escordvi | December open log

Entry tags:

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!

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It's not unusual to see artists painting outside of their studios. More often than not, they only need an easel, a palette, a blank canvas, and, of course, a subject to paint. Typically, said subject outside would be the scenery awash with the different lights of day, the beach as it changed during the tides, grand city-scape during twilight, or markets as they bustled-- all studies of structures and people amidst movement during the ever-changing hours.

That is to say, she doesn't expect to see a familiar face seated in front of one Miss Dorina Grey for a portrait session, much less Emet. It seems that they're wrapping up, with the artist's assistants packing up the young lady's supplies and chaperoning her away.

As Emet remains focused on his paining, Rem finds herself approaching out of curiosity. Miss Grey's finished masterpiece comes into focus as she manages to peer just beyond his shoulder.

"Oh." The face depicted looks both like him and... decidedly not. She clears her throat, opting to politely comment, "She has an interesting talent, doesn't she?"

[ Oh G'raha is below, of course. As if he could leave things as they are. The people of the area require assistance and he is more than happy to provide. After all, what good are the skills that he has compiled in this life time and another if he doesn't put them to use?

Which is how he comes to stare in Emet-Selch's direction. He hadn't thought the man would be interested in this sort of things. And yet here the former Ascian is...

Getting that goose's full attention. But not for long as G'raha is also casting a spell of his own. It might only be Fire III but it's still enough to blast one of those heads. ]

Ah, this wretched thing is back is it?

Toge has been trying to collect as much of the currency as possible, if only because he doesn't know what he's going to need, even now. So a huge bounty like this is definitely a draw.

It's fortunate that Emet-Selch has the attention so he can do this-

Toge undoes the zip on his collar, and targets the goose with a command. "Twist."

Three of the heads - which tells him this beast is far stronger than he originally thought it was - all twist. One twists off completely, the other neck is broken and the third is barely affected.

Damn, he thinks, he's going to have to bring more power.

He jolts in place and twists around, unconsciously bringing the painting closer to his chest as he does. Even after seeing who it is, he doesn't fully relax. But he does lower the painting back down slightly.

"For a blind woman, her talent is extraordinary," he says grudgingly. "I would almost say she wasn't blind at all."

He stares at his portrait again. At his face. At the striking yet ugly expression twisting it.

[ The fireball pulls some of the heads down towards G'raha. But one still tries to snap at him. One is better than three or four or even five. He jerks out of the way and immediately pelts the head with more magical missiles. As the head reels back, his finger quickly draws a circle in the air. The lines within draw themselves in the span of a thought.

A thick blade shoots out and sticks deep in one of the necks. The horrid scream that head emits deafens Emet-Selch briefly. ]

There is something extremely wrong about watching a head twist itself off a neck. Emet-Selch has seen much in his long life but even his nose wrinkles in disgust there.

He's quick to fling out fire to sear the stump left behind. The head with the broken neck he decides to leave alone. Surely it won't regrow if it's still attached, right? Instead, he targets the third head with a flurry of thin, magical blades before it can go for whoever it is on the ground (he's not paying too much attention just yet).

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.

His footfalls are near-silent as he walks past, clearly heading for the provided workbenches with purpose. He does stop, however, at the strange look on Emet-Selch's face.

"If you have such an expression, I wonder why you are here at all."

He is curious as to why - the thoughts that come with such a resigned expression use such sweeping, broad terms, some of which seem specific and he has no context for. A man of experience, clearly.

It's probably something weird to witness, but it doesn't phase Toge, not even with the way the goose is still trying to move around, broken neck and all.

One head looking at Emet-Selch, one at Toge and it's hesitating.

A bit more feeling this time, a bit more power. "Get crushed."

The body of the goose contorts uncomfortably, but Toge's misjudged its power again, which surprises him. His eyebrows shoot up. Do the different parts have different strength now? They definitely might. The best he might've done is break a couple of bones and piss this thing off. Well. Good job, that.

"--!!"

Dojima only barely dodged out of the way of whatever the fuck had just been flung at him-- it looked like pure darkness, but, that couldn't be it, right?

--Why was he bothering to question anything here, anymore? He'd seen people fighting at giant goose hydra. Anything was possible.

But enough of that, his eyes refocused as he pulled himself up, trying to figure out what had sent that his way--

Only to see a man floundering in a water pool--

Ah, right, what was the details about that-- the pools reflected and could trap people in old memories--

"--Hang on...!"

And looked like that guy could seriously use some help. Dojima had sense enough to buy some strong rope before leaving on the expedition-- And he knew a panicked man in the water was just as liable to push him down and drown him, just by accident--

Tying the rope around a sturdy rock, he'd try to first-- throw the rope to the other man, hoping he'd see it--

"Grab it--! I'll pull you out!"

--If not, Plan B.

"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?"

[ G'raha extends his staff. Casts Divine Benison upon Emet-Selch. Then raises it to cast Asylum around himself and others that are at ground level.

He's not about to let anyone suffer an injury if he can prevent it. If that means playing a supporting role to a man that is disgusted by his very presence?

Oh well. ]

[ Feeling the touch of protective magicks upon his person, he tenses and looks about for the caster. He doesn't need help, godsdamnit. He's perfectly capable of defending himself. When he sees a familiar shock of red hair and ears below, he scowls. ]

Save your paltry magicks for yourself, boy!

[ The head he had attacked lunges towards him a second time and bounces off the shield he throws up. As it reels, Emet-Selch conjures an aetherial greatsword and leaps forward to finish his decapitation. ]

Apologies! I did not realize I required your permission!

[ Sorry old man. He's not going to pay attention to any of that. G'raha is going to continue doing what he wants. Which means also providing more warding, if necessary. Healing, if necessary.

And in this case?

A well aimed Dia to get attention away from Emet-Selch so he might be able to decapitate a head. ]

He flicks the stranger a glance. Looks away and crosses his arms.

"Perhaps I want to see for myself the extent of their progress before I blow it all up."

It's difficult to tell whether or not he's speaking in jest.

A winged serpent.

His hand makes a clumsy slashing motion through the air (water) and a sharp sickle of aether slices the terminus beast apart. It...also slices the end of the rope his would-be saviour just threw at him.

But all his kicking and flailing briefly puts his head above water, where the disorienting dimness of the cave does little to drag him out of a memory of fire and death.

"Zodi-- ark," he coughs, "save them...!"

The moment the goose starts to look towards Toge, Emet-Selch summons even more magical blades. They hurl themselves at the goose's neck, trying to do by a thousand cuts what seemingly can't be achieved by just one. He doesn't know what flesh and blood this creature is made of but it's sturdy.

Still, he conjures his own aetherial blade - a greatsword - and holds it ready just in case he is given an opening to use it. If the goose can't decide who to go for first then he'll take turns harassing it.

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.

The goose seems to be torn between them, which is good for them. Toge considers it for a moment.

A pair of heads together, already being cut up, he aims his voice at them this time. "Twist." Toge commands, again ramping up the power.

Those heads twist together, but they're not that powerful. Toge reels backwards, coughing. This goose is annoying, to say the least. He holds his hand over his throat as he coughs. It's apparent why he doesn't cover his mouth when a bit of blood dribbles out.

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."

"--Damn it."

He hoped that maybe outside influence could cut through whatever the man was seeing, but looks like he was lost in the illusion the longer he was in the water.

Still, that was what plan B was for.

Pulling back the rope, he looped it around the rock and his waist-- tying himself into it. Okay, good for if the guy tried to drag him in--

--He was ignoring that growing fog that seemed to overtake the water's surface. If he looked in too deep he'd see his own memories and then what could they do? They'd both end up trapped.

It was another reason he tied himself up, honestly. Less chance of getting sucked in--

Speaking of which--

Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a iron bar-- one he had bought 'just in case', but hadn't thought of what to make it into yet.

Holding his hands at either end, the bar began to levitate between his palms, and stretch--stretch, thin out--

Longer, curving it at the end--

--An iron rod with a hook end.

"Alright--"

And this is when Ryotaro Dojima could be seen, trying to fish the flailing man out of the water, by trying to hook his clothing or an arm or something--

"And what will that accomplish besides a great waste of lives and resources?" He sounds coolly curious, perhaps a little judgemental - but to Kimmuriel, it is because of the potential inconvenience, rather than because he's morally repulsed by the idea. "You think to prevent disaster before its roots can take hold?"

[ The goose's head turns at the last moment, causing his intended strike to miss its mark and hit uninjured flesh instead. Emet-Selch blocks the sudden retaliating flail and manages to land (heavily, but safely) on the ground nearer to G'raha. ]

I told you I didn't need your help!

[ >:( ]

...This was all quite silly to her. A giant, monster goose. But a job is a job, and she could use the extra cash. So Enty joined in the fray as well. A bolt of light falls down from the sky with a high whistle. Striking the fiendish goose in the back! Piercing through one wing before it dissipated. Leaving a nasty wound. Enterprise stood a ways away from the fight. Her bow in hand and drawstring pulled back to fire another shoot.

Perhaps the added contender and injury might cause the fiendish, feathery fowl some pause for thought?

No matter, another arrow of light speeds its way towards the monster at highspeed! This one aimed at a foot to keep it pinned and from advancing any further.

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December open log

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Goose

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(3-C) The End

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MOBY DUCK (goose)