Who: Vincent Valentine and YOU! Status: Open. All Open. Open forever. Where: Eltrut and around it. What: November MANTA quests! Two general, one bounty. Warnings: Blood (my little shorsie)
[ This is, by far, the most revolting place Emet-Selch has ever found himself.
He knows the principle of their crew is to explore and research both old and new things, but there are certain expectations one has of random islands found in the middle of nowhere, and that is that said islands can at least expect to have normal greenery, normal beaches, and so on.
Not meat.
The mage almost turns around and sails right back out. The smell of rotting meat turns his stomach and not even the fresh, cooked(????) samples hanging off the trees is enough to cover it. But he's not the only living soul on this island. That's enough to warrant some curiosity about who else has decided to stay and explore. So, pinching his nose and trying to breathe as little as possible, he approaches Vincent. ]
How can you stand the smell?
Of course! I'll backtag forever, especially for emet ❤
[He hears the approach. A somewhat unsteady gait; but a heavy step that indicated uncommon strength. Whatever- no, whoever approaches is humanoid. He's fairly sure of that- and so he turns from the meat tree he had been examining, taking the measure of the man that approaches, and speaks to him.
...The first thing he notes is Emet-Selch's height. Unusual for someone to dwarf even him. His attire is distinctly high-end. And then there's holding his nose. The nasal quality of his voice thanks to that.
He answers.]
I've smelled worse. That's how.
[Mako, for instance. It's the smell of all of this decay and more- combined with acid, gasoline, and of all things, cat piss. His gaze moves back to the tree before he takes a few steps away- folding his arms about himself.]
If you're here for a reason, go ahead. I'll not interfere.
[He'd offer a cursorary warning about the wildlife defending their food source- but he'll assume it's not needed. This man looked like he could take care of himself.]
[ One would think standing on multiple battlefields would inure Emet-Selch to a stench like this. But it has never been pleasant for him. Not once.
He doesn't wear the finery of Garlemald's first emperor any more, having since adopted local styles (still relatively good quality though). Regrettably, he may have to throw out what he's wearing if the smell can't be washed out later. ]
I'm not here for any specific reason, no-- are those weapons?
[ He has finally caught a better look at the meat hanging off the trees. ]
sorry! I just assumed emet was being fabulous in his furs hahaha
[With a somewhat inadvertant swoosh of his cape, Vincent immediately turns back to the tree he had been examining, and begins to pluck low-hanging chicken legs from it. Not for himself, of course. The smell had ruined his appitite. More like for the sharklady back within the MANTA office.
...Not that chicken happened to be of a shark's usual diet. He can't help but wonder as he tosses each leg into a nearby basket if it'd cause issues for her 200 growing children. Probably. Probably not. A thought that is dismissed at what the other man says.]
...?
[Weapons? His gaze follows where Emet-Selch's lies, and his eyebrows furrow. He can spy something tucked within the branches of the tree. Not exactly hanging, but propped where a particuarly large branch forks from the trunk. At first glance, it looks like nothing more than a rack of ribs. But upon closer inspection... It's a certain shape. Yes. That's a shield. There's other things, too. Gigantic joints of meat that resemble clubs. Sharpened, protruding bones with meat still attached that would suggest swords.
And...
Oh. That's a gun made from chicken bones, all right. The question is, what does it fire? Nuggets?
...Ridiculous.]
Hmph. Someone's been busy.
[Surely they didn't grow like this... right?]
all good, my bad for not describing it when introducing him
[ Emet-Selch briefly glances at the billowing cape and his mouth twitches. He can appreciate a touch of dramatic flair, even if unintentional.
Back to the meat weapons though--
He carefully (reluctantly) picks his way through the nauseating spread of rotten meat on the ground to peer at what looks like a mage's staff. Vincent's unspoken observation seems to be correct: the weapons aren't attached to the tree; they seem to have been crafted then left behind. But if they aren't on the tree, that means that they, like the fallen meat, must surely be in the process of rotting as well...
Emet-Selch hesitates. Then gingerly picks up the staff. The soft, visceral squelch it makes as his fingers close around its fleshy length makes him wince.
His other hand continues to keep his nose pinched. ]
This is, by far, the most obscene place I've ever encountered in my travels. What is the point of it?
[Other than a glance around, Vincent doesn't offer anything helpful. What could be said, he had nothing- and he well knew that being silent in matters he couldn't contribute anything meaningful toward was far more helpful than taking a stab.
Something does go through his mind though. Goblins. At least on his world, they'd been known to inhabit places far flung and far between in something alike crude little societies- presumably fashioning all manner of basic items from that which they had.
Perhaps this was something alike that. But perhaps not. This was decidedly more human. Weapons served to settle disputes. What sort of dispute would any creature have here, where food was so bountiful? It was a human thing to seek conflict with little need to do so.
He crosses his arms about himself. His eyes move to the mage, and the unfortunately squelchy situation he had put upon himself. Or rather, his hand.]
...
[Short of suggesting that other riftfarers had got here first and gotten bored, he's got nothing. Sorry, Emet.]
[ The man's silence doesn't seem to bother him. He tries channelling a small amount of magic through it and the flesh pulses uncomfortably. But the meaty staff does produce a small ball of light, as he intended.
He's not sure this is something to be pleased about. The light orb is quickly waved away and Emet-Selch puts the staff back against the tree. He creates another orb - of water this time - and rinses his hand with it. ]
[Short of anything worthwhile to say, Vincent decided to turn back to his tree and resume gathering as many of the chicken legs as could be gathered- but he stops short of that, watching what the other man did with both the disgusting stave and the sudden appearance of water.]
...How did you do that?
[A naive question. One that would likely strike the erstwhile dictator of Garlemald as asinine- but given Vincent's unfamiliarity with magic- real magic which wasn't borrowed from materia orbs- to him at least, was very valid.]
[ Even after using the water to clean his hands, he feels the slime yet coats his fingers. Once he returns to one of the main leviathans, he'll give them a proper scrub.
The ball of water evaporates in a flash. Emet-Selch turns to Vincent with a questioning look. ]
[A pointed Look to Emet's hands should signify what exactly Vincent had meant. Really- he shouldn't have been surprised at the sight of real, actual, materialess magic. It wasn't the most unusual thing he'd seen thusfar. Timetravel. Some people returning from the dead. A populace that was half animal. ...Also meat trees.
...He's still curious though. Far more so about the magic than any of the above.]
[ He would be more incredulous if the same question hadn't been asked of him before. Wordlessly, he raises a hand and creates a small, flickering fireball above his palm. ]
Strictly speaking, the tattoo allows me to utilise my magic. I presume 'tis some sort of conduit. But if you mean to ask whether what I use comes naturally to me, then yes, it does.
[ With a lazy gesture, he wills the fire into a twisting arc of flame, letting it dance around his hand and wrist. ]
[Interesting. More interesting than it really should be to most given his (quiet) penchant for the weird and the mystical- but what could be said. This world, clearly, took all kinds. From all kinds of worlds. However. Other than simple curiosity, there was a reason he asked.]
And you'd say this... conduit makes your power appear as it would, naturally? Is there any limit?
[Definately not asking because he's banking on the tat he's dutifully completing these awful missions for being able to stop an literal internal demon he's lost control of, nope.]
I cannot Create. I cannot channel my true form at will. And my power feels restricted. Those are the only limitations I have discovered thus far.
[ But then again, he commands magic akin to whst most mortals would call a god. It's not that surprising to him that nothing in this world can handle it. ]
[He hasn't half an idea what Creation exactly entails- but the rest of Emet's examples are self-explanatory. Regardless of understanding, the bottom line is simple. Some limit. Of course, as nothing remotely related to godlike power and this world's capacity to handle it leaves the sorcerer's lips, the reasoning for such is likewise lost.
Yet still. ...There's a leap to be made here. A punt, more aptly. Vincent lowers his eyes for a moment, glancing at the rotting ground between the pair, before he speaks. The timbre of his voice speaks to reluctance. A reticence, at speaking of something that clearly was important to him. Even to a stranger.]
One more question. You mentioned that these tattoos allow... a regain. What if someone has this power, and instead sought control?
You mean to ask whether the mark would allow you control over powers you never had control over? That I don't know. All I've heard is that it seems to grant control over a single element to all who receive it. For me, that was 'light'.
[ He gestures and a small breeze seems to start up. One blowing the smell of salt air from the ocean, alleviating the stench of rotting meat. ]
Questioning the workers did not yield much more but I never asked about control over an existing talent. Did you not ask yourself when you arrived?
[Only not really. It's an entity, not a power. A conciousness that was far stronger than he. Not a simple power, but a living being, a soul. But Emet-Selch was not to know that. Vincent himself had deliberately described Chaos as a power.
The answer is earnest. Good, even. Yet Vincent's decision to obfuscate- no, to lie- meant the answer was meaningless. Unfruitful. Unhelpful. Yet... The element aspect. Perhaps that could harden his own conciousness to make him stronger. Allow him some semblance of affirming his own control. Or at least, to bolster his resistance to not be devoured entirely.
A silence follows. He answers.]
I had company when I visited.
[Persistent company. Honestly, this little spit of an island was about the most alone he'd been in ages, even with Emet-Selch's presence.]
...And I've no intention of bringing concern to anyone I care for.
[He could be honest about that, at least. The breeze moves his cloak some- yet his arms are locked around himself.]
[ Emet-Selch is intrigued but he isn't nosy enough to pry into another man's business when they've only just met. And besides...there are better places to discuss such things at length than a fetid island of raw meat. ]
The tattoo has to be renewed monthly. Mayhap you could make an appointment and ask your worker in private for further details. It won't harm you at least.
That's a wrap! Looking forward to running into emet a little more <3
[Mid-turn away, he pauses. Just to survey the sorcerer's face once more. Renewal was something he hadn't expected. Useful information, too. He nods- somewhat tersely- before he gathers his harvest and then turns his back once more.]
Noted. Thanks again.
[It's a long, slow trudge back to the client. But he's certainly got quite a bit to think about on the way.]
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I hope this late tag is still okay ;;
He knows the principle of their crew is to explore and research both old and new things, but there are certain expectations one has of random islands found in the middle of nowhere, and that is that said islands can at least expect to have normal greenery, normal beaches, and so on.
Not meat.
The mage almost turns around and sails right back out. The smell of rotting meat turns his stomach and not even the fresh, cooked(????) samples hanging off the trees is enough to cover it. But he's not the only living soul on this island. That's enough to warrant some curiosity about who else has decided to stay and explore. So, pinching his nose and trying to breathe as little as possible, he approaches Vincent. ]
How can you stand the smell?
Of course! I'll backtag forever, especially for emet ❤
...The first thing he notes is Emet-Selch's height. Unusual for someone to dwarf even him. His attire is distinctly high-end. And then there's holding his nose. The nasal quality of his voice thanks to that.
He answers.]
I've smelled worse. That's how.
[Mako, for instance. It's the smell of all of this decay and more- combined with acid, gasoline, and of all things, cat piss. His gaze moves back to the tree before he takes a few steps away- folding his arms about himself.]
If you're here for a reason, go ahead. I'll not interfere.
[He'd offer a cursorary warning about the wildlife defending their food source- but he'll assume it's not needed. This man looked like he could take care of himself.]
<3
He doesn't wear the finery of Garlemald's first emperor any more, having since adopted local styles (still relatively good quality though). Regrettably, he may have to throw out what he's wearing if the smell can't be washed out later. ]
I'm not here for any specific reason, no-- are those weapons?
[ He has finally caught a better look at the meat hanging off the trees. ]
sorry! I just assumed emet was being fabulous in his furs hahaha
[With a somewhat inadvertant swoosh of his cape, Vincent immediately turns back to the tree he had been examining, and begins to pluck low-hanging chicken legs from it. Not for himself, of course. The smell had ruined his appitite. More like for the sharklady back within the MANTA office.
...Not that chicken happened to be of a shark's usual diet. He can't help but wonder as he tosses each leg into a nearby basket if it'd cause issues for her 200 growing children. Probably. Probably not. A thought that is dismissed at what the other man says.]
...?
[Weapons? His gaze follows where Emet-Selch's lies, and his eyebrows furrow. He can spy something tucked within the branches of the tree. Not exactly hanging, but propped where a particuarly large branch forks from the trunk. At first glance, it looks like nothing more than a rack of ribs. But upon closer inspection... It's a certain shape. Yes. That's a shield. There's other things, too. Gigantic joints of meat that resemble clubs. Sharpened, protruding bones with meat still attached that would suggest swords.
And...
Oh. That's a gun made from chicken bones, all right. The question is, what does it fire? Nuggets?
...Ridiculous.]
Hmph. Someone's been busy.
[Surely they didn't grow like this... right?]
all good, my bad for not describing it when introducing him
Back to the meat weapons though--
He carefully (reluctantly) picks his way through the nauseating spread of rotten meat on the ground to peer at what looks like a mage's staff. Vincent's unspoken observation seems to be correct: the weapons aren't attached to the tree; they seem to have been crafted then left behind. But if they aren't on the tree, that means that they, like the fallen meat, must surely be in the process of rotting as well...
Emet-Selch hesitates. Then gingerly picks up the staff. The soft, visceral squelch it makes as his fingers close around its fleshy length makes him wince.
His other hand continues to keep his nose pinched. ]
This is, by far, the most obscene place I've ever encountered in my travels. What is the point of it?
both our bads then ❤
Something does go through his mind though. Goblins. At least on his world, they'd been known to inhabit places far flung and far between in something alike crude little societies- presumably fashioning all manner of basic items from that which they had.
Perhaps this was something alike that. But perhaps not. This was decidedly more human. Weapons served to settle disputes. What sort of dispute would any creature have here, where food was so bountiful? It was a human thing to seek conflict with little need to do so.
He crosses his arms about himself. His eyes move to the mage, and the unfortunately squelchy situation he had put upon himself. Or rather, his hand.]
...
[Short of suggesting that other riftfarers had got here first and gotten bored, he's got nothing. Sorry, Emet.]
no subject
[ The man's silence doesn't seem to bother him. He tries channelling a small amount of magic through it and the flesh pulses uncomfortably. But the meaty staff does produce a small ball of light, as he intended.
He's not sure this is something to be pleased about. The light orb is quickly waved away and Emet-Selch puts the staff back against the tree. He creates another orb - of water this time - and rinses his hand with it. ]
Disgusting.
no subject
...How did you do that?
[A naive question. One that would likely strike the erstwhile dictator of Garlemald as asinine- but given Vincent's unfamiliarity with magic- real magic which wasn't borrowed from materia orbs- to him at least, was very valid.]
hope you had a restful xmas!
[ Even after using the water to clean his hands, he feels the slime yet coats his fingers. Once he returns to one of the main leviathans, he'll give them a proper scrub.
The ball of water evaporates in a flash. Emet-Selch turns to Vincent with a questioning look. ]
Do you mean that trifling bit of magic just now?
Same to you!
[A pointed Look to Emet's hands should signify what exactly Vincent had meant. Really- he shouldn't have been surprised at the sight of real, actual, materialess magic. It wasn't the most unusual thing he'd seen thusfar. Timetravel. Some people returning from the dead. A populace that was half animal. ...Also meat trees.
...He's still curious though. Far more so about the magic than any of the above.]
Is it yours? Or a tattoo?
no subject
Strictly speaking, the tattoo allows me to utilise my magic. I presume 'tis some sort of conduit. But if you mean to ask whether what I use comes naturally to me, then yes, it does.
[ With a lazy gesture, he wills the fire into a twisting arc of flame, letting it dance around his hand and wrist. ]
no subject
And you'd say this... conduit makes your power appear as it would, naturally? Is there any limit?
[Definately not asking because he's banking on the tat he's dutifully completing these awful missions for being able to stop an literal internal demon he's lost control of, nope.]
no subject
I cannot Create. I cannot channel my true form at will. And my power feels restricted. Those are the only limitations I have discovered thus far.
[ But then again, he commands magic akin to whst most mortals would call a god. It's not that surprising to him that nothing in this world can handle it. ]
no subject
[He hasn't half an idea what Creation exactly entails- but the rest of Emet's examples are self-explanatory. Regardless of understanding, the bottom line is simple. Some limit. Of course, as nothing remotely related to godlike power and this world's capacity to handle it leaves the sorcerer's lips, the reasoning for such is likewise lost.
Yet still.
...There's a leap to be made here. A punt, more aptly. Vincent lowers his eyes for a moment, glancing at the rotting ground between the pair, before he speaks. The timbre of his voice speaks to reluctance. A reticence, at speaking of something that clearly was important to him. Even to a stranger.]
One more question. You mentioned that these tattoos allow... a regain. What if someone has this power, and instead sought control?
no subject
[ He gestures and a small breeze seems to start up. One blowing the smell of salt air from the ocean, alleviating the stench of rotting meat. ]
Questioning the workers did not yield much more but I never asked about control over an existing talent. Did you not ask yourself when you arrived?
no subject
[Only not really. It's an entity, not a power. A conciousness that was far stronger than he. Not a simple power, but a living being, a soul. But Emet-Selch was not to know that. Vincent himself had deliberately described Chaos as a power.
The answer is earnest. Good, even. Yet Vincent's decision to obfuscate- no, to lie- meant the answer was meaningless. Unfruitful. Unhelpful. Yet... The element aspect. Perhaps that could harden his own conciousness to make him stronger. Allow him some semblance of affirming his own control. Or at least, to bolster his resistance to not be devoured entirely.
A silence follows. He answers.]
I had company when I visited.
[Persistent company. Honestly, this little spit of an island was about the most alone he'd been in ages, even with Emet-Selch's presence.]
...And I've no intention of bringing concern to anyone I care for.
[He could be honest about that, at least. The breeze moves his cloak some- yet his arms are locked around himself.]
...Thanks. For the information.
no subject
[ Emet-Selch is intrigued but he isn't nosy enough to pry into another man's business when they've only just met. And besides...there are better places to discuss such things at length than a fetid island of raw meat. ]
The tattoo has to be renewed monthly. Mayhap you could make an appointment and ask your worker in private for further details. It won't harm you at least.
That's a wrap! Looking forward to running into emet a little more <3
[Mid-turn away, he pauses. Just to survey the sorcerer's face once more. Renewal was something he hadn't expected. Useful information, too. He nods- somewhat tersely- before he gathers his harvest and then turns his back once more.]
Noted. Thanks again.
[It's a long, slow trudge back to the client. But he's certainly got quite a bit to think about on the way.]