[open] hydaelyn's house for wayward souls

[exarchal]

Who: Anyone!
When: All of November.
Where: The Haven, at the "classy" grade house maintained by some people from the FFXIV cast.
What: It's mingle time. Drop by for a visit, make your own toplevel, maybe ask who that weird old guy sleeping in the yard is. (It's probably crystal grandpa.)
Warnings: Mind FFXIV spoiler warnings in threads!

[ Located past the fanciest manor houses is something a little more modest. The most prominent thing one would notice about it is the front yard, which someone obviously spends some time in, though the cutting of certain bushes is a little close to amateur. More importantly, it looks a little messy but very inviting, and there's almost always the smell of something warm and delicious coming from inside the house. The lush and flowering garden in the back has a recently-scrubbed fountain and running water, as well as a near-permanent host of small birds. Is it magic? Probably. Most of the flowers are roses, though, which are a bit hardier than your usual flowers.

The interior is just as cozy, with a fire in the hearth that's almost always going, and plenty of books loaned or purchased from shops. Furnishings are occasionally sparse but the kitchen is fully-stocked, as is the family room where most people spend their time. The dining table exists and it's nothing fancy, but there's almost always a smorgasbord of fruit and other snacks left out for visitors.

New this month are tiny sigils drawn in faintly glowing paint along the windows and doors. Teleportation wards are in place, as well as soundproofing for each bedroom (ahem), so anyone teleporting directly inside the house will find themselves repelled.

There is a spare housekey under the mat, though, if someone gets locked out. ]

Comments

[exarchal]

[He can tell Emet is struggling, at least he imagines he is. The Exarch isn't great at reading Emet-Selch specifically, but he's practiced with people. On the other hand, he's contending with his own anxiety over this whole exchange. He's tempted to rip off the cowl right now, almost; he's in his own domain, he doesn't think the Ascian would blow up their kitchen or something over the revelation that it was obvious all along.

But... he can't. Not yet. Part of him hesitates, fingertips trembling against his robes before he folds his arms. He'd be gripping his staff if it were on him. It's nearby, at least.

He breathes in through his teeth.]

There is only one thing in this world that bids me gaze upon the face of my tormentor, willingly and openly, mayhap even to cooperate with that dread shadow. And it is not something as small-minded as spite.

[He sets his shoulders.]

But what is another ghost to dog my step-- another nightmare to haunt my slumber? Long have I had the company of both, and I will continue to do so until my watch is ended.

... I will not convince you of aught and I do not wish to. I refuse to be entrusted with anything unless it is readily given.

[unsundered]

Readily given? Do you want my gratitude for your offer, do you expect me to beg you for the opportunity?

[Even that thin veneer of calm is shredding to nothing, as he takes a step towards the Exarch, unconsciously threatening. Even then, Emet-Selch clung to anger as though standing on a precipice, despair lurking on the other side of it.

It was only a matter of time.]

What choice do you think I have?

[Refuse, and let history remain unrecorded, unremembered, lost? Everything they've ever been, have felt, suffered, accomplished... all of it, forgotten? How could he put his pride, his spite, ahead of the one remaining thing he could do for his people?

...And there's the despair. His voice falters, closing his eyes as he turns abruptly away from the Exarch entirely.]

I would- and have done everything for them. You'll have your story.

[And he nearly hated himself for it.]

[exarchal]

[This time he can't help but flinch and take a step back, and he realizes that might have been exactly what Emet-Selch wanted but he can't take it back now. He needs a moment, so he takes that moment while Emet seethes and churns like a storm, all his fury ebbing into despair. The Exarch isn't trying to rub it in but gods damn it all, Emet-Selch just loves projecting himself onto people. It's frustrating in its own right and woefully dangerous.]

Pray do not put words in my mouth, [he says flatly.] I only meant that I do not want you to feel coerced, or forced, or anything else that might make this more unpleasant than it has to be. But you have made it clear enough that you do, and... I do not know how to change that.

[He pauses. Takes a deep breath, lets it out. His eyes settle on the Ascian's back.]

I can only give you my word that I will not sully your memory, or theirs.

[unsundered]

[Though it wasn't his intention, Emet-Selch can't deny the dull satisfaction in seeing the Exarch flinch back from him. As collected as the other man usually was, there were few times the Ascian ever saw any trace of the unease- perhaps even fear?- that his presence brought.

It was petty and meaningless to find any sort of gratification there, or in being deliberately unpleasant, but what good was being miserable if it wasn't shared? He'd ever inflicted his nature on others, though then as now, it did little to shift his mood.]

You have my cooperation. My apologies if my demeanor makes it difficult for you to savor your victory.

[If their positions had been reversed, if the Ascian had won, he knew he would have had no interest in preserving the violent history of the sundered world. If anything, he would've erased every record of their lives, as one would sterilize a wound. It was hard to believe that, when given the opportunity, they wouldn't do the same to him.

All he had was the promise of someone he knew had every reason to despise him.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he fixes the Exarch with a stare from one cold yellow eye.]

Your word... means nothing to me, Exarch.

[exarchal]

[The Exarch just looks resigned. One could even call it a little sad, but it's difficult to tell without the ears beneath the hood giving away all. He collects himself and takes a small step back, intending to leave.]

We might call upon one of the Warriors of Light whenever we begin. Despise me as you will, but they may be receptive to your company, and your stories.

For now, however, I think I have harangued you in the kitchen enough. [As if Emet didn't just insert himself here.] Mayhap we should revisit this another time. As you are my esteemed guest, you have full run of whatever food remains.

[unsundered]

[That sounded like a dismissal, and for once Emet-Selch is congenial to the suggestion. Did the wards prevent him from teleporting out, as well as in? Gods he was tempted to try it, but knew not to risk it.

So instead he just stalks past him out the door without an answer, for once using a rather rapid pace, waving off the Exarch's words as though they weren't even worth a reply.

In all honesty, he just didn't trust his voice not to snap at him, as though his bitterness wasn't obvious already.

...Well, that was one way to chase off an Ascian.]