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shardweavers · 5 years ago

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Chapter Six - Broken Wings

The sound of footsteps echoed down the long, quiet terrace as Shoto made her way to her room. All the while, fresh tears continued down her face. Why? Why did it feel this way? This pain was similar to when she'd lost those who were close to her. Could she really say that Emet-Selch was 'close to her'?

It did feel like an emptiness with his absence...

The Miqo’te paused for a moment at her door, as she pictured a familiar face from her past; Haurchefant. She could see him in his Ishgardian Knight's armor, his light blue hair fluttered in the cold, Coerthan breeze. There had been many nights she'd spent at his side, by the hearth fire, regaling him with stories of her adventures. He always listened intently, and was always eager to hear more stories. There was always a mug of hot cocoa ready for her when she arrived, and she'd find hours swiftly passed while she held it and spoke with him. The flavor of that cocoa was smooth, and never failed to warm her after a long day of work in the snowy hills of Coerthas. No one had thus far been able to replicate the man's recipe.

She heard his last words again; the ones she held onto...

“A smile better suits a hero.”

Several tears fell onto the shoebill's feathers at the memory, but the bird didn’t seem bothered. She nodded to herself, then forced a smile onto her face to stop the tears.

"Hang in there, little guy. We're almost there." The Miqo'te re-adjusted the bird in her arms to open the door. The shoebill seemed disgruntled by the movement, but didn't cause too much of a fuss. The door clicked open to a fresh, clean room. The bed sheets looked to have been recently laundered, and there was a nice array of fresh fruits displayed on the table. More than likely, it was another kind gesture put forth by the Exarch, just like the sandwiches had been. She would definitely have to thank him later.

The shoebill rustled and fluttered out of her arms. Emet-Selch hurt, and was on the verge of losing consciousness again; he could not let that happen. The Ascian needed to move to somewhere safe.

'Safe? Where, in this place, is safe?'

In his panicked state, though, he hit the edge of the nightstand, rather than the bed he had aimed for. The bird knocked over the lamp, then collapsed onto the bed in a heap, breathing heavily. Shoto rushed over to the bedside, and spoke as calmly as she could manage.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. You don't have to be frightened."

The Miqo'te stopped, then thought for a moment. She bit her bottom lip as she realized, 'Of course this poor bird is frightened. He was hurt and doesn't know these surroundings.' She was no specialist on birds, nor animals of any kind, but she was a Healer by trade. She took a breath, then slowly edged toward the bed. Shoto moved a hand over the bird, and concentrated on a more thorough examination with her aether to find the problem.

She paused... this couldn't be right. She could tell the injuries were definitely internal, but the mass was larger than this bird. Her expression grew more puzzled as she tried to expand her aether a little further to investigate the cause.

The bird's eyes shot open as he felt the intrusion of aether. He tried, but could no longer hold this form. There was a strained squawk as he braced for the pain he knew would come.

What had been a bird suddenly grew larger before the Miqo'te's eyes. Shoto's concentration instantly broke. She fell backward onto the floor with a surprised squeak, and landed directly on her rear. Her surprised expression remained on her face as she stared. What had been a shoebill just a moment ago was now a man.

An all too familiar-looking man.

He sat with his arm held across his middle. His hair fell over his face, which hid it from her point of view. In all her years in the field as a Scholar, this was new. She sat frozen on the floor, and tried to process what she saw before her.

He knew she was startled. Hells, anyone would be.

Emet-Selch grimaced, and clenched his teeth as he doubled over a bit further. By Zodiark, he really hated this 'mortal' thing. Without access to his normal power, he could not heal his wounds like usual. The Ascian still had enough of his aether to at least be aware of his surroundings. He could tell she was still on the floor. A half smirk pulled at his lips, and he finally spoke.

"It's been a while, hero..."

His voice was very familiar. But... why...? That turn of phase. It was so similar to what had happened earlier in the plaza. Shoto looked a little more carefully at the man on the bed. She noted the short, brown hair, and the shock of white in a small section of the front. A swell of mixed emotions washed over her.

'No... no, this isn't possible,' she thought, as words just wouldn't form from her mouth. She had struck him down herself. The battle of the Champion of Dark against the Champions of Light. Angel, Ice, Yuki and Sumire had been right there with her when it happened. They had helped along with the other Warriors of the First Shard so she could land the final blow. She had pierced him with the light axe. They had all seen him disappear into aether...

So, how was this possible...?

Pain suddenly hit the Ascian hard once more. His head tilted back to reveal his face; beads of sweat dripped down his face from his brow. His strength left him swiftly, and he fell back onto the pillows.

Shoto no longer had any doubt in her mind the moment she saw his face: this was Emet-Selch. The very same person she and the others had faced several weeks ago. His face, though... the pain did not seem like an act, and he grew noticeably paler the longer he lay there. Her mind reeled with so many questions, she could only sit on the floor, flabbergasted. Why did he come here... to the very people that had sought his end? It made no sense. Her chest tightened as those pangs of guilt and sorrow returned; tears threatened to overtake her once more. The Scholar felt like she was back in that moment--in the ruins of Amaurot--watching as he faded away...

Emet-Selch gasped out in pain. He opened one amber eye to look towards her; was she not going to help? Perhaps he was a fool to think he could come here. He shut his eye once more, and focused instead on trying to level out his labored breathing. He briefly thought that maybe he should give in and let his body expire, but he immediately knew better; Elidibus would just find some way to bring him back again. He had done so in the past once before, and he would absolutely do it again; 'no rest for the wicked' as the saying goes. His body felt so tense from the pain, he found it difficult to settle his breathing.

Shoto finally shook off her shock, then cautiously moved over to him. Her guilt weighed heavily on her heart, and reminded her that she'd experienced so much loss of life already.

Moenbryda, Minfilia, Papalymo...

Haurchefant...

The memories of friends she had lost in her many battles filtered through her mind, and she could not bear to deal with it again. Her healer's instincts yelled at her to try to help him; enemy or not; and she listened.

A warm, soft yellow-orange glow gently washed over Emet-Selch. It was calm, and soothing; like the warmth one would feel from the midday sun. The pain was immediately less intense, and continued to ease as the glow remained. His mind wandered at the sudden relief, and he allowed his consciousness to slip into slumber. His features softened as he relaxed. His face looked to be at peace as he slumbered; like the burden of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

The warmth he had felt was her aura and aether as she worked to mend what she could, so he could safely sleep.

Letting her aether's flow end as the healing magicks ran their course, Shoto was wracked with a new sense of guilt; the sense of having helped their implacable foe. What were you thinking? part of her seemed to shout. This man, this bird, everything he was and would be was nothing less than a Paragon, the very architect of Norvrandt's near-demise.

Even if she shouldn't let him suffer, should she have...?

No. No room for such doubts. What was done was done! She smacked her own cheeks lightly, shaking her head. Focus, Shoto, focus!

The Miqo'te realized she should examine him; just to make sure there were no external wounds she was missing.

Moving to open his overcoat more, she unclasped the belt that held it in place, then worked to unbutton the front of his white undershirt to check for visible injuries. Emet-Selch mumbled to himself as she moved the shirt back, and she immediately looked over to make sure he was, in fact, still asleep. This was hard enough as it was, she didn't need him awake for it.

Shoto looked back down and the color drained from her face a bit: a large scarring marked his torso... right in the spot she had struck him in their last battle. Another new pang of yet another variety of guilt washed over her; this one the same, familiarly heavy guilt that had been with her since the day she'd...

Without thinking, her fingers reached down and brushed across the scar. Pain immediately erupted in her head as the Echo came. The room went white and changed as she tried, in vain, to get it to stop.

No! No! Please, not now...

The vision was a haze. A tall, dark-robed figure walked down the streets of a giant city. This city was the grand city of Amaurot. It looked much like the recreation in the Tempest, but was even more beautiful to see in this vision. The sky had quite a heavy rain coming down upon the city. The figure's hood slid back to reveal his white locks. Shoto instantly realized this was Emet-Selch; his hairstyle was the same, for the most part, but his hair was all white. He didn't bother to fix his hood, and hurried his pace as if he were searching for something. As he hurried along, the rain began to let up. Emet-Selch paused, then stretched his hand out, palm up. He noted the easing rain as he looked up, then continued forward in his hurried pace. Up ahead, a smaller, black-robed figure sat on a bench, and stared quietly up into the sky. The rain drops bounced off their white mask; it was exactly like those Shoto had seen in the recreation of Amaurot. Their robes clearly drenched from the recent downpour. Emet-Selch stopped within a few fulms of this person.

"You'll catch a cold, being out in the rain like this, you know." In response, the figure turned their gaze to him with a soft smile. They waited only a breath before they spoke.

"Always such a worrier, Hades! I just wanted to enjoy the refreshing feeling of the rain against my skin. It's peaceful." Their voice was light, and the tone gave away that they were female. “Come, have a seat beside me.”

Emet-Selch sighed loudly, dramatically, but took a seat beside her despite this show of overwrought put-uponness; his gaze never broke from her, not once. Shoto thought she could almost feel the care he had for this person through the Echo.

Who is this? Shoto thought.

In the vision, Emet-Selch was crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. "Of course I worry. You tend to be reckless."

The woman laughed as she replied, "There is nothing to worry about, Hades. Your wandering star knows all too well how to fend for herself. Even if my new duties to come take me far away, I will always return to be right here at your side."

He smiled back, and his lips moved to speak a name to the figure... but it was oddly drowned out. The scene hazed, and a voice echoed into her mind.

'It's quite impolite to intrude into someone else's mind.'

Shoto's eyes fluttered open as she awoke from her vision, the grip of the Echo fading. As she tried to get her bearings, the Miqo'te realized with mounting dread that she had passed out, and had fallen forward... onto the Ascian before her.

To make matters worse, he was now awake, and staring at her with both his usual wry amusement and some sort of new intense curiosity. Red raced across her cheeks as embarrassment threatened to kill her. Emet-Selch glanced down to his open shirt, then back to her, a sardonic smirk curling his dark lips.

"Well~. Quite enjoying the show, were we?"

Shoto didn't answer, her voice caught in her throat. She pushed herself off of him quickly, and tried to regain her composure; she did notice he seemed to be healed for the most part for now. Thank goodness for small mercies, maybe?

"I suppose I owe you my thanks. Although," Emet-Selch looked away from her, and towards the wall, "I have to say, I'm quite surprised my half-subconscious gamble paid off, o Warrior of Light." "...You mean, 'why did you help me?'"

The Ascian shrugged. "It's a fair query, isn't it?"

"...Hn. W-well, I mean, the same goes for you," Shoto said as she drew in a breath. After this slight pause, she tilted her head, "Why did you come seeking aid here, of all places? That's more of a gamble than I'd expect from you, Ha...Emet-Selch."

The Ascian was still looking away; his face was, as ever, hard to read.

A long moment of silence passed, and just when it became truly unbearable, he spoke again.

"...I believe I posed my question first."

Of course he'd say something like that. Shoto then let out a loud sigh, and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Honestly? I...I don't know." She frowned as she tried to once more focus on his face. The Warrior of Light and Darkness felt conflicted; so many thoughts and questions flew through her mind. He had been gone, lost forever, a memory only that he had once lived...And this had been the right thing to do.

So the relief and joy she felt was, was alien, was wrong, wasn't it?! Haurchefant and the others hadn't been their enemy, like he was...! Yotsuyu's demise had been tragic, and the wound it carved through Gosetsu's heart a horror to see, but the knowledge she would never bedevil them again was still a lifted weight...! Shouldn't there be some terror at seeing Emet-Selch again...?!

‘Was it really him, even? Couldn't some other Ascian assume his face as a mask...?’

He turned to look at her as the thoughts crossed her mind; as if he could hear them. It seemed to intensify his smirk as his golden eyes met hers again.

"I see~. Perhaps I truly convinced you of the righteousness of our cause! Ah, yes, you've clearly been swayed to the side of Reunion! And to think, all it took was a dramatic death-scene," Emet-Selch said with a malevolent chuckle. "Oh, the scandal, dear Warrior of Light! What will the Scions think??"

She flicked her tail as he spoke, annoyed. Ohhh, it was the genuine article, alright; her doubts on that score were gone. No matter how good an actor, no one else could've genuinely needled her the way he did.

The Ascian went to rise, and the smirk fell away in an instant, replaced by a pained wince. His hand wrapped across his chest. Shoto noticed, and bit her lip.

"I was able to seal your wounds, but some of it will have to heal naturally on its own."

She eyed the wound on his chest once more, guilt obvious on her face; Emet-Selch noticed, of course.

"Oh, come now, hero. Are you truly that worked up, over this little mark? Surely you didn't think you could get rid of me that easily."

She forced herself to ignore his snide comment, and instead, persisted with her own questions.

"Who was that woman in your memory?"

Emet-Selch's eyebrows raised, then he shrugged as he shook his head...he was deflecting, and it was obvious by his immediate I-don't-care-and-never-could affect.

"Now now, if you're going to aid the glorious cause of Rejoining, you have to remember the basics, dear hero. I told you, we seek to restore our friends, family, and loved ones."

I could ask, 'which was she', but the answer's obvious...

"You loved her, didn't you?" Shoto asked quietly.

Emet-Selch's lips pursed in annoyance, his brow furrowing as his cheeks colored lightly and he scowled at her.

"That hardly seems relevant. Let's instead return to your first, more intelligent query. 'Why take the gamble?'"

Shoto rolled her eyes lightly and crossed her arms with a huff. "Fine, then."

Another moment of silence, and Hades sighed again, his shoulders slumping in that world-weary way he had.

"Tch. Unfortunately, I think my answer would be similar to yours; a complicated matter of circumstances and 'it just felt right at the time.' I must suppose, however, that I made the right choice, seeing as you did heal me."

His eyes narrowed on Shoto in that moment. It was as if he were looking through her; his expression shifted to more of a puzzled look.

What he was studying was the aetherial nature of her soul...a soul that had changed since he last observed it. During their last battle, she had been the cusp of changing into a sin eater, when she was suddenly renewed.

In what he had been sure was merely a trick of the Light, he had seen...

My wandering star.

The soul before him was still not complete, but it was certainly more vibrant than it had been before. Its hue could not go unnoticed, but he was more focused on its strength. He quietly muttered, "Eight times rejoined," and those words sounded familiar to Shoto. They were the same words he had said before, only the number had been seven then.

"You said that before," she replied, then tilted her head.

He still seemed lost in thought, almost as if he'd expected her answer...

"Hythlodaeus did say you were distracted," she commented quietly to herself.

"How do you know that name?" he asked, that intensity suddenly, almost violently returning to his gaze and demeanor. His face suddenly looked stern, his amber eyes were piercing; he had still heard her. Shoto’s ears tipped back at his sudden change in demeanor, then she blinked in confusion. Her ears flicked as she recovered herself, settling into a chair beside where he was laid out.

"W-When we traveled to the city... the... city of Amaurot... that you recreated. There was... one shade that acted... differently from all the others.”

She looked down and thought for a moment, as she recalled the memory,

“He said he knew that he was just a shade, and told me that his name was Hythlodaeus. He also mentioned that he used to be a friend of yours, and said you seemed distracted as of late…” The Miqo’te paused for a moment, unsure if she should continue. She went ahead only when he said nothing, his gaze still fixed on hers.

"Hythlodaeus noted the color of my soul. He said it was... 'the same as hers'." The dark-haired Miqo'te looked up at the Ascian, "I didn't know what he meant. Was that woman in your memory--"

"Stop," Emet-Selch interrupted her, "Stop, stop, stop. That's not important right now, and I must needs process what you've already told me.” He let out a loud sigh as he folded his hands in front of his face, as he looked off to the side, “You spoke to Hythlodaeus..."

And once more, he was lost in thought. For several moments, awkward silence reigned in the room between them; silence accompanied only by the feeling of his piercing golden eyes on her. He was staring through her again, as if he were looking at something that she couldn't see...it made her feel unsure, of...of their conversation, of everything. After a tortuously long time, he finally lifted his head from behind his hands, then spoke quietly again.

"I'm curious about something, come closer for a moment."

Shoto's eyes narrowed and she bit her lip, not moving.

He sighed as he shook his head, "Oh, for Zodiark's sake. Must we truly continue with this farcical tension? Look at me, hero." The Ascian put his arms out to the sides, "My hollow jests about your 'obvious change of heart' aside, do I seem like I'm in any condition to attack you, or ensorcel you, or do anything untoward? I flew here in the form of a ridiculous seabird, you'll recall."

He had a point; she could tell he was still drained from his injuries, and there wasn't any indication of ill intent, not now.

Relaxing a little, she moved over to the bed. He patted the edge to indicate she should take a seat beside him. Reluctantly, Shoto did so, and looked up at him. Emet-Selch reached out a hand with his palm up. The Miqo'te looked confused, as she slowly reached out to touch his hand.

The moment her hand made contact, it was like a spark ran through her. She felt the warmth of his hand, but also felt the sensation of her hand on his in return...!

A connection, a link. Like a strand of string, an aetherial tether. Had it always been there...? No, it couldn't be...She pulled her hand back quickly, but the feeling lingered for a moment before it stopped.

"What did you do?" she asked with a frown.

Emet-Selch just shrugged.

"Nothing. Besides, perhaps, confirming...a...a theory." Shoto blinked in confusion, her ears flickering as she tilted her head again. Between this and his evasion of a certain topic...

Emet-Selch looked over towards the window and sighed heavily again, “Alright, alright. Though I speak the truth when I tell you I did nothing to you, dear hero, I can tell you will not be satisfied with just that." He tapped his chin. "Perhaps a history lesson is in order. You must be familiar with the customs of your Eternal Bonding Ceremony, back in dear old Eorzea?"

While still confused, the Miqo’te simply nodded when he glanced back at her.

"Good, that makes this a bit easier to explain. Let me tell you the root of that ceremony, then."

His voice changed, taking on a more wistful tone, the tone he'd had when telling of the glories of Amaurot and the sorrow of the Final Days.

"In the days of Amaurot, life was all but eternal; a perfect, beautiful cycle. When it was time to renew oneself, one passed into the Underworld to be reborn anew, welcomed back into the world. It was nothing like how it is now; nothing so frail, so short, prone to a death with no hope of restitution for the best and the returning-luck of a bad copper piece for the worst..." He shook his head, grumbling, and moved on. "Given the flow of life back then, it was hardly uncommon to find someone whose soul resonated with your own. Even if you didn't have the Gift of Sight, you could tell when you found....” He could tell she still seemed a bit confused, “...a perfect partner, to use simple, unworthy terms. A person who reflected you, completed you. Each being one half of a whole. A soulmate."

He paused for a moment, letting his voice trail off...letting himself remember passing an orange gemstone to a slender hand-- Shoto cleared her throat, and he ceased his reverie. Hades didn't jump or show outward surprise; he merely continued where he left off.

"...she was my soulmate. The one you saw in my dream."

His amber eyes met her sapphire ones, "We decided to go through with our own Eternal Bonding Ceremony. The ceremony your tradition derives from." A soft smile spread across his face.

“She was the bright, wandering star in my night sky. My...My Azem."

That word. A pang struck Shoto's heart when he spoke that word, tears pricked her eyes. But why...?

“In Eorzea, of course, it is simply an exchange of vows and rings... in Amaurot, the bond that we forged was something much more literal. Much less easily sundered..." Emet-Selch’s smile faded as an ache from his wounds panged through him, looking exhausted as he finished his explanation.

Shoto felt more than a little light-headed.

Her thoughts whirled like a cyclone, jumbled together. She wanted to press him with a hundred more questions, ask him what he was suggesting, what he was implying, everything, he couldn't mean...

No. That wouldn't do. She needed to process his return, to begin with, and he needed rest. It was good that he was in no condition to attack, but what if he worsened due to fatigue, became dangerously ill? What if she lost him again? She'd never have the answers to her questions then, right?

She stood up, then looked at the hand that had touched his.

"You should rest," she nodded, then gestured toward the bathroom, "I'm going to go take a bath, and gather my thoughts. I... honestly don't know what to think at the moment...But...I will have more questions for you."

"I will be here," he said with only mild sarcasm. He had nowhere else to go.

Shoto nodded silently, and with that she left the Ascian be and left for the bath, where she could be alone with her thoughts.

Emet-Selch was, indeed, beyond exhausted. His wounds needed to further heal...and he needed to spend the night as a man, not a shoebill. The Ascian leaned back on the bed, closed his eyes, and let the darkness of sleep claim him.

(Second image was drawn by one of our writers @xehniscreations.)

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iamalivenow · 5 years ago

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You've been fishing for the better half of the last day.

It's been pouring for the last four.

Typically you don't mind spending time in the woods, The Shroud is familiar in a way few places really are, and ever since you've gotten back from the First, since everyone else got back too, you've been clinging to that familiarity. You've flung yourself into a new hobby, to take your mind off things, but lucky for you, fishing can happen pretty much anywhere, which is why you've been doing it here.

When you fish, and you do fish for hours, your mind just goes blank and empty. It's astonishingly mind numbing, and makes an astonishing amount of money, and aside from the worried glances the other Scions give you when you see them after days at a time, there's really no downside to speak off.

You get so caught in the moment to moment of waiting for your rod to bob that you don't even notice the cold and the wet for the most part. It's the perfect activity for someone who definitely isn't extremely sad and tired all the time. Because that can't be you, right, you're the hero! Your friends are all back and safe and sound! And you definitely didn't murder a child, maybe! Or realize that some ancient version of you summoned a god into existence and actively caused all the harm and suffering in every reality. You didn't. Definitely didn't do that. And definitely don't continue to do that.

So anyway, fishing is good. If you had to think of a complaint, your tackle box is getting pretty heavy lately, so maybe you could clean that out sometime, but other than that.

It's been great.

When did the sun set?

You send a blip of aether to the end of your rod and it glows a gentle green across the surface of the lake you're standing at. You feel a tug, finally, and start reeling in, gripping the rod and tugging every few seconds- whatever it is feels big so you dig your heels in. The rain beats down as hard as it does, masking the movement of your line so you let yourself pull harder.

You can almost feel it break the surface as something pushes down on the back of your neck, hard enough to break your concentration for just long enough that the fish gets too much give and rips the rod clean out of your hands.

You spin around, already swinging at thin air.

“Who the fuck-” No one is around, probably not for miles, and certainly not at this time of night, not in this weather.

“Oh come now. You almost sound unhappy to see to me, hero.”

You're used to people monologuing at you, dramatic and from the shadows. And you'd be fine with that, any excuse to beat up the fucker that made you lose your expensive rod to the lake. You've need a good fight for a while now, maybe.

Except you're the one who said that.

Your mouth opened, and those words came out, and sure you've been standing out in the rain in the dark for hours and who knows when you've last eaten (or slept) but you've never hit this degree of-

“You think so quickly for how little you talk.” You say again- or rather someone- “Even in your more animated moods, I would never have assumed you do so much thinking.”

You've been possessed, it seems.

“Yes.” Your voice says, gentler, and you feel your hand lift up and someone else spread your fingers before clenching them tightly. “How did I never notice how nice your hands are?” There's really only one ascian who's ever been this familiar with you and his name catches in your throat. You laugh at yourself, turning to look around as if this is just a normal thing that happens. “It's alright, you can say it, I promise I'll hardly be offended.”

“You're dead.”

“Yes.”

“I killed you.”

“Yes.” It comes slower this time, and something clenches in the center of your chest.

“Have I finally lost it?”

“No. Well.” He makes you look down at yourself, and then lifts your face up to the rain. “Arguably.”

“How are you-”

“The veil is thinner here, someone had opened the lifestream in these woods before.” You think about Y'shtola for a moment, her body slipping back into reality, and you laugh again. “Twice? She's quite the abnormality, isn't she-”

“How are you-” You ask again and your hand comes up to your mouth, muffling yourself.

“Possession is easy.” You're whispering now, against your palm. “I only had to find you. And it's easier now. Though I must say, I expected you to be better taken care off.”

“Why?” Why now, why here, why not at any moment before-

“Well.” Your shoulders sag, and all of a sudden you start to feel the exhaustion you probably should have been feeling for a long time. “I would hardly want you too keel over because of your agonies.”

You feel the cold now, the wet, sinking into you and causing you to shiver. Or maybe your hands are trembling because you've not eaten in how ever long.

“What have you done with yourself- mm?” Your hands lift up again, pressing to your face. “I can hardly let you waste away for your own neglect. You're much too important.”

“I'm sorry.” You say because you've wanted to tell Emet-Selch that for a long time. “For-”

“You can be sad when you're warm. I'm rather fond of being sad in furs. Or in a warm bed. Love being miserable in a good bed.” Your legs start moving- you stumble for the first step, “Out of practice-” he says, but it's a smooth walk all the way back to The Roost.

He orders you a room, with a tub of hot water to be brought in, and a full dinner an hour later.

“Hades-” You say and your mouth shuts itself with out even the aid of your hands this time.

You're let into your usual room, and the tub is steam in the corner.

“Hades-” You try again when you're alone and you feel your head shake.

“I'm taking care of you.” He says, and it's not like you can argue. He smiles for you and starts tugging at the wet fabric of your clothes. “Has anyone ever taken care of you before?”

Your life flashes before your eyes, like he's looking through your memories, trying to find instances of kindness. Your can barely breath as you both come to a realization that no, not since you were a child, and isn't that pathetic. He forces you too sigh, to breath and lets you lean forward against the rim of the tub.

The warmth feels good- You haven't had a hot bath since The First- everything else has been dunking yourself in rushing rivers because it's faster.

“I'm sorry.” You say again, quietly and he sighs, exasperated. You can feel it-

“These dramatics hardly suite you.” Your fingers unbutton your clothes, and you forget to feel any kind of way about it other than sad. He nudges you- and it does feel almost external, like someone prodding a finger against your shoulder, and you get into the hot water. “Isn't this better?”

You lay there in silence and he seems content to lay with you. You wish you could see him- that he was really here, that you hadn't killed him. That just once diplomacy could actually have worked.

“Did you use to do this for me?” You don't know why you're asking. The me in that sentence isn't even really you. Or the other way around rather, because Azem was more parts of you than you are of them.

“Ha- You'd go to Hythlodaeus more often than me. On more than one occasion I would get mad because I thought you were-” Your hand waves in the air and it's so him you're almost shocked your wrist can actually bend like that. “Well. You weren't stepping out.”

“Was it because I didn't want to worry you?”

“That does sound like you, doesn't it? All your heroics.” And then he forces you to take a deep breath and dunks your body under the water. You sit until your lungs start burning and then you're allowed to come up for air. “I only ever insisted once.”

And then you're fed a memory, overlaid one of yours, of two figures, laid a top one another in a long pool. The figure the other was leaned on covered the other's face, and they were laughing about something- Nabriales, it sounds like.

“You had left for a year, and when you finally came back the you had said the trip hadn't gone as well as you hoped. I can hardly recall a time I've seen you made more miserable.”

Azem seemed happy beside him.

“I'm sorry.” You say again and now you roll your eyes.

“Bit late for it now.” There's a knock at the door and you get up to let your dinner in. The robe the inn had was soft though not soft enough to keep Emet-Selch from commenting- and then you were sat slowly eating.

“Hey.”

“Go ahead.”

“Were you watching me the entire time?”

“After you got back.” He swallows. “It's been astonishingly dull.”

“It's felt dull.” You take bread in your hands and rip it aimlessly. He lets you, even if he thinks its a waste of time. It's easy to imagine a life with him, somehow, and you can't tell if it's Azem in the room with you or your own gut feeling. “I keep hoping your great grandson will come threaten to kill someone again.”

You huff a laugh and your hands drop the utensils with a clatter.

The confusion doesn't last long when you make to hold your own hand. You right hand, which has been heavy and out of your control loosens for a moment. He squeezes your hand and when you squeeze back its of your own volition.

You sit like that for a long time, in the quiet of the room. Someone comes by eventually to take the food and the tub out of the room, so you're left to sit on the bed in silence. It's comfortable, despite the absurdity of the situation. You can't help but wonder if Lahabrea and Thancred had any moments like this, which sends Hades into a fit of laughter. When he calms down, the smile that stays on your face is yours.

“Will you still be here tomorrow?”

“I think you'll be quite busy, tomorrow. You won't need me.”

“Even without knowing the circumstances of what tomorrow may bring, I disagree.” Because it's you, you think.

“Well.” You fall back on the bed, still holding your own hand. “If you come wasting your time with fish in the Twelveswood, maybe I'll ensure another fish steels your fishing rod.”

“It cost me a good deal of gil-”

“What a travesty.” As dry as ever, but you're both smiling. He closes your eyes for you, and you feel him try and slip away a few minutes later, the same pressure at the back of your neck. “Take better care of yourself.”

“Mm-” You say very intelligently as he plunges you into a full nights sleep.

The morning is busy and hectic, just like he said it would be.

It's easier to carry yourself than it has been a while.

#writing #full fic #ffxiv #emet-selch/wol

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dragons-bones · 6 years ago

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FFXIV Write Entry #9: Finally

Prompt: hesitate | Master Post | On AO3

“Now, this time,” the chirurgeon said, tone icy as he finished tying off the bandage, “I expect you to rest. That means you are to stay in bed. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Yannistand,” Aymeric said. It took most of his willpower to keep from sounding like a meek recruit under the force of the elder man’s glare.

The Temple Knight’s chief chirurgeon sniffed and gathered up his supplies. With one last pointed glare at the Lord Commander, he turned on his heel and strode from his private quarters in a swirl of robes and palpable disdain.

Aymeric let out a quiet breath of relief and gingerly leaned back against the pillows piled behind him. He wasn’t entirely sure where they had all come from; not even his bed back at Borel Manor had so many. The likely suspects were, of course, his own Temple Knights, and he dearly hoped they hadn’t stripped the barracks of all the pillows that were actually supportive.

He should offer up prayers to the Fury. As Yannistand—and Handeloup, and Lucia, and then Handeloup again, and Lucia a second time, and a third, and then of course Yannistand yet again, with quite a bit fouler language than previously—had told him, multiple times, he had been profoundly lucky. That the assassin’s knife had only knicked one of his internal organs, rather than perforated, firstly. That Count Edmont and Lord Artoirel had been with him when he was attacked, and had managed to keep him from bleeding out before his Knights arrived, secondly. That he had torn only his external stitches, not reopened the internal wounds, during the rescue of the hostages from the Vault, thirdly.

Truly, though, little Maelie was the luckiest of them. If Vidofnir had been even a moment later to arrive…

Aymeric shuddered. No, that did not bear thinking of, either her averted fate or the repercussions should it have come to pass.

He eyed his bedside table speculatively. Lucia had promptly whisked away all of his usual paperwork when Yannistand had hauled him to his room to redo his stitches and redress the wound, with Handeloup a step behind her depositing a pile of books in its stead. Leisure reading, of course; he recognized more than one pulp novel that had been making the rounds in the barracks.

He was in the processing of reaching for the top book when his linkpearl chimed. He blinked in confusion; that was Lucia’s line, and she had been adamant that he was to rest.

Aymeric picked up the ‘pearl cuff and held it to his ear. “Yes, Lucia?”

“Sir, this is your only warning: Synnove is furious. She’s also, mmmm, probably two-thirds of the way to your quarters by now.”

At that point, a loud BOOM echoed through his quarters: a very, very loud knock on his door. “AYMERIC DE BOREL,” a very familiar voice roared.

“Oops. I seem to have miscalculated.” Lucia was utterly unrepentant. Then, before she cut the connection, her voice came back over the line, oddly sing-song: “Good lu~uck.”

Aymeric lowered his hand, staring at the linkpearl cuff in horrified silence. Lucia had been spending far too much time with Rereha.

The pounding knocks picked up again. He set the cuff aside and called, “Come in, Synnove!”

He heard and felt the door burst open and crack against the wall from the force with which Synnove Greywolfe, then slam shut again. Four stomping strides and she turned the corner from his tiny receiving parlor (a term mostly used in jest by the Temple Knights) into the bedchamber. Lucia had been understating it: Synnove was incandescently furious, emerald eyes blazing in such a way that he swore they were aglow with the Dreadwyrm’s own aether once more.

“You,” she said, pointing at him with a shaking hand, “are fucking trouble.”

Her voice had lost the refined, arcanists’ clip many of the assessors of Mealvaan’s Gate picked up during the course of their studies. It was, in fact, very strongly Ala Mhigan, with a strong influence of the Vylbrandian cant most Lominsan pirates used. Synnove only spoke in such a manner in fits of strong emotion, and he’d heard both Alakhai and Dancing Heron call it ‘a horrifying butchering of good language.’

“You damned bloody fool, going into battle with a fucking gut wound that was still healing! What in the HELLS were you thinking?!”

Were it anyone else, such an accent would sound quite horrible. But from Synnove, when she spoke it from passionate anger or laughing to the point of tears or the very depths of sorrow? How it could be anything other than wonderful?

Synnove was advancing on him, still yelling and cursing, until she was leaning over him and had her forefinger practically in his face. Were he any other man, who didn’t feel what he felt for this marvelous, woman, he might have quailed at her rage. He had fought by her side in the Vault, however, and he knew what she looked like when her rage was aimed at someone whom she hated, for whom she felt disgust, as she did towards the terrorists who had thought to spill innocent blood in their blind zealotry.

This was anger born of worry, of fear, of not knowing if a loved one was hurt beyond saving. It the anger of relief, the anger of pent up emotion that needed an outlet—and a raised, shaking voice was all that would do.

Perhaps being three times lucky under Halone’s watchful gaze meant it was time to cease denying what was between them.

Aymeric reached up, gently grasping her wrist, and dropped a kiss on Synnove’s palm. The woman stopped mid-rant, dropping her eyes to stare at her hand, then raising them again slowly to meet his. Her pupils had widened in shock, but he’d known her long enough by now to also know she wasn’t angry. Not at this. He smiled up at her, gently.

Synnove stared at him for another three heartbeats, then said, “Ah, to hells with it,” grasped his face in her hands, and kissed him.

He couldn’t help it—he grinned, laughing quietly against her lips. They were warm and only slightly chapped—she hadn’t been wearing that gloss of late, the one she had used to combat the cold, dry Coerthan air during her stay at Fortemps Manor—but it was far and away better than anything he had ever dreamed. She chuckled as well, the sound vibrating through him pleasantly, before she drew back and rested her forehead against his.

“You’re still an idiotic fool for that stunt,” Synnove said, but the grin she wore took the bite from her words, as did the way she brushed his cheeks with her thumbs.

Aymeric cupped her face in his own hands, smiling. “So I have heard from many people today.” He tilted his head to brush another kiss against her lips, and murmured, “I love you, Synnove Greywolfe.”

A blush stained her cheeks, making the grey clan tattoos stand out, and she beamed at him. “I love you, too, Aymeric de Borel.”

He beamed back at her, warmth suffusing him.

“All right,” she said, drawing back to make a shooing motion with her hands at him, “budge over, I want to cuddle.”

Aymeric laughed, but did as requested, carefully moving sideways until there was room for Synnove on the bed next to him. She kicked her boots off—how she managed that with thigh boots he hoped to one day find out—and crawled in next to him, pressing up against his side while he wrapped an arm around her waist. She dropped her head on his shoulder and sighed heavily.

“Please don’t do something so foolish again, Aymeric,” she whispered. “I know it’s the pot calling the kettle black, but…” She bit her lower lip, gaze dropping to their laps.

He kissed her forehead, then nuzzled into her hair. “While I can’t make promises, as serving as Lord Commander means I will have to continue to put myself on the frontlines,” he said, “I will do my best to be less…impulsive, going forward.”

Synnove sighed. “That’s the best I can ask.”

At that moment, three faces peered over the edge of the bed, yipping a question in unison. Aymeric raised an eyebrow; Tyr had to be laying flat on his stomach to match his siblings with that little trick. He looked at Synnove. “Well, I have no objections,” he said.

“Oh good,” she replied. “We’re a package deal, after all.”

He gave her another kiss, this one lingering, and pointedly ignored Ivar’s growling. When they drew back, he said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Galette crawled up first, shamelessly walking over Synnove, to her exasperated mutterings, so she could haul herself up around Aymeric’s shoulders and settle about his neck. Tyr scrambled up at the same time as Ivar; the giant topaz carbuncle loafed on both their legs, and started up a deep, brassy purr that rumbled through their bones, while Ivar curled up in Synnove’s lap. With the carbuncles settled, Synnove leaned over to the table, grabbing the novel Aymeric had been eyeing before her arrival, and snuggled down into the pile.

“Your Knights have awful taste in literature,” she said, examining the cover, but flipped it open to the first chapter.

“Now that is truly the pot calling the kettle black,” Aymeric said. “I remember you complaining about the drivel the first-year arcanists were obsessing over last semester.”

Synnove snickered. Aymeric pulled her closer, pressed his lips against her temple, and hummed contently as she began to read aloud.

#ffxivwrite2019 #dt's writing #final fantasy xiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #oc: synnove greywolfe #lucia goe junius

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elegant-etienne · 5 years ago

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🍏🍉🍊

Fruity headcanon asks!

Apologies for the late reply @taetelli and thank you for the asks! I quite stupidly kept trying to answer this without a draft and would then accidentally close the tab, losing all of my answers more than once.

🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick?

Etienne: is in pretty good health! They swim every morning and have gotten back into strength training. They see the healer as little as possible, even though they should know better. Over the years they’ve struggled with self-destructive urges, addiction and depression, which they call their ‘dark moods.’ Since going on hormone replacement therapy, those dark moods have lessened considerably - not that their mental illness is fixed by HRT by any means, but their baseline of absolute hating themselves, their body, etc., has been considerably lifted and they’re much happier.

Etienne severely damaged their aether pool casting black magic, essentially breaking through their considerable well of mana and pulling from their own life force in order to cast a blizzard spell. Since then, they’ve had trouble maintaining their body heat, have somewhat poor circulation, and in the past have had a slow healing time from injuries. Etienne assumes the injury has shortened their life and do any time they cast black magic - one of the myriad reasons they stopped adventuring was the very real possibility they would cast a spell that ultimately killed them.

Etienne is also at risk for a hereditary illness, but so far only experienced the symptom of occasional life sensitivity (but it’s fine, they have those cute pince-nez!)

Adi: suffers from a chronic hereditary illness. His symptoms include sensitivity to light which can be coupled with intense headaches, physical weakness and dangerously low stamina, and digestive issues coupled with frequent nausea. The dry air Thanalan irritates his delicate membranes and he gets nosebleeds and sometimes has coughing fits. Most of the sufferers of this illness die early which is preferable to the alternatives. He handles his illness with potions that help with nausea and have mildly restorative properties and an inhalant potion. He eats little snacks during the day any time he’s not feeling too sick to eat to maintain energy. He’s very food-oriented as a way to battle what could be seen as an apathy for life that also tends to couple with the illness. While he’s begun to occasionally eat dairy products (and eats honey and items made with east), he is a staunch vegetarian, partially out of a literal inability to do harm to other living things.

His organs and bones are a huge mess of scarring and tissue from constant, quick-healing, though aside from his scarred, mis-healed eye, he shows no external signs of what he’s been through. He’s surprisingly able to handle poisons and intoxicants, provided they’re things he’s encountered before, he treats himself with micro-dosing until he develops immunities “to better understand” the illnesses he treats.

Kadin: is the swoll dude who brags about how he never gets a cold. He has an iron stomach and can eat things regular people would probably die eating.

Houmei: suffers a compromised immune system, headaches and fatigue due to his physical and mental trauma. He suffers severe dissociative amnesia. He engages in extremely rigorous care of his skin, nails and scales, in order to try and fight his compulsion to pick and bite himself.

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

Eti: loves spring and autumn equally. They love the changes - both the living and dying - and has a deep fondness for their transitory natures, which they find spiritually inspiring. The bursting into life and the quiet surrendering into death and sleep are equally beautiful. Also, they have a slight preference for spring pastels over autumnal earth and jewel tones

Adi: loves winter, but only in the Shroud, where it’s constantly cold, wet and rainy. He’s rather apathetic to seasons in general but prefers gray weather.

Kadin and Houmei: both love the activities, warmth, and foods of summer, but are wary about the fireworks.

🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes?

Etienne: I feel like if someone asked Etienne this question right now they’d probably just sort of laugh and shrug? They just got out of a serious two-year-relationship with plans to marry, and before that they were in a toxic marriage. Ultimately, they’re not sure that those kind of committed relationships are right for them, and a lot of that comes down to what they feel are their obligations to someone they’re in a relationship with, and feeling trapped by monogamy.

They are pretty used to having other people pursue them, and in truth, are not quite sure what to do when they like someone. They make a lot of excuses for it, like the guy should always ask the lady out, but the truth is they are afraid to be super-open about their feelings. After all, if others are aware you want something, or someone, or the objection of your affection is aware of it, what’s to stop them from taking advantage of those feelings in the worst ways? It doesn’t really cross their mind that they could have something genuine if they risked being vulnerable with others. It’s too scary for them.

Besides, they have their pride. They don’t want to let someone else “win them over,” because that means they lost.

Basically:

Adi: has a boyfriend currently, Zihji’li. I think when it comes to his desires for romance and sex, he is still in very early stages of baby gay (“terrifying religious upbringing” model), while he’s not in total denial he still believes that it would be better if he were not gay, and that he does not deserve to feel good, be loved, or love anyone. Up until growing close to Zihji’li he would never allow himself to consider the possibility of even looking at another man twice, so he really doesn’t have any history with that sort of thing.

Kadin: has lived with his boyfriend for two or three years now! They started out as close friends, but Kadin always had a torch for him even when he was dating his ex. As far as previous relationships go, he’s had a lot of casual sex with men and women but has only dated other men seriously, although the last two guys he dated ghosted him - one of them actually ghosted him twice, and the second time really, really hurt. Considering people’s propensity for not taking him seriously or treating him like a priority, he’s not really interested in dealing with that crap from people! He’s down for casual flings with his boyfriend present, or if his boyfriend wants to have them on his own, but currently there’s no one whom he feels is worth the effort. He loves sex, but he’d rather stay at home with the dogs.

Houmei: has barely been able to leave the FC house until recently due to his level of fear of others. That doesn’t make for a lot of romantic possibilities! He does not have many clear, cohesive memories of his own personal life, just flashes of things, but he does have a sense he had two people who were precious to him in the past, and that bond was severed, and that he’s also taken lovers short-term now and then, people who’s names he might not even remember with a complete memory. Talk of feelings did not feature highly in any of his past relationships. He is somewhat interested in how romance is pursued in Eorzea ‘as an exercise,’ and I think he’s open to the idea, but a bit intimidated by the idea of navigating things when he feels he has little to offer. He has someone he likes but he’s taking it slow with them.

#asks #ooc #honestly for the romance one i could say they all wanna love and fuck but they keep getting in their own ways about it #except kadin he always just Goes For It and he's honestly the most pure in his relationships lol #taetelli

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doomedandstoned · 6 years ago

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Portland’s TROLL Unveil First Sounds from Astounding New LP ‘Legend Master’

~By Billy Goate~

Photos by Stephanie Savenkoff

I can tell you how excited I am to share this new music with you by Portland, Oregon's TROLL. I've been a big believer in this band from before they had a singer, describing them as Rip City's answer to Elder. I was the first to film them and have had the privilege of capturing their charismatic performances with frontman Rainbo several times since. The last time, it was after TROLL had released their very well received eponymous debut and they were airing new material. I thought it was absolutely brilliant, enthusiastically sharing one song in particular on social media, which at the time was called "Bridges of the Holy/Tunnels of the Damned." When I found out that Doomed & Stoned would be giving the formal debut of the new song, now titled "Legend Master, Book I: Proverbs of Hell," I practically flipped.

'Legend Master' (2019) is without doubt TROLL's most brilliant effort to date. John Rainbo (vox), Wayne Boucher (bass), Lou VanLanning (guitar), and Ryan Koger (drums) have simply outdone themselves with these five hefty doomers, beginning with "Flight of the Dragonship." I’ve heard the guys perform this encore several times, but never envisioned it playing the introduction. Suffice it to say, it works -- even if it will take a few spins for me to adjust to thinking of it this way.

From this impressive opener, we transition into an emotional two-parter, the album's namesake “Legend Master,” which we'll all get to hear the first chapter of today. Its expansive, rhapsodic character gives it a most epic vibe. Rainbo’s vocals bear the influence of early Candlemass and the riffs are absolutely golden. In fact, I can envision many of you spinning this record on a Sunday morning during a wake ‘n’ bake (or without, if you prefer), with your hair sprawled out on the living room floor, getting totally lost in the cinematic quality of the storytelling.

This takes us through “The Door,” where we bear witness to some of the most poetic material heard this side of Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy. I really love how Rainbo's vocals are layered at critical junctures in the singing. Having heard this pulled off equally well without it, I am happy to see the band taking some creative risks in studio. It’s my absolute favorite of the album and may, in fact, be the best song I’ve heard in many years. Some may feel it is the conclusion to the album, as least it has a very "ultimate" feel about it.

At last we reach "Yaulzcan Mountain," which was the only song of the album I don't remember the band auditing live (it may have been a very early version if I've heard it). There’s a very sanguine feel to the first half of the song, as the protagonist sings exaltedly of shedding this mortal coil and flying away. Then the tempo quickens and we are off to a riff-driven ascension into Elysian Fields, as the curtains close.

The word "regal" was used in the press release for the new record and I have to agree that it is a fine choice here. Though the band is unquestionably rooted still in the fuzzy, low-end stoner-doom sound of their previous album, I lost consciousness of genres altogether while listening, swept away in the grand fantasy of it all. TROLL’s instincts for songcraft continue to impress in Legend Master. In fact, each of these tracks could stand on their own instrumentally, yet the vocals take them to a new level of grandiosity altogether. Regardless of how you describe it, one thing is certain: Legend Master is in a league of its own.

If you're ready to do a deep dive into the lore behind the band's sophomore record, be sure to check out my interview with Rainbo below. Late last summer, I had the privilege of getting into a long conversation with him at a cafe in Salem, Oregon as evening waned into night. I can tell you that despite how you may perceive him from public performances, Rainbo is a god damned intellectual and exchanging words with him always opens up a dozen new rabbit trails for me to pursue later on. Troll does such an admirable job throughout the record of weaving fascinating tie-ins with legend and literature alike, while continuing to develop an imaginative new world to absorb listeners.

Troll's new album 'Legend Master' (2019) comes out on vinyl, cassette, and CD via Shadow Kingdom Records on April 12th and today, we're giving you a first listen. If you dig the single, you can get it here and pre-order the album here.

Give ear...

Solemn As the grave, Ghastly hand Behold me

Walk alone With my shade Spiral eye goddess Awake!

Through these days, beyond years I wept gold and silver tears Your face was so beautiful And your kiss (flesh), divine Come and sit By the river, once more, by the river...

Through the ages My book, it will tell It breaks my heart to know You're going to hell...

Interview with TROLL's Rainbo

How has the band grown since the first album was released? What are your relationships like, has it gotten easier to make music together? Do you sense an overall distinctive style is cementing in your compositions?

For Troll, it hasn't been easy to sustain the burst of attention that came our way unexpectedly after the release of our debut album. We had some mild hopes and expectations, but we weren't prepared both for the intensity and excitement that greeted our album and our live performances- the community embraced us with almost no external promotion aside from reviews on websites that enjoyed our work. We hadn't prepared things like merchandising, tour plans, or any of the basic sustaining functions of a band, so we tried to take what came us, but mainly we were reacting rather than being proactive.

We threw ourselves into making this second record because we knew the songs were a grander form of doom, that these compositions were more indicative of our talents and where we were headed as a band. But although we seemed to turn out the recordings fairly quickly (recording for Legend Master wrapped in October 2017, only a year after our debut was released), unforeseen delays, internal miscommunication within the band, and miscommunications between the band and our label ended up causing a totally unneeded delay in the tracks being sent to the vinyl press, essentially stalling Troll through all of 2018. Because of that delay, the band has had to find strength in our desire to create unique and powerful heavy music, and we're now well into the process of developing the music and themes for the third album, the last in the trilogy detailing the doomed no-name Troll's cycle of fate.

We are stronger together now, and more comfortable on stage, almost as if during our unforced hiatus we've been training Rocky-style for this moment of return. Our mission is pure epic doom, no punches pulled, and our goal is perfection of our progressive combination of grooves, melodies, and memorable choruses. We aren't trying to be like any other band, we want to be a heavier, more powerful Troll.

Tell us the background on the new album thematically -- what's the lyrical thread running through each song and is there a link to your previous material?

To understand Legend Master thematically it's necessary to know at least a synopsis of the debut album's story arc. Troll I lyrically follows a fairly defined origin-story narrative, introducing a malevolent wizard figure who conjures the unnamed Troll out of mushroom root in an ostensible attempt to use the Troll to thwart his enemy, a witch of some great power. The Troll gains strength but is disillusioned with his newfound powers, as he can see that neither the witch nor the wizard care about him except for his potential for violence.

Troll by Troll -U.S.

Even so, he is convinced that the destroying the witch will do some good and possibly set him free from the wizard's service. But as he is victorious over her, the form of the witch morphs into that of the wizard, who has simply been using the Troll all along to culminate a dastardly spell which occasions a great flood on Earth, destroying everything. The tyrannical wizard disappears into the aether, and Troll is forced to resort to magic to escape, calling forth a celestial Dragon and leaving the Earth to take refuge on the moon until the waters of flood recede.

This is where Legend Master begins, opening with Troll being marooned on the moon for a thousand days and nights while the earth dries up. When it does, he is stricken to find that the planet seems completely dead and nothing has survived. In a fit of desperate depression, he and his dragon depart our galaxy to search deep space for any signs of coexistence, of aliens or gods. He finds nothing, but remembering that the evil wizard had mentioned something of a God at the End of The Universe, the Troll presses on into the icy blackness of total void in order to salvage something from his seemingly meaningless existence.

It is there that he finds the Watcher, The Legend Master: the thing of things, the memory and mind of all events that have ever happened, and ever will. Asked by the Troll to divulge his secrets, the Legend Master opens his hollow mouth to tell some strange tales of personal betrayal and lost loves, showing he too had once been mortal.

The Troll doesn't know that black magick hexes the Master's words as he speaks, for once the Watcher tells his tale out-loud to a listener, the listener must take his place. On the completion of his tale, the Legend Master disappears through a door leading into a vortex, freed by the completion of the spell, and Troll is pulled through the door and vortex into an lifeless interzone, to live forever with his lonely mantle as the God at the End of The Universe.

Troll is aghast, and vows to build himself an incomparable temple to his godhood, to enjoy the fruits of his limitless power. But this too becomes tiresome, and he longs to end his eternal life- which he does, committing ritual suicide while renouncing his power and burying himself in a shrine lost in the void -- but all is not yet void. The Troll's story will conclude in the third album, part III.

Legend Master by Troll

Tell us specifically about the song we are premiering and, in some detail, what it is about, how you composed it, who was involved, any tie-ins with fantasy/sci-fi lore, and anything else interesting about its recording or live performance.

The song "Legend Master, Book I: Proverbs of Hell" was built around a riff Wayne (bass) had been kicking around since 2003. The rest of the band worked out a structure and added melodies and riffs, with vocal placements being specifically sequenced to fit the album's lyrical progression. It wasn't the first song finished for this album, but it has been in our live repertoire for almost two years now.

The song thematically functions as a reverie or remembrance of a mortal episode in the Legend Master's pre-divine life, the spark of his disillusionment and search for godhood. He is trying to show the Troll that there is nothing good about being a god, especially since the wistful memories only claw at the Legend Master -- he longs to sit again by the river with his beloved one more time, but cannot.

The subtitle "Proverbs of Hell" references the collection of aphorisms of the Devil from "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell" by William Blake. Allusion is made to the poem in the lyrics, and the Troll doesn't understand that the Legend Master is hinting to his face that the Troll is the one who is doomed: being transfixed by the story, the Troll doesn't see his own transformation into a lonely god happening.

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#D&S Reviews #TROLL #Portland #Oregon #Doom #Metal #Doom Metal #Fantasy #Shadow Kingdom Records #D&S Interviews #Doomed & Stoned

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revpanikbedlam · 8 years ago

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The stars did not twinkle or shimmer as they did on Earth, and for that reason they seemed infinitely more distant and unreachable. The ship's atmosphere was not nearly as dense as it was on that small blue planet, so those impossible to hold gems did not flicker as they did when seen in far off observatories. That nebulous glow made the stars seem friendly and especially close when viewed through the fractal-convergence telescopes built into the tall castle spires of the Somek At'Grallah, but here in the void of sub-etheral space they seemed like aliens.

But however distant, these stars became slightly more obtainable as Queen Iste-Hulwa moved ever closer towards those distant points of light in her crystal ship. Thus the stellar frigate roared through space on its heading, leaving a glowing trail of rainbows in the dark which dissolved slowly into the infinite depths of the intergalactic ocean.

Iste surveyed the sky, looking for any constellations she might recognize, but having traveled so far from her terrestrial home all the sky was distorted from this far off point of reference. She looked perplexed at the glowing altar at the top of the steep step pyramid that served as the helm, then looked back into the ornate gazebo that stood behind her. Focusing her attention on the huge chunk of polished amber that sat glowing on a hallowed pedestal at its center, she spoke to it directly.

“Pom, I can't tell if we're still on the correct heading. The console is giving me mixed readings and I never had much of an eye for Oneiromantic Astrogation. The sub-ether of the Dream-Zone might be a faster way of traveling between distant galaxies but the math to understand it is lost on me.”

A small humanoid silhouette shifted inside the resinous gem before a larger, shadowy simulacrum was projected from it, which then responded with an astute but echoing sing-song.

“And not much of a mind for hyper-spacial sacred geometry either. I'm sure the scholars of Atlantis would be disappointed that you've forgotten all your elementary lessons, but luckily you have other talents to compensate.” The form moved close to Iste and playfully added, “As well as friends to crunch the numbers for you.”

Iste smiled at the shadow of the dryad with whom she had shared a long friendship. She preferred when Pom would manifest her form, for it made the trip seem a little less lonely. She also had to admit that her ghostly visage was a beautiful work of art that always filled her heart with joy no matter how many times she looked upon it. With her lithe pointed features of astral umbra and smoky white vines of hair, the illusion that was Pom's body appeared as an alluring fascination with its slight translucence that was yet opaquely impenetrable.

Pom's true body was the seed of life bound in the fossilized heart of a once potent magical tree in her homeland, but Iste had always thought the astral-projection of Pom's own self-image was the truer form. It was a mystery of darkness within darkness, a mien of obsidian glass in which she was shrouded. And although the dryad was perhaps only a shade darker than the Atlantean's own more physical flesh, as most Atlanteans were, the fey's hologram lacked living warmth. This sheen of undeath lent Pom a spectral coolness that was fearful to some but was beheld by Iste as supernal wonder.

“I'm sure the High Philosophers are rolling in their watery graves, but that hardly answers my question,” Iste shot back at the elfin shade. “I do have a quest to attend to and it would be nice to know if we're on course.”

Pom-Hymenaea sighed cheerfully and moved in position before the helm, drawing up an array of stars and grids projected in lights over the altar console. She studied them for a moment and said, “As best as I can determine we are on course. Unfortunately, your old friend didn't leave us much to follow when he sailed off beyond the sunset.”

Indeed it was true that wondrous scientist and Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao, had abandoned his throne almost two hundred years ago. He had left to seek the dreams of distant alien worlds with little hint of where his intended destination would be. An appropriate retirement adventure for someone of his power and intelligence, but he had taken with him the Chart, an ancient mapping device made with the most advanced of crystal magic.

It had been something of a gift, for Iste understood the difficulty of navigating the void without a guide, so Qi-Miao accepted it gratefully as he tripped off into the light fantastic. However, the Chart had also been an important tool in determining the placement of the one hundred Crystal Resonators, which mapped their hidden locations. Thus, without the Chart, the whereabouts of these magic transmitters was unknown to Iste and all of the sacred knights of the Somek At'Grallah.

This lack of knowledge put their order in a difficult position. The Crystal Resonators had been a collaborative work of divided labor, and with Qi retired beyond the stars the protection of the resonators fell on Iste. Yet it had been Qi-Miao alone who had been trusted to hide these devices through the terrestrial cosmos. Iste was quick to admit that the eccentric inventor was a cunning trickster, and she could not even begin to guess where the devices might have been interred.

Qi-Miao had derived the divine clockwork that caused the resonators to chime at the correct mystical frequency, and Iste had cut the crystals to hold the quality of perfect psychic harmony. Up to this point, they had successfully served as “spirit granaries” to store and distribute positive energies and draw off and cleanse negative powers. The crystals would absorb bad vibes, converting them into benevolent psychic forces that the dreamers of the world could unconsciously tap. But recently problems with the system had arisen.

They had been hidden specifically so they would not be tampered with, and as they were self-maintaining it should have been a simple matter, placing them and leaving them without thought of finding them again. Qi-Miao had modified the function of the Chart to track them, but Iste herself had insisted that he take it with him as she thought the loss of it wasn't of any hazard.

And for the last two hundred years, it hadn't been a loss of any consequence. However, when it was discovered that the demonic beings of the Diablo-Infernum had found a small number of the Crystal Resonators and manipulated them to serve their goals, the unfortunate repercussions of Iste's present to Qi-Miao became apparent. The demons quickly began to corrupt the resonators which infected the entire energy network with malicious vibrations. This served to exaggerate the nightmare side of humanity.

The mystic-scientists of Somek At'Grallah detected the change in cosmic vibrations, but only after this plot had been put into motion. By the time it was discovered, they calculated that no less than three of the hidden resonators had been rededicated towards the intent of psychotic malice. Iste-Hulwa had taken this terrorist attack personally, and immediately sought out the parties responsible. Although not acting alone, it was determined that the Demon Lord of the Fourteenth Hell, Messier Filbaskist, had used his understanding of the “in-between places” to put a number of the devices under the Infernum's control.

Iste engaged the Devil in combat and though he escaped into the dark of the bottomless pit at the lowest point of Hell, she was able to discover the nature of their plot which the 22 Demon Lords had dubbed the “Lethe Gambit.” With the Crystal Resonators still hidden from the Somek At'Grallah, and thus sitting out of reach and beyond repair, Iste-Hulwa determined that seeking out Ji Qi-Miao and recovering the Chart was the only possibility for salvation.

“We've now passed out of psychic communication range, we are now in the true Deep-Aether,” Pom reported, as Iste repeated the details of her mission in her head for the hundredth time.

“Oh, excellent,” Iste replied, pulled back to the present. “Please check atmospheric and life support systems.”

Pom drifted down the stairs at the fore of the temple-helm and danced over the grass that grew on the surface of their floating island. From above the 'deck' of their ship, its shape appeared like a teardrop, with the temple in the aft centered between a semi-circle of standing stones. Pale and titanic, the rough-hewn monuments exuded a lovely rolling fog like giant shards of dry ice. She examined the stones, then returned to the base of the stairs where a three-tiered marble fountain sprayed misty torrents of water into dripping basins. She gazed into the pools with intense scrutiny paying particular attention to the roll of bubbles churning within.

Satisfied with her inspection, she returned to the helm and reported. “The Quartz-Menhir are successfully generating an artificial dream-synthesis field providing full environmental containment, and external shields are at 98%. The fountain is producing viable terrestrial atmosphere, although it appears that the greenhouse on level 3 of the temple structure is not receiving enough light; so I'll be redistributing additional energy to the lamps. Final report: all life and psychic support systems functioning at full.”

Iste took a deep breath and took one last look over the console. “Excellent. However, do a physical examination of the lamps in greenhouse three. It would be difficult to re-establish any crops if they were lost, and they're vital for the long term life support of a trip like this. Once you've done that if there is nothing else to report, fix the heading and dismiss yourself. If I need anything else I'll call you.”

“Very well Captain,” Pom said with a chuckle before vanishing in an ethereal inkblot splatter.

Iste walked down the temple stairs and past the fountain, looking back and once again noting how much the temples of Atlantis resembled those of the later Aztec. She supposed that it was not technically an Atlantean temple as it was built by the Somek At'Grallah in the Higher Realm many millennia after The Fall. However, the “Earth” beneath her feet was, in fact, one of the last shards of the island of Atlantis.

It was a relatively small slab of geode recovered from when that island shattered and sank so long ago, and its huge crystal tetragons and natural points that clustered at its ventral aft radiated with metaphysical tornadoes of prismatic light. These energized crystals not only projected the hull through space and naturally generated the ship's power, but also served to illuminate the verdant deck of The Axis Mundi. Thus this last Atlantean Starship was brilliantly lit from about its rim by way of rippling waves of aurora borealis.

She gazed into these electromagnetic pulses of color and realized it was not the northern lights that she was reminded of, but the strange sky over the city of her youth. Iste recalled how those purple clouds of the dream-zone could be visually seen, rife with rainbow lightning surges that filled the air with the smell of sweet orchids. It had been a very long time since the people of Earth had so directly and collectively viewed the dreaming tempest while waking, and for the first time in a long time, she felt homesick for the land of her birth.

She navigated between the small knolls formed by the sacred burial mounds that had been placed in honor of that island's fallen. They framed a small winding path which terminated in a pointed overhanging cliff that served as the ship's bow. On this ledge sat a large, round, basalt sculpture which she had placed there long ago, providing the maidenhead for the ship when it was built. It resembled those stone heads produced by the Olmec, though its creation had preceded that culture somewhat and its face was more feminine. With a sudden bound, she gracefully jumped twelve feet into the air and landed delicately on the center of the fifty-ton monument, settling into a relaxed, seated position upon the crown of the head and stared wistfully into space.

“Why come out this far Qi?” she asked of her absent friend. “Was the beauty of our Earth and its heavenly realms not enough for you to focus your genius upon?”

With a sigh of lament, she continued. “And how do I even know that we are on the right path? All you did was point to the sky at a bright white star on the southern horizon, and like Peter Pan, told me 'straight on til morning' was your destination. So long ago you made that gesture, I was lucky to have remembered the astrological house to which you pointed and narrowed the possibilities from there. If only I had a hint or horoscope to tell me if I was on the right track.”

Closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind, she wished for a sign. She knew such simple enchantments were a somewhat childish bit of knavery, but just as the lesser mortals pray to keep heart, it was a spelling cast without air of expectation; nothing more than a purely expressed desire to see her friend again.

As she opened her eyes she saw the answer to her request just in time to react to it, touching the activation gems on the ornate disks that covered her ears. From those large earrings, her tall crowned battle helm instantly unfolded about her head just as a metal sphere about a full foot in diameter erupted through the ship's glowing force field and struck her armored brow with incredible force.

The impact rang against her helm like the grandest bells upon the highest mountain monasteries, and with an explosion of sound, sent Iste flying backwards over the twisting mounds where she landed in the ship's fountain with a splash. For all her abilities, if not for the powers held in her armor, she would have been knocked unconscious or even killed from the unexpected strike but instead, she was only momentarily dazed. Shaking off the staggering hit, she climbed out of the fountain and began searching for the orb that had laid the blow.

Pom appeared suddenly. “Queen Iste! Are you all right?! Long distance scans had detected no foreign objects prior to the impact breech. Do you require medical attention?”

“It's okay Pom, I'm fine. Just a tad disoriented, but not hurt,” Iste said a little out of breath, but still scanning for the object. “I thought you said our shields were functioning at capacity.”

Sheepishly, the spectral dryad admitted, “Technically I stated that shields were at 98%, which is technically functioning capacity, statistically speaking. Technically.”

As Pom spoke, Iste discovered the rogue projectile, which seemed to be made out of a brass-like metal with several seams dividing the sphere into a number of irregularly shaped segments. Although there was a slight scuff indented into the orb where it had struck her, it seemed generally unharmed and was cold to the touch.

“Well this looks like a technical two percent shield failure if I ever saw one,” she joked, hoping that Pom would not take the mishap personally. “Besides, I have something of a suspicion that I may have accidentally 'asked' for this. Although please check the system records to see if we can prevent future problems of this type.”

With a smile, a salute, and an “Aye, Captain,” Pom vanished again, leaving Iste to examine the Orb.

Iste removed her helm which folded back into her earrings, and she carried the metal artifact to the bottom of the temple stairs. Standing on the stone platform at its base, she stated, “Open Private Quarters.” Upon hearing the command, a circle of stone descended downward like a lift from the point where she stood. Reaching the inside of the ship, she traveled through a short hall adorned with strange electric bulbs that erratically sparked, dimly lighting the ancient hieroglyphs that colored the walls.

Her room was large and imperial with fine sweeping curtains, huge velvet cushions, and glorious tapestries. She walked past these comforts and instead approached a long stone workbench placed in the corner. It was covered with both conventional and more eldrich tools so she took a moment to select a few that she would need out of the clutter and cleared a spot to work.

She set the sphere on the bench and proceeded to her wardrobe. Although her ornate battle suit was environmentally sealed, keeping her dry from the neck down, her hair had gotten wet in the water of the fountain. Thus she decided a little bit of comfort provided by more relaxed clothes would offer help sharpening her mind before pursuing the object's secrets.

When removed and folded, the armor took on the vague look of a green eagle statuette as that was the outfit's prime motif with its sweeping metallic arm draperies and wing designs that spiraled about the skirt. She was happy to remove the piles of heavy gemstone beads that were wrapped in strings over top of a hidden electrified scarf which flowed into a white shawl about her shoulders. This tall, necklace-adorned gaiter stretched all the way up her long thin neck reaching just below her chin and was mildly uncomfortable. However, its discomfort was not only for the sake of serving as a beautiful adornment but, like the Quartz-Menhir that provided the ship's life support systems, this gaiter provided her a degree of localized atmosphere and protection from psychic attack.

Her hair was tied up in a forward sloping bun which sat over top her long, deep auburn bangs. She always felt the style, common to the women of the native Seminole, was still a becoming and modern look. She pulled the rings at the ends of her bejeweled hairpins which held the twist of braids in place, and it took some time to brush out the large volume of textured locks, but once free they hung down straight, glistening darkly. Once it was sufficiently dry she took a long green scarf from her dresser and wrapped her hair in the manner of a simple but elegant tignon.

She took a moment to admire her body in a long mirror. Although many uncounted centuries had washed over her countenance, her form was preserved in an appearance of a becomingly voluptuous thirty-something by way of her people's mystic sciences. Not a true immortal, she was still more than merely mortal; ageless and incredibly healthy. She smiled at the curve of her magnificent wide hips and drew her hands down the lines of her contour.

Exhibitionism was a common practice of her ancient people, as well as the people of Somek At'Grallah. Thus it was a regular sight in her culture to go partially or even fully nude, expressing the airs of both bodily pride and personal liberation. Yet Iste had always felt that fine clothes had added a tone of nobility to one's presence, and even if alone in her room, she decided that her matching green tunic and casual purple toga gave a sense of personal decorum.

While her regal lack of modesty caused her to hazard one more adoring glance into the mirror to admire her backside before dressing, she felt that she had indulged her vanity long enough. Even in private, she felt too much of that behavior led to the type of aristocratic arrogance she found unbecoming of true nobility.

It was better to simply let the ritual dressing be the period of self-idolization to laud oneself with fine fabrics and perfumes. She cloaked the toga about her, anointed her head with scented oils, powdered the pink of her hands and feet with fine talc, and then proceeded to her task at the work bench, where the peculiar bronzed rondure waited for her.

Iste looked it over first with a magnifying glass and then a jeweler's loupe before tapping it imploringly with a tuning fork and listening closely. She poked and prodded it carefully for a little over an hour before she sat back and looked at it perplexed and grumbled, “What are you?”

As if responding to her question the metallic ball whirred into life, rolling about the work bench before Iste could stop it and with a series of sudden clicks, the surface of the orb began to undulate and crack like an egg before the shell twisted and turned into a new shape. And from out of this egg unfurled a tiny clockwork man of humorous proportion; having a head the size of its body with large, round, inquisitive eyes and stubby little arms and legs which seemed to flail about uncontrollably at first until it found its footing.

It was by far not the most astounding thing she had ever seen, but it was endearing in its minor wonderfulness and she looked at it with a gleeful smile. The automation quickly noticed her watching him and shouted at her with a tiny metal voice.

“What am I? What art you? Questions, questions! That I'm not a difference engine makes no difference! Questions, questions! What lack of courtesy! Questions, questions right from the start! Not even a greeting! No hello's or how are ye's, but questions, questions from the start!”

Even though the mechanical man was obviously quite slighted, Iste found herself grinning all the more in spite of herself. However, she didn't want to offend the tiny automaton and she stood to give a slight and respectful bow as she stated, “I am Queen Iste-Hulwa, First of the knights of Somek At'Grallah, Northern Faction of the Higher Realms of the Terrestrial Space. I greet you and welcome you to my ship, the Axis-Mundi. Please, my dear sir, tell me who you are and how you came to be floating through the depths of the Deep-Aether.”

The metal man paused but the sound of spinning gears whined from within him, and then with a curtsy, he began to tick in a manner that reminded Iste of a purring cat.

“My name is Tattler, and I was a servant of the Former Grand Master, Ji Qi-Miao. He constructed me as he sailed this space upon the back of his magnificent clockwork whale. I was made to act as his journal, alarm clock, and secretary; but when he encountered a school of transcendental-krakens, I fell overboard in the battle. He must have believed me destroyed, for he never came back for me. With no means of propulsion, I went into sleep mode and have thus slept until you awoke me.”

This information pleased Iste and she said, “It is a delight to meet you, Tattler. I was a friend of your master, Ji Qi-Miao, and it is he who I am seeking now. If you are willing to help me, perhaps we can find him together.”

Tattler stopped ticking and his gears whirred for a moment as he said, “Calculating, calculating, calculating...” Until finally, he said, “Indeed, I will help you. Although I would appreciate a full oiling before any difficult questions are asked, my gears have grown stiff in my slumber.”

With a smile, Iste agreed, and after looking through her tools found some machine oil and got Tattler feeling a bit more limber. She even found some polish and did her best to brush out the scuff that their first meeting had left on the back of his head, although a small dent still remained. Minor indentation aside, it became obvious that Tattler felt instantly better to be oiled and polished, as he bounced around happily for the basic maintenance.

“So, Tattler,” Iste began. “You said that Qi had designed you to be his journal, does that mean you know where he was trying to go?”

Tattler scurried about as if he was ignoring her to look for something. “Oh yes, I know where he wanted to go. We were almost there in fact when we were attacked, but then he fled the beasts when it became apparent he was outnumbered and he vanished from my long range visual scanners.”

“You have long range visual scanners?” Iste asked politely, suddenly curious what powers the petite android possessed.

In a moment of pride, the metal man pranced about and chimed, “Why yes I do! I do! I do! I am fully capable of 500 times magnification, deep field observation, independent focus, and direct to point survey! Behold!” Reaching up as far as his tiny arms would reach, he pressed two rose colored buttons on his cheeks and with a sudden clapping sound, his huge crystal eyes suddenly protruded almost two feet from out of his head on a set of tubes.

The sudden unfolding gave the somewhat cartoon impression that he had seen something startling, and the force of their projection pushed Tattler back causing him to fall into a seated position. The eyes seemed to rotate in opposition as if they were both fighting to look in different directions, which required Iste to stifle a giggle as the lenses googled wildly at her.

Iste wasn't sure how to react and was confused by what he was showing her until she realized his eyes were actually a set of high powered, telescoping spyglasses. Iste stared for a moment without saying a word but could suddenly sense the little man was feeling a bit exposed and embarrassed by her lack of response so she quickly exclaimed, “Wow!” as sincerely as possible and then added, “Oh my, that is very impressive. So you're a lookout too? Does that mean you saw where Qi-Miao went even after you had been lost?”

Tattler's chest swelled with a sudden puff of steam and he cheerfully touched his cheeks to retract his eyes before responding. “Yes, I saw. For it seemed that he was drawn into a distant cosmic vortex just short of his goal, for Levee his whale was injured and unable to fight the current. Where it drew him off to I cannot say, but I could likely direct you to it so long as you took on the same heading. He was attempting to reach a certain star in the Carina constellation ofArgo Navis, in hopes of discovering a particular theoretical planet in orbit around the star Canopus, which was also called Ariki to some who gave it spiritual significance. This star was considered to be the southern polar star by the Ming Astrologer, Xu Guanggi, who noted it to be the most important star in the configuration of The Vermilion Bird of the South. But in secret star-maps of Xu Guanggi, acquired by Master Qi-Miao, there were also implications that within this system was a great source of magnetic consciousness which...”

As Tattler tried to finish what he was saying, he was interrupted by a sudden lurch of the ship. Before either of them could react a huge crashing noise accompanied a tremendous shaking that knocked them both onto the floor. The lights hummed and undulated as a loud series of blasting zaps roared out above them.

“Pom! Status? Report!” Iste shouted with calm authority as she got to her feet.

Pom immediately appeared although she was obviously still occupied simultaneously on the bridge, for her form was translucent and not all together there. “I'm not sure Captain! We seem to be under attack by invisible forces. Shields seem to be slowing down whatever it is but not holding them off and basic countermeasures seem ineffective. Weapon systems cannot lock in on an exact target. I've begun open barrage, but whatever it is it seems immune to our lasers.”

Iste grimaced. “Very well Pom, proceed with evasive maneuvers and full barrage. Attempt to overpower shields between volleys and see if that will push whatever it is off.”

Tattler scuttled across the floor, diving into the pile of cushions. “Not again! Not again! It is the Transcendental Space Krakens! Not again! I only just got out of the void, I do not want to be cast back into it so soon! Not again! Not again!”

Iste shouted at the pile of pillows. “Tattler! Pom said lasers aren't effective. If these are the Space-Krakens you faced before, did they show any weakness that you can recall?”

“They seemed immune to almost all attacks, only Levee's psychic sonar scream seemed to scare them off. It was just enough for the Master and her to get away.”

“Only vulnerable to direct psychic attack?” She chuckled confidently and grinned wide in spite of herself. “I suppose I'll just take care of this myself, then.”

With a swift, extravagant twirl, Iste unveiled herself in a singular motion. The folds of her garments floated down around her like autumn leaves, and Tattler's eyes shot out again as he watched Iste's form appear before him, nude and impeccable.

Falling into a short and distinct kata of elegantly choreographed dance, her movements were accented by the singing of a ghostly song that possessed an antediluvian quality. The ship shook and tilted and the artificial gravity failed sporadically. Various objects bounced across the room, falling and floating erratically. However, Istemoved gracefully by maintaining her own sense of reference, detached from space as the Axis-Mundi spun about her.

As her dance ended, she thrust her arms out to her sides and the green eagle statuette unfurled its wings and flew to her. Unfolding itself and then wrapping around her as it met her touch, she was again adorned in her ornate suit of mystical armor. Tapping her earrings, her head was encased in her heavy battle helm. Armed and armored she ran down the hall to the stone lift, shouting back over her shoulder, “Stay here and try to be safe, Tattler!”

The tiny automation remained buried deep in his pile of pillows but chirped loud in response. “Will do! Will do!” as he tried to shove his eyes back into his head.

As Iste rode the lift to the deck of her ship, she gripped in her right hand what appeared to be a large crystal point approximately a foot long. The points themselves were exposed and glistening prisms, but the center of the crystal appeared to be wrapped in leather held in place by twists of gold wire. This gold was braided at the ends, creating a series of thick, ornate cables which formed an elegant basket hilt like that of a saber.

She drew an electronic gun-shaped device out of a holster on her hip. Its barrel was a long pipe with several metallic bulbs near the end which terminated with a setting like that of an oversized wedding ring. In that setting was placed a red diamond larger than a fist, and it glowed with an energy that flickered across Iste's bright tan eyes as she exited from the ship's cabin.

Set in vivid darkness against the ship's blaze of northern lights were obvious yet unseen tendrils of nothingness, each wrapping themselves about the vessel. Iste glanced up the temple stairs where Pom drifted between several manifestations in order to operate the helm's console from several angles at once. She sensed that the limbs of this ethereal beast were seeking to strike at the ship's controls, but the outward push of the dryad's aura seemed to drive the unseen menace from its goal.

Iste knew that Pom's amber crystal radiated a raw telepsychic field as she projected her image, and although it was typically harmless to most beings she noted that the monster recoiled from the gem. Seeing this, she grinned as she realized that this confirmed Tattler's guess; that these Deep-Aether squids were susceptible to heightened mental energies.

Her heart pounded hard in a slow rhythm as she asked herself how long it had been since she had last been in the fray. Too long had she been trapped in the halls of power amid naught but pomp and circumstance. The diplomacy and politics of the aristocratic life had been her charge in hopes of maintaining the order of the higher realms. Yet she was now far and away from that place, and her body sang as the joy of battle gripped her; a warrior's hymn from elder lands long lost tasted like honey on her lips as she leapt into the sky.

The segmented metallic draperies that ran from the center of her back to the bracers of her gloved gauntlets erupted in a pink field of energy. This field was as solid as her armor and unfurled from her limbs as a set of rose colored wings. On these, she soared into the air like an angel to meet her foe. Realizing the beast was not to be seen by the light of mortal eyes, she closed her lids gently as she continued to ascend, singing boldly. Looking within, she saw the thing: gargantuan, bulbous, and lurid.

At first it appeared to be three monstrous cephalopods, each with a singular bulging red eye and several toothy beaked maws. But then she saw that the creature was a sort of hydra, one horror with three heads awkwardly bound together in grizzly folds of gathering mantle. From this macabre swell of fetid flesh, scores of maliciously spiked tentacles emanated, each dripping with acrid ectoplasm. Those tendrils not entangled about her ship were now reaching to halt her ascent, yet at the summit of her flight she sang the verse of victory in her ancient song and from the crystal handle of her blade-less sword flared a brilliant crackle of lightning.

From that minor storm, a rainbow brand rippling with a surging current of eldrich force erupted from that crystal hilt. Singing still, she spun in the air like the most masterful dancer and cut free a number of the creature's reaching pseudopod. The Kraken thrashed in pain bludgeoning the ship which careened wildly out of control despite Pom's vigilant efforts. The Axis Mundi filled the void with a vivid display of lights as batteries of lasers pulsed wildly into the distance with a thick ozone smell.

Iste dove down hard and fast in pursuit of the dreadful squid, driving her sword into the eye of the central head. As she punched through the membrane, it exploded in a wretched splatter that filled Iste's mind with awful visions, and her ears rang with the lingering psychic screams of the creature's past victims. Iste was caught off guard by the hallucinogenic images inspired by the being's spiritual gore spilled on her in melee, and the two remaining heads took the opening to strike.

It hit her in the center of the chest, driving her down into the stairs of the temple with a cracking of stone. Her head swam, but she fought off unconsciousness. She lifted her blaster to take aim but discovered the crystal had insufficient charge from the long period of disuse. She sought to sing but her diaphragm cramped in a pain that seized her breath, failing to notice that the wind had been knocked out of her in the heat of combat. combat. Iste gasped for her words as the pistol clicked uselessly in her hand.

The creature roared in a shrill whine just beyond her ability to hear, but in the lag of its scream, she could hear its bellowing shout in a deep residual hum that made the whole of the ship vibrate violently. For a brief moment, Iste felt a shock of fear as she could hear loud crackling sounds as the crystals that composed her ship began to shake themselves apart. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins finally drew her abdominal muscles back under her command and her chest once again filled with air.

She cried out with a sudden and beauteous crescendo, singing forcefully from her diaphragm, and the singular perfect note filled her blaster with energy. With a small tornado of glowing rings circling about the gun's diamond barrel, a brilliant torrent of radiant plasma ripped into the creature tearing the left head from its body. The creature itself was now gripped quite obviously with fear of its opponent, and let go of the ship. But this left the ship in free fall as it tumbled through the void. The creature attempted to descend with full force into Iste as she stood poised on the steps of the temple-helm.

Again the warrior of Atlantis and First Knight of Somek At'Grallah stood firm, shouting out with a loud kia followed by a glorious trill of song. From this melody she fueled a barrage of blaster fire, and amidst the flurry of prismatic strikes from her sword, the Transcendental-Kraken made a last effort to drive its immense bulk into her.

The stone stairs below her feet began to shatter and sent broken shards up about her. But her aura blazed bright as the sun and the strength of her mettle became a psychic shield of willpower, a perfect barrier set about her through which the monster could not pass.

With a last shrieking knell, the Kraken fell into a writhing death-roll which it used to fall into her with all its might, but in vain. In this last moment, the integrity of its body failed and in a sickeningly abhorrent mass, the creature discorporated. As it spontaneously turned into a viscous fluid it rained down onto the ship, smearing it with an ethereal slime that spattered across the deck and trailed behind them.

For a moment, Iste was overwhelmed by the hallucinogenic ectoplasm and fell faint into nightmare visions of remembrance. She was forced to recall other violent battles, wars with foes that had once been her friends. Exaggerated horrors created from her personal failings that swelled up from her long lived past, and the heart of all her fears: memories of her sinking homeland as the crystals below her feet shattered and the sky as she knew it vanished from her sight above.

“Iste! Iste! Wake up! By all the Animal Masters, Iste wake up!” The voice cut through the fog of miserable memories. “Iste! The ship is holding together but just barely. Many of the power crystals cracked and some of them even shattered. We're having trouble maintaining atmosphere and life support!”

Looking into the translucent umbra of the dryad's face, Iste remembered where she was. “All right, let me gather myself. The systems are damaged but not knocked out, so we just have to remain calm and start regeneration protocols. What about navigation, where are we? Where are we going?”

Pom looked pensive and with a deep frown said, “The engines are completely out. We're in full speed drift without steering.”

Iste tried to maintain composure, but she had to admit the situation was dire. As she tried to decide as to the next course of action, she noticed Tattler exiting the lift and climbing the stairs to join her, although the steepness of the steps provided him extreme difficulty. His awkward ascent made her smile despite circumstance, but she moved down the stairs to help him.

But it only took a few steps before she realized that she had to struggle herself. Her armor was resilient, but the nigh-physical power of the beast had managed to exceed its endurance. She seemed to have broken a rib or two in the fight, thus found herself sitting on the steps again trying to catch her breath.

The clockwork companion reached her, climbed into her lap and asked, “Is the danger over?”

Iste nodded to him with a light smile. “It is, but our ship is so damaged that our expedition is probably going to have to be halted until we are able to make appropriate repairs. Searching for Ji Qi-Miao will have to wait.”

Extending his telescoping eyes outward, he glanced off in the direction that the ship seemed to be drifting before retracting them again. In a happy tone, Tattler gave a chiming report. “Oh no, oh no, don't you worry about that. Damaged or not our ship is still in pursuit of my master. If you look you'll see, we approach the same cosmic vortex into which he and Levee fell!”

Watching as Tattler pointed off into space, Iste shot a worried glance at Pom who vanished to the ship's helm and returned in a flash.

“He's right,” the dryad somberly reported. “We're being drawn towards an unidentifiable spacial anomaly. Advanced analysis indicates no conclusions about the nature of the aberration, but early readings do suggest that it may be a cosmic vortex.”

Although a mild sense of dread lingered, Iste found herself amused more than fearful. "Wonderful,” she said with a reassuring grin. “At least we're on the right track.”

#sci fi & fantasy #original character #short story #trans author #poc characters

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sage-nebula · 8 years ago

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Pokemon Sun/Moon games please?

@yoshi12370, you also requested this, so I”m just going to tag you here! And also, oh boy, let’s see if I can keep this to five, because to be entirely honest I’ve been thinking about my dissatisfaction with Sun/Moon’s plot a lot recently (especially with everyone is gushing about how it/its characters are “the best the series has ever had!!1!” which … no).

Justice. For. Gladion. This is honestly one of my biggest sticking points, because I’m still so aggravated with the way he was treated by the game’s narrative.To begin with, he was hardly in it. Although he is introduced on the second island, his introduction is brief, and he doesn’t show up again until much later in the plot to give a cryptic warning, and then when Lillie and Nebby go off to Aether Paradise with Plumeria. Now, most of the characters in this game were neglected, and if he was simply another character then—while I would be disappointed because I like him—I would be more inclined to sigh and let it go. The fact is, however, that he should have had more of a role because he is Lillie’s brother and Lusamine’s son. He should have been just as important to the plot as the two of them, and he isn’t, to the point where it’s actually rather easy to forget that he’s even a part of that family considering the fact that he’s completely cut out of the picture after the events on Aether Paradise. Hell, even when Lillie shares her memory about dancing in the rain, Gladion isn’t mentioned at all. She recalls no memories of her brother whatsoever. Even a little mention there would have given a nudge that, hey, he was once part of this family as well—but we didn’t get that, on top of not seeing him throughout the plot. Considering his role in this family, it’s unforgivable.And it’s especially unforgivable in the climax. Don’t get me wrong, not having him show up more throughout the game is just as much of an issue, considering the fact that there are so many gaping holes in his story. For instance, he’s an “enforcer” for Team Skull, but what is it that he enforces? Team Skull doesn’t have any power in Alola whatsoever. They are, understandably, treated as a joke by the populace. Clearly he isn’t enforcing any sort of regulations or power, because they have none. He’s also not keeping the Skull grunts in line, because they openly disparage them, and he doesn’t even live in Po Town. Instead, he lives on a completely different island in a motel room. Given the fact that Team Skull is dirt poor and the fact that the motel manager tells us that Gladion paid two years of rent in full and is running out of money (presumably to buy food), we can also assume that Team Skull isn’t even paying him for whatever it is he does. So why is he employed by them? What is he getting out of it, and what does he do? We don’t know, because the game doesn’t bother to tell us. (Well, we do know that he wants to get stronger, so perhaps he battles—but again, we don’t know why he’s battling for them, if he’s battling with them or against them, et cetera. None of this is elaborated upon at all.) So all of that is an issue, but the fact remains that he’s not allowed to be a part of the climax, despite the fact that Lusamine abused him just as much as she abused Lillie before he left, and continued to berate and verbally abuse him when he finally returned during the Aether infiltration (and sicced Guzma on him to boot—nothing like abuse by proxy!). Gladion isn’t allowed to call her out, confront her, or even be there to support his sister. He’s not allowed to be there despite saying that he feels some measure of (misplaced) responsibility due to the fact that she is technically their mother. I get that the game wanted to give Lillie her big moment, and I’m glad she got to have that, but I’m upset that she was the only one who got to have it, and that Gladion’s abuse is so casually swept aside (and that he’s forced to go back to Aether Paradise to “clean it up” even though he had no believable reason to do that, and it’s clear that they forced him to do so just to get him out of the way). Hell, Gladion had far more of a reason to be there at the climax than the player did! If anything, it should have been Gladion and Lillie playing the flutes, a sibling duet in order to open up Ultra Space to go after their horrible, abusive, excuse for a mother. I also wish the game would have been even more explicit about the abuse Gladion suffered (which is implied to have been shifted to Lillie once he left, meaning he got the brunt of it before he did), because people still dismiss it and call him “emo,” and that really upsets me as someone who comes from an abusive background and reacted similarly to how he did. So seriously, justice for Gladion. He needs more of a role in the plot. He definitely needs a role in the climax. He and Lillie both need to confront Lusamine, together, and he needs to go to Kanto with Lillie to travel with her and show her the ropes of being a trainer (and also just to reconnect with her after their two-year separation). That would be a far better ending.

Lusamine needs to die. She should have died in the climax. Killed off for real, no take-backs. Aside from that …I’m upset at the rampant abuse apologism throughout Sun/Moon’s ending. The implication that she was the way she was because of neurotoxins, or “well she was nice to Lillie once so clearly she can be redeemed��—bullshit. My own mother was abusive to me and employed many of the same verbal/emotional abuse tactics Lusamine did (as well as some physical ones that we’re never told Lusamine did), and yeah, sometimes she was nice. Sometimes she showed kindness. That’s what abusers do, that’s what the abuse cycle is, that’s how they keep their victims where they want them! They show kindness sometimes so that the victim thinks “they really do love me, they’re just having a bad day/I made them angry/it’s this other thing that went wrong.” And hell, it fucking worked! Gladion says straight up that he told himself that Lusamine’s behavior was caused by his father’s disappearance so he could get through it. He specifically says that’s what he told himself so that he could get through it, meaning a.) that’s not necessarily true, and b.) he was trying to convince himself that his mother did love him, she did, she just had external factors that were driving her out of control. Particularly if she had rare moments of kindness with him like she did with Lillie, that would make it easier for him to convince himself that there were factors beyond her just not loving him, and thus make it easier for her to maintain control over him for as long as she did. (Which was a long time; he might be calling her “Lusamine” and “the president” by the time we meet him, but that letter found in his motel room has him apologizing for escaping his abusive situation, good lord.) Furthermore, we know that the rain dance situation was a rare moment of kindness because Lillie talks about how she was shocked she didn’t get punished, and kept waking Lusamine up because she couldn’t believe she was allowed to sleep in that bed. It was out of the ordinary for Lillie, that’s why she remembered it so clearly. Lusamine was an abuser from start to finish, and the game’s constant harping on healing her, redeeming her, helping her get better, and how her abused children felt responsible for caring for her was abhorrent. And honestly? While I’m on how absolutely repulsive that was, it’s especially repulsive to me because it was shoved down our throats that Lillie and Gladion had to help Lusamine after everything she did to them. Ghetsis was awful, yes, but the Unova games never made an attempt to tell us that he should be redeemed, or that N had a responsibility to him. N did come back to try and stop him in B2W2, and did try to talk some sense into him, but it was made apparent that N’s felt responsibility was in stopping Ghetsis from committing more evil, not taking care of and looking after him. It was never portrayed in such a way as, “Ghetsis abused N, but N still owes responsibility to him.” In the Alola games, however? Despite the fact that we see more on-screen abuse from Lusamine than we saw from Ghetsis (and more realistic abuse, too! She straight up pulls a line straight from my own abusive mother’s mouth!! I had to put the game down for a second I was so affected!), we’re still force-fed the “oh it wasn’t her fault” and “she can be redeemed” and “her kids are looking after her, don’t worry!” It’s vile. It’s straight up vile. I loathe it. So all of that said? She should have died. Nebby should have obliterated her after the Mother Beast battle. If they really wanted to, they could have still had that Regina George line that she gives to Lillie, all “when did you start becoming beautiful?” (bitch she was always beautiful, stop giving her backhanded compliments, and don’t ever talk to me or my daughter ever again), but then she should have legitimately died. I know that would be taking it a step farther than usual considering we don’t typically kill off characters in these games, but we talked about mass genocide last gen, we’ve talked about death in this gen, and they did straight up murder Lysandre’s ass in the anime. They could and should have killed Lusamine. Lillie and Gladion should have been free, and I would have been much happier. (Seriously, the relief I felt when I thought she had died, only to be crushed when I read the words “oh, she’s fine, just unconscious.” Ffs, kill her off! Vaporize her! Grind her into dust!!)And yes, I’m fully aware that Japanese culture plays a lot into familial responsibility, and honoring your parents, et cetera. Believe me, I know. But that doesn’t make it free from criticism, and it’s not as if Game Freak didn’t know that these games would be localized for a western audience. So while I’m sure that their cultural values did come into play, and while I do acknowledge this, it doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be bothered by or criticize it, particularly since quite a lot of Lusamine’s behavior was reminiscent of my own abusive mother’s. (And also? Alola isn’t even a Japanese region, it’s an American one, so if anything, western values do play some role in it, too. It’s a complicated issue, but nonetheless.)

Pretty much the entire cast was under-utilized, to the point where the only one who had legitimate development was Lillie. Everyone else either had rushed or no development whatsoever, and barely impacted the plot. However, the main ones are:- Plumeria. Plumeria was barely in the plot, which is the second biggest damn shame next to Gladion’s minimal presence. To involve her more, I would have had her play an actual role in the Aether infiltration, namely in order to call Guzma out on his horrid treatment of Team Skull. While Guzma has a history of abuse himself (his behavior really speaks of someone who was abused in childhood and never received help), that doesn’t excuse how he treats the Skull grunts now, particularly since those he acts abusively around (by screaming, trashing the place, gloating about “beating down” Gladion, et cetera) are children, while he is a grown man. Plumeria is said to be Team Skull’s “big sis” and it’s clear that she cares about them. Therefore, she should have confronted Guzma at Aether Paradise with regards to him selling out the Skull grunts to the Aether Foundation, should have called him out on how horribly he treats them, and should have battled him, perhaps even for the title of Skull boss. Seeing Plumeria take charge and get shit done would have been amazing, and would have made her presence in the plot actually worth it, rather than completely wasting and not developing her character at all.- Burnet. Just like I love Plumeria, I also love Burnet, but again, she has a grand total of one scene in the plot, and that’s not enough. It’s especially not enough when you consider the fact that her specialization is in the different dimensions and creatures within them, which is directly tied to Sun/Moon’s main plot. We see Kukui all over the place even though his specialization has basically nothing to do with the main plot, and that … that’s a damn shame. Like, no shade on Kukui, but it’s a shame. So I would have involved Burnet more as well, including giving her a confrontation with Lusamine over both the Ultra Beasts/Ultra Space and her treatment of her children. - Hau. Hau was pretty much a static character throughout the game, and his presence in the plot was, again, very minimal. We get hints that he has more to him—living in Hala’s shadow, his father disappearing, brief disappointment when he loses right before the League, and his discomfort around Gladion due to how Gladion is constantly dragging him—but it’s not enough. I would have liked for Hau to have an actual character arc about building his own confidence and learning to be comfortable with himself, rather than just showing up for a friendly match, few jokes, and malasada lines. Again, I love Hau, but he should have had more done with him—he should have been a better realized character.- Wicke. Wicke is so boring. Her dialogue is bland, and her role in the plot basically amounts to “nice maternal figure who doesn’t actually do anything but low-key drag an abused boy by calling him ‘sheltered.’” Her character needs to be completely reworked to be more interesting. Also, make her somewhat villainous like Faba? Yes please.Really, all of the characters need expansion, but those are the ones that I keep coming back to whenever I think of all the wasted potential. There’s so much wasted potential.

I would have liked Lusamine’s focus to be less “OMG BEAUTY MINE MINE MINE” and more about scientific beauty. The Aether Foundation—which, mind you, should have been evil from conception to end, I hate that they were just ~*~temporarily~*~ evil, fuck that noise, I’m still counting them as the real villains, idgaf—has a very sterile, scientific feel to it. Even if we don’t go the straight up alchemy route (#disappointment), they’re creating chimeras and running space-time experiments. Lusamine is the president. I know that the game threw in an NPC saying it was her grandfather who created the Aether Foundation (of course), and also that it was Mohn who carried out the bulk of the original experiments (of course, this is all very typical of Pokémon, unfortunately), but in my view we should excise her grandfather, and hell, excise her husband (it’s not as if he’s terribly important anyway, we could do without him—and no, we don’t need him to explain the twins, because if Johto Rival doesn’t need a named mother, then Lillie and Gladion don’t need a named father), and make it about her and her fascination with science. Because here’s the thing: They can keep Lusamine’s interest and love for beautiful things while also making that interest and love clinical and scientific rather than obsessive and a stereotypical brand of feminine evil. Formulas can be beautiful to a scientist. Ultra Beasts could be beautiful to her in a fascinating way. To her, it can be less about beauty in the form of love, and more about the beauty in control, the beauty in flawless experimentation, the beauty in power and having her plans come to fruition, the beauty of science. Rather than Lusamine’s motivations being reduced to either “she wants to love things” or “she’s obsessed with beauty” or “she’s obsessed with finding her husband,” it could be all about her scientific experimentation, quest for power, and other motivations that are, quite frankly, typically given to male characters but are for some reason denied female characters for, gee, some reason we just can’t figure out. Having Lusamine still retain her manipulations and deception and playing that into her exceedingly high intelligence would have been far more interesting. Hell, if they wanted to model her after another character, GLaDOS is right there. I’m just saying.

I strongly dislike how the player was touted to be this amazing gift from the heavens without doing anything to actually deserve such praise. The Pokémon games are, of course, set up with the express purpose of enabling the player to Be The Very Best Like No One Ever Was™, but ordinarily it either happens as a bout of happenstance (the player is usually just in the right place at the right time, and is only given just enough thanks for whatever it is they did—and sometimes less than they deserve, tbh), or it’s literally written in as a bout of potential destiny that someone (/coughcough N /coughcough) chose to make a reality. Here, however, it felt like the trainer wasn’t really doing anything but completing a few really easy “challenges” (the Island Trials were not nearly as complex or involved as I would have liked them to be; I really enjoy the concept, but I want them to be more like Zelda’s temples in the future if they’re brought back), and then being practically worshiped by every single character for literally no reason, including and especially Lillie, even if you’re a jerk to her in your dialogue choices. It was excruciatingly aggravating by the end of the game, to the point where I actually disliked having to sit through cutscenes of Lillie gushing over the player character. Those were scenes that would have been much better if she was instead bonding with the brother she had been separated from for the past two years, you know? I don’t need praise heaped upon me, especially when I’ve barely done anything. I’m just a person, and not even a very interesting one. Please, take the laurels off me, pass the focus over to the twins, and let me enjoy a story in which they both get the focus they deserve, instead of having me take Gladion’s portion just so that the game can try and make me feel special. So yeah, this is a huuuuge issue that would need to be fixed, but less hero worship for the player, harder challenges, and more focus on characters who aren’t the player (and are thus actual characters and deserve the focus far more therefore). That would definitely be an improvement.

#five things i would change meme #yoshi12370 #kittykatzvillage #there's a lot more i could say tbh #the more i see people gush about these games the more ://// i feel #Black/White were far superior plot-wise imo #these were still really good #but they're far from The Best™#long post for ts

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