, the remorse in his words tells of a man who wished he could have done better. Better not for himself, but for others. Those are not the sentiments of a man whose portrait is twisted in maniacal laughter.

"Emet-Selch, you... You care," she replies at last, her tone hushed and reserved. "Don't you?"

A statement. He cares about duty, his people. And it seems he cares more than he lets on, enough that she hadn't noticed before now.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he snaps, so suddenly and viciously that it's startling, with a piercing glare to match the one in his portrait. "I had a duty to my people and I failed. Care or sentiment does not come into it. I was prepared to strike down even an old friend if it meant accomplishing what I had to do. Does that sound like a man who cares?"

Funny. He had thought he had accepted the loss then. In a way, he has. But...no, the wound is still raw. Even if he knows the star will endure, it won't be the image of paradise he had in mind.

She doesn't answer immediately, instead letting his charged words to hang in the air between them. His frustration, she things, doesn't feel as if it's directed at her, exactly, but instead at himself. Anger doesn't originate from nothing.

"It does," Rem keeps her voice quiet, placating. In her experience, people don't do everything they can, including throwing friends away, for a goal without caring. They have to care, because something like duty is not enough to drive them to it. There's fear involved. Desperation. Loss. Not excuses, but understanding. It's a twisted reality she's seen, lived, and died through, herself.

But maybe she's misinterpreting something, and so she lowers her head. "It sounds as if you were willing to give up everything for--" She struggles. "...For your people, correct?"

'For my people.' Yes, that's what he says whenever questioned about it - and on some level it's true. But it isn't really about the people, is it? He knows, in his heart of hearts, that the one who had truly loved people in all their wild imperfection is not him. That person is long gone, and all they've left behind is someone who would do anything to see them again.

His grip on the canvas tightens briefly. Then he throws it aside and stands.

"If only I were so noble."

He starts walking away. His chest hurts. Why does it still hurt after everything that's happened? He wishes he could rip it out and throw it away like that discarded painting.

It seems the portrait affected him more than she'd realized, and she winces as he tosses the canvas aside. In silence, Rem watches him stand and turn to leave. She takes this as a sign he wishes for a moment to collect himself. Even if... she believes in a moment like this, one should not be alone. Unfortunately, she doesn't know him better enough to push him further.

Rem turns to look at the abandoned portrait, wistful. She hesitates, fingers fidgeting with the clasp of her cloak, and then walks over to it, leaning down to collect it from the ground. Carefully, she brushes off some of the dirt from its side, frowning as she glances over the painting. She'd meant what she'd said earlier. The golden eyes are striking... But perhaps because of that, she'd missed something obvious: the loss held within them.

She looks up from the painting, watching his back as he walks away. Just in case he'll wish for it later, she'll keep it in the meantime.

Later, he'll receive the following private message:

I'm sorry about earlier.

If you ever want to talk, I'm here. I can't promise to understand everything, but I'll listen if you ever do. Whatever you have to say, it's worth telling, if you want. It's worth hearing.

And if not with her, then with someone else. He's worth listening to, she thinks. It's always worth listening to others, no matter what they have to say.

There will be tea and some cookies outside of his cabin door later, as well.

Edited 2024-01-05 04:27 (UTC)

December open log

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