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[open] hydaelyn's house for wayward souls
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!
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. ]
no subject
I daresay I do not have a choice in the matter. We have clearly been placed on separate sides of the board, and we move in parallels, with one piece neither of us dare to touch-- one you would have as your pawn, while I know them to be naught less than a queen.
We are connected, if only through them.
[He straightens slightly.]
But to your point-- I have questions as well, yet none you would so freely answer. Curiosity can sometimes be cruel, particularly if it dredges up memories you would prefer not to relive.
no subject
A connection we both must endure. One of those difficulties of friendship.
[The last part gets a more thoughtful hum.]
And perhaps not- and as you share so little of yourself with me, can you really blame me for a certain returned reticence? Though I doubt you could ask much from me that would be any worse than what I regularly consider.
no subject
Sharing more of myself would not satisfy your own curiosity, I fear. My origin is quite plain compared to the storied individuals I conspire with.
[He curls his hand beneath his chin for a moment.]
I would know the history of the city that blazes so brightly in your memories, and other cities like it. I would know the true history of that world so such a blight could not be repeated and all that was done to save it. Population-- economics-- regional tastes. Councils and functions. Education. All the things that make a civilization, preserved and protected, so that we might learn from it.
no subject
[And not something he'd easily give up finding the answers to.
But the Exarch's request has him silent, and Emet-Selch looks aside, any pretense of flippancy fading. It was a history he didn't mind sharing with the Warriors. They'd earned his name, his respect. But the Exarch- intriguing as he was- wasn't someone he held to quite the same level. But he can't dismiss it entirely either.]
...Are you aware of my dying wish to our dear friend? While I have no doubt they will make the greatest attempt to ensure my people are not forgotten, they are yet mortal. You are not. You could do more to carry on their will- if you so chose.
[Though he was sentimental to his core, the Ascian was also not without pragmatism. If the only thing he could do for his people was to ensure their memory was passed on, their history not buried- then he would do it.
Though the thought of the younger races making use of his civilization's knowledge was... unpleasant, it was better than it being forgotten entirely. He was spiteful, but not to that degree.]
I realize this, but I don't know you like I do our friend. Why should I trust you with it?
[It's an honest question, not accusatory, nor insulted.]
no subject
I... was not privy to them, no. 'Twas not my moment to intrude upon, so I did not ask.
You wished for your story to carry on? I cannot think of a finer messenger than the Warrior of Light.
[His heart lurches anyway. Things with Emet are so... complicated. The Students of Baldesion studied Ascian activity so thoroughly they had to be put down, or something like it.
He pauses. His breath doesn't tremble when he speaks next, even though it is a very personal truth.]
I have carefully preserved and guarded the history of two worlds. In me I carry the hopes and dreams of countless souls. Those who fought and died for those hopes-- I carry the burden of their lives as well. Whatever the path, whatever the cost, I swore to see my sacred duty through to its end.
But before all of that, I was a simple historian. Culture, stories, legends... These are passed down from generation to generation, as tangible as any bloodline. Whether we are aware of it or not, we have inherited the will of those who came before. That will not change.
no subject
I trust them to try, and to present it honestly. And we both know how stubborn they are. Even so, their influence is not eternal. Time has buried us once already.
[And if everything the Exarch said was true- and Emet-Selch had no particular reason to doubt him- then he would be an exemplary guardian of his world's history. Someone who knew the difficulties of preservation, but also had the experience of it. Not a well-meaning hero, but a practiced soul.
Emet-Selch sighs heavily, looking back to the Exarch, expression almost pained.]
You're making this quite difficult, you realize. I accept that, of anyone, you're likely the most qualified I could find. With your notation, and my memory, a finer history could not be written.
[But there's always a catch.]
However, you've worked to prevent the salvation of my people, and succeeded. Their hopes and dreams, everything you've done has been to ensure they would never see the light of day again. And now you circle our corpse, waiting to consume us.
[His fingers dig into his palms; the Ascian's gaze doesn't waver.]
I'm sure you can understand my... hesitation.
no subject
I do not relish that, you know. Consigning the memories that you recreated to mere dust is not what I call a pastime. Yet, I do not think it fair or just to hold the rest of the world accountable for the past, to make people bleed now for what their 'ancestors' did. Mortals have ever turned toward the future... even this old steward of the Tower. Call them shortsighted, but their ability to move on is part of what makes them so resilient.
[But they've had this argument a dozen times. They are each the adjudicators of their own history.]
Regardless of my own... feelings on the matter, 'tis quite plain that our friend would not like for you to be forgotten. Your story will be told-- at least, as much of it as is known.
no subject
They didn't deserve his history. But if they didn't carry it, no one would. And that thought hurt even more.
So he bites it back.]
Yet your own feelings on the matter are quite relevant.
[His tone is neutral enough to be nearly toneless. As detached as Emet-Selch could make it, the thinnest of shields over an unceasing turmoil. Talking himself into this was... an uncomfortable affair.]
There is an inherent bias in the writers of history. Deliberate or not, the historian's own views will filter through, distorting the truth. What assurance do I have that you won't go that one step further- deliberately twisting the past to justify the value of the present?
There will be no one left to contradict you. You could have us be as shallow, decadent, and cruel as you like- the doom we faced one we brought upon ourselves, that was naught but deserved. Oh, you'll take what you can use from us, but what will you do with the rest?
[Not that Emet-Selch truly believed that the Exarch would be so blatantly false; mysterious as he was, he never struck him as that sort of person.
But his people were the one thing that mattered to him; he had to be sure.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]