isleofavalon | January catch-all (open)

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January catch-all (open)

WHO: Emet-Selch and whoever
WHAT: Questing and getting up to (hopefully minimal) trouble
WHEN: January
WHERE: Camelot area
WARNINGS: Implied body horror for first prompt. There may be mild spoilers so let me know if that's something you want to avoid.

1. Bridge to the Other Side (Knight quest)

If he were in possession of his true magicks, Emet-Selch thinks sourly to himself as he gazes up at the bridge trolls surrounding him, then these beasts would be vanquished without a second thought.

The one in front of him leers and jabs a blunt finger in his face. "Hand over yer valuables if ye know what's good fer ye, little man."

He's sure that the brutes would be more intimidating to someone of shorter stature. Frankly, they would be intimidating to most anyone possessed of weaker wills. Emet-Selch, however, is not intimidated.

"I'm afraid I really must get by," he says evenly. "Don't you have better things to do with your time? Say, slavering over whatever it is you things eat?"

This produces a raucous round of grunts and laughter. Sighing, the Ascian unbelts his grimoire and flips through the pages to a new alchemy circle he has drawn for this precise situation. Actually, while he's at it...

"To me," he says quietly. His familiar materialises out of a swirl of shadows with a growl. At his silent command, it starts to glow and ripple violet. Emet-Selch's eyes glow bright gold and an arcane wind whips up around them, forcing the less self-assured trolls to back up a step and look on fearfully. A strangled gasp. He doubles over, convulsing - the gwiber joins itself to him, body and all, granting him part of its form and its power.

He is still a man, but he is also a dragon. His eyes gleam bright violet with gold edging, wings tear their way out of the back of his vest and shirt, flashes of dark indigo scaling harden across swathes of skin, and his hands and feet grow into thick, lethal claws. Most importantly, however, power thrums through him. Not nearly the same as what he ought to possess, but enough.

"Shall we see what I can make of your blood and bone?" he says, before bursting out into a guttural laugh. He holds the grimoire out before him, readying his spell for whoever attacks him first.

2. Shadlin Shakers (Knight quest)

It's quiet in the woods. Too quiet. During the day they had been unremarkable, and someone with less care for their work may have been content to leave it at that and leave before dark fell. However Emet-Selch, for all his laziness, believes in doing a job properly. He comes to the woods in the late afternoon and stays until night darkens the land. There are many creatures who won't show themselves except under cover of darkness. It is these creatures he wishes to see - if aught exist.

Fortunately for him, they seem to indeed. He can see and feel their eyes staring at him from out of the shadows. They aren't too unnerving at first, but the deeper he heads into the woods, the more their gazes bother him. He has grown used to making himself the centre of attention (for the greater good of his people) but he always had moments of reprieve. Private moments to himself and spaces to retreat to when it grew too much. Ultimately, the silent blinking eyes of the Dusklight Woods grows unbearable and he finds himself pivoting about, shouting.

"Are you quite done staring?!"

3. Reflections in Crystal (Mirror, Mirror TDM prompt)

Another cave. Emet-Selch strides in without a second thought, wishing people would stop hiding precious commodities in these dank sorts of places. Things would be so much easier if they had their necessary materials somewhere easily accessible.

Just as he's thinking this, an image begins to form before him. He halts, frowning suspiciously as the image wavers, clears, and materialises upon the ground. Not just one but many scattered all about the floor of the cave. Bodies. Cloaked in the dark robes of his people but he knows by their heights that they aren't his people.

"What trickery is this?" he mutters, walking over to one and nudging it over with his foot. It rolls over, white, nondescript mask falling from their face to reveal a lifeless Felih.

He reels to his feet. Checking the others reveals more familiar faces: those of the people he has grudgingly allowed himself to care about. Irhya, Jophrey, the matriarch, and more from long, long ago in his past. And past them all...someone standing before an altar to Zodiark, dressed in Ascian robes with a jagged staff of violet crystal in one hand, made again in the image of his god. He knows who it is before they turn around.

Is that how he looked like before? Cold, lifeless eyes behind a red mask sweeping detachedly across the dead. His illusory self fixes its gaze upon him last.

"Necessary sacrifices to bring back our star," the other him says. "Mere fragments, unworthy of your time."

There's another figure lying on the altar behind them. He steps around and feels his stomach drop. The name slips from his lips before he can stop himself.

"Hythlodaeus..."

Lying bloodied and mangled, as he remembers seeing them in the aftermath of the Final Days. But it's clear Hythlodaeus is not part of the other sacrifices littering the cave floor. No, those sacrifices are for him. His people. To bring them back to life.

He backs away feeling numb. This is the cost, writ plain as day. He has succeeded in ignoring it for so long but the toll is laid out for him to see. Everywhere he turns, another body. Closer to the walls, they pile so high as to nearly reach the ceiling. If he were to approach and turn over each one, he's sure he would recognise every face.

The other him lays an ethereal hand on his shoulder and leans in, whispering. "Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid? Then allow me to dispel your doubts..."

It raises its staff and the staff begins to glow. Emet-Selch doesn't seem to notice, rooted in place as he is and staring at the countless bodies stretching before him.

4. Wildcard

If you have other ideas for a thread using prompts either from the questboard or the TDM, send me a PM.

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In the dead of winter do they three set off from Camelot, hoping to find their way to this 'Land of Rot' that the people have warned them about. Danger has never deterred Emet-Selch - nor Irhya - and Hythlodaeus seems too cheery about the prospective journey to worry about aught else.

The journey itself is expected to take several hours by foot, giving the three of them plenty of time to plan ahead for when they discover the ghosts which supposedly live at their destination.

"I never understood the purpose of money," he remarks. "It only serves to divide the people into those who have and those who have not. If I could only create my own blade..."

Felih had been warned about the cave, and told of their goal. They were to retrieve the crystals and take them on the journey to leave at their destination, but hells, Felih hated dank places like this. His fussiness about cleanliness made him bristle and huff and fuss about avoiding touching... well, anything.

That, and it's still so cold out. Winter is awful. The deeper he goes, the more he wishes he still had magic of any kind- this cave nulling even the scant healing magics he'd been able to cling onto in this realm. It's dark, and makes him uneasy... it's only a familiar scent that makes him speed up and move further in with more determination.

To his confusion, all he sees is his beloved, standing stock-still in one of the caverns, staring into the air.

"Hades?" Felih murmurs softly, stepping closer, reaching out to touch his arm. It's only as he finally touches his mate that he suddenly starts to see things that definitely weren't there a moment ago, and he startles, looking around wide-eyed as he tries to understand what he's seeing.

Edited 2021-01-08 03:39 (UTC)

"Ah. That desperate for something to complain about already?" Irhya grins, turning coyly to try and catch his eyes. "I would agree with you, by the by, but I've also never known anything else..."

But the real complaint, of course, is that he can't afford a blade for himself, something she knows she'd be restless without in a situation like this. "Tell you what, though. If I can get access to a forge in the coming days, and scrounge up some materials, I'll make you something. At -- a discount, most likely." Then she turns to Hythlodaeus and asks, "Do you want anything out of the deal? You really ought to have something to defend yourself with for the future..."

He jolts at the touch, grabbing Felih suddenly. All at once, he realises that his other self is preparing to do and yanks himself and Felih away from them. Darkness spills forth from the staff, splashing against the floor of the cave before dissipating back into nothing. Emet-Selch doesn't know why he's so afraid of it. It's only Darkness. Only Darkness... Zodiark's Darkness.

A chill runs through him. Being tempered again - is that what he fears? To have his judgement clouded, heart closed off. And yet...to also have the power to fix their shattered star.

He feels sick. Conflicting desires war anew in his breast. Why give him this hope? He doesn't want it. He doesn't need it. He's dead and that should be the end of it. The world is in the hands of the mortal races now, theirs to make flourish or ruin.

He's frozen again when the phantom Emet-Selch advances upon them once more. "Felih," he says numbly, gripping the shorter man tightly enough to almost bruise, "help me."

Hythlodaeus chuckles to himself as he watches his friends banter, and at Irhya's question he waves a hand bashfully.

"Oh, I would not know where to start with a weapon! Besides, I was rather hoping I could leave protection to my two gallant knights."

As in them. They're the gallant knights.

He rolls his eyes. "I do believe you have let this realm's stories get to your head, Hythlodaeus. Irhya is the only one with any claim to the title of knight. I am a mage."

A mage who is quite comfortable lobbing fireballs above the heads of actual knights, thank you very much. Alchemy doesn't exactly lend itself to said lobbing of fireballs, that said, but he's been working on preventative measures in case they do get attacked on the way.

His mate is terrified, and now that he's begun to see the same visions, he understands why. There are bodies littered everywhere, there's a shade of Emet himself approaching them, a face he doesn't recognize but an aether he does, and his mind is racing a malm a minute in an attempt to parse what's happening.

The darkness that had nearly struck them, before Hades pulled him out of its path.

Felih feels helpless. He has no magic here, the cave's magic stifling him, a heavy weight weighing down on him as he tries to protectively put himself between Hades and his shade. Even with Hades gripping him so painfully tightly, he puts himself there, tail bristling as he stands his ground.

This feels too real, far too real.

"You're not him anymore," is what he says to his mate, as he stares the phantom down, never once removing his gaze, watching it like a hawk. "You have a choice, now, darling. Only you can make it. Not me, not him- only you."

He hasn't felt this afraid since he first saw the stars rain fire upon Amaurot. Choice...? What sort of bad jest is this choice?! His gaze wanders over the lifeless, cloaked figures and sees only the bodies of everyone he failed to save. His people. His loved ones.

"Do you think you matter to him?" the phantom says softly, not even bothering to acknowledge Felih with a look. As if they were beneath him. Its eyes remain fixed on the real Emet-Selch. "You are a mere shard of a friend I once knew. A pale reflection. Do I love you because of who you are or who you were?"

Emet feels himself grow cold. He cannot bring himself to look at Felih for the words strike a chord within him that he cannot deny.

Felih's known.

He's always known, but hearing it just breaks his heart all the more painfully. His ears pin back and he swallows hard, still stubbornly standing his ground despite it, back to his mate as he stares down the shade. He blinks back the tears and his tail bristles.

"A pale reflection, huh? I could say the same of you. Mind and heart clouded and controlled by someone else, twisted until you're hardly recognizable as the man you once were... a simple puppet for another being to use for its own ends. You can't see or judge anything until you've unclouded your eyes. Are you going to keep running away from that truth?"

"And mages are far too squishy to take hits," she says with a laugh. "So I guess I'll just have to defend the both of you. For now."

Not that she's terribly interested in becoming a proper "knight" here, given how against-the-grain her job actually is. "Besides, they'd hate me as an actual knight," she adds, "I guarantee you. I prefer not to run with or against them; I clean up what messes they leave behind."

"You don't...understand."

These ragged words from the real Emet-Selch. He looks haggard, haunted by more than the phantom before them. He looks as though there's no more life in him. His grip slowly grows slack before falling away.

"I fought long and hard for our star, and this is all I have to show for it," he says heavily. "A mountain of corpses reaching unto the firmament. You cannot ask me to bear this weight. How can anyone...?"

He slumps against a pillar and buries his face in his hands, shaking. "Zodiark was to be our salvation! Until She tore Him apart...!"

Not just Zodiark but their star, their people. Try as he might, nothing can ever quench the resentment he feels towards their self-proclaimed 'Mother'.

"Even had She not come, you know it would end in nothing but death. Primals need aether for their sustained existence, and Zodiark is no different- how long could your people go on, sacrificing to him, until there was nothing left? Tempering spreading and spreading, with no one left to oppose giving it what it wants..." Felih swallows hard again and looks back at his mate.

"Death would be on your hands either way, so long as any primal lived."

"You don't know that!" he shouts, head snapping up to glare at Felih. "I told you, the only thing you short-lived races know is war. You kill anything you fear and label it a monster to assuage your own conscience - just look at how you treat the beastmen! Your primals are a reflection of that. But not ours. A people such as ours who never knew conflict would never dream up something so horrific!"

He subsides clutching his forearms, shoulders hunched. "Elidibus would never allow it," he mutters.

"You don't know, either!" Felih finally turns around, eyes brimming with tears as he shakes and throws a hand out to the side, frustration burning in his chest. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end, you created a primal who required more and more sacrifice to provide anything! If your primal was truly so pure, so omnipotent, it could have truly restored balance without ever needing such sacrifices and offerings! But a primal is a primal no matter the source- it will consume the aether until there is nothing left to give! No matter what a primal aims or is intended to provide- it will drain all the world around it in the end!"

"To be tempered is to do everything to keep that primal alive, and that means to keep it existing, the sacrifices would never end!"

Squishy?.. This is the first time Hythlodaeus hears the word used in such context, and looks over at Hades curiously. Nope, doesn't seem to be different than usual.

"He is actually rather fit, you know?"

Trust Hythlodaeus to 1) not stay on point at all; 2) not provide any context as to what he's talking about now.

"I like the idea of knighthood, but I must needs admit it saddens me there is such a thing as needing protection."

Hades WAS going to ignore the obvious bait. But a sudden gem of an idea grows in his thoughts. Something to score a point over his friend with.

"...That isn't what you said when you had your way with me last moon," he remarks, keeping his expression neutral. As if it were the most normal thing in the world to mention.

They'd split up, despite Hades's grumbling about how Hythlodaeus can manage to get into trouble in a closed empty room, not to mention a cave, but the argument that they might be able to find the crystal quicker eventually held some weight. Hythlodaeus has wandered off to a side cave, the light of his familiar's fire reflecting warm orange on the walls, but it feels like it hasn't been three minutes before he suddenly hears his name. Smiling to himself, he retraces his steps, poking his head back into the main cavern - to see his friend seemingly frozen in place.

"Hades?"

Hythlodaeus frowns slightly, a little worried, and strides towards the other man, who suddenly backs away from empty air before him - a fact that makes Hythlodaeus no less anxious. He gestures to his familiar which takes off his shoulder instantly, seemingly growing a little bigger as it hovers over the two of them protectively, and then Hythlodaeus reaches for Hades's shoulder--

--only to be dragged into the illusion. He startles, only some back part of his mind noting the change in the scenery as his attention is solely focused on the face he hasn't seen in some time - and even though the features are the same, there is a coldness, otherness to it that strikes fear in Hythlodaeus.

"Hades?.."

He repeats the name, disbelieving, uncertain of what's going on - he can feel his friend's shoulder under his hand, the warmth of the body he's wearing now, yet there's no denying that the man standing before them is the one Hythlodaeus had first met so many, many centuries ago.

But once his mind manages to refocus on the present, the sheer sense of wrongness becomes more and more prominent. The sight of the bodies around the cave finally seeps into his consciousness, the uncaring, lifeless look in the Architect's eyes is all the more menacing, and with a sinking feeling Hythlodaeus realizes that the energy gathering in the staff is likely aimed at the Hades he's come to know now. But for better or for worse, he's always been stubborn in his way...

"No."

He steps in front of his friend, as though to shield him, extends a hand towards the man in the mask in a stopping gesture. In truth, his heart is beating madly with unfamiliar fear - never, never before has he been afraid of Hades, and he's barely managing to keep himself from thinking about the bodies lining the floor and the walls, for if he does he knows he won't be able to move anymore, and yet... Though he's turned down the position, Hythlodaeus is still chief of the bureau, second to the Architect, and protecting their people is still his duty. And Hades is still one of them, no matter what, even if it's himself Hythlodaeus might need to protect him from.

He has no defence to offer to that. All he can do is glare a few moments longer before he's forced to drop his gaze. He had thought he had known what he wanted. But the truth is rarely so simple, is it?

It's then that the phantom speaks up again, quiet yet firm.

"A life for a life. There is no fairer trade, is there not?"

The other Emet-Selch half-turns, staring at the body on the altar. They grip their staff tightly, though it's hard to tell with their pitch black gloves. "I do this not just for him but for my people. One final offering. That is all it would take. And then we could restore our paradise."

It feels as though his stomach has dropped out. No, he can't make this choice. He doesn't want to make this choice. It had been easier when Zodiark was all he had lived for. He had had a purpose then. Destroying worlds then had been nothing more than gently fitting the cracked parts of a broken pot back together.

His eyes burn and tears slide silently down his cheeks. Sinking to the ground, he hugs his knees to his chest and cries.

He's never felt so alone.

Irhya stops, her mouth dropping open.

"Wait, you guys really--?"

Well... it would seem Hythlodaeus actually managed, then. At first, a brief twinge of something like sadness forms in her chest, but she is quick to brush it away by smirking wordlessly at the man in question.

"So... does that make you official, then? Can I needle you about it now?"

First of all, curse the two of them. Second of all, thank heavens for the mask and the fact that Hythlodaeus chose to wear it for the trip, what with setting out from the city and environs. At least it mostly hides the sudden colouring of his cheeks, the only direct evidence to Hythlodaeus's embarrassment being the way his mouth sets into a stony line.

"Oh, if 'tis official information you are after, I must needs direct you to the Architect himself. I am certain he would be most glad to provide you with a detailed account of our Bureau's activities. I can but share some unofficial anecdotes - such as, for one, when he choked on his coffee when I innocently offered to share our desserts."

Love is war, as they say, and in this case it's a war of who manages to embarrass the other the most.

His mate seems to break. And so does Felih's heart. He ignores the phantom behind him, instead sinking down to his knees before his mate, ears low. A hand gently reaches out for Hades, trying to gently stroke over his hair, along his cheek, stomach turning with guilt and misery.

"...I'm sorry," he murmurs quietly. But he knows his beloved can't keep running from the truth. Felih is small and helpless and powerless, he knows. Compared to full Ancients, he is nothing but a husk and a shard, a shabby substitute for the person Hades truly loved. It hurts to have it confirmed, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

If only it were so easy to stop loving.

Just as the battle begins, a bolt of lightning suddenly strikes out of nowhere followed by a shrill screech. A familiar blue-feathered beast appears, one that looks more serpent than a bird. It hisses viscously at one of the trolls before suddenly dashing towards it. It would seem that Tonitrus, as Regis has named it, has taken the initiative here. The viscous fiend lives up to its fierce namesake. It rips at the offending troll with beak, pecking away until the flesh becomes bone. A gruesome sight to behold.

"Tonitrus." A familiar voice calls out as the thunderbird mauls its prey. "You're a bit too hasty today," Regis says with a sigh once he spots the grotesque beasts upon the bridge. He's clad in black and golds today, looking very much like the Lucian Kings of yore despite his lack of a crown. While he looks very similar to before, it should be noted that the old king is without his cane and leg brace now. He stands tall now looking very much like the Reaper himself except for his serene gaze.

"It would seem that the rumors were indeed true." Regis comments in regards to the trolls. "But I hadn't expected to see a dragon here." He says as he turns his gaze towards the macabre of flesh and scales.

Unfortunately, Hades does not have a mask to hide the way his own cheeks colour. But he's quick to rally, drawing himself up with a sniff.

"Don't let his unflappable demeanour deceive you, Irhya. He grows quite incensed when you murmur in his ear." And he leans in towards Hythlodaeus here. "Like so."

Irhya makes a noise of curiosity. "I daresay it would be inappropriate to get him riled up right here, though. Didn't we come out here for a reason?" But by the way she licks her lips, she's not as interested in that as in hearing them go back and forth at this point.

"Besides," she adds as she starts moving again, rolling her eyes, "I seem to recall you also enjoying such a thing... And to think, you don't even have any fur on your ears."

There's no hiding the way Hythlodaeus startles at the sudden warmth of Hades's breath in his ear, lips pursing again to try and salvage some pride. Between that and Irhya's look, Hythlodaeus gets the feeling he's in danger.

"Whatever happened to valuing privacy, most eminent Emet-Selch? Though mayhap I needn't be so surprised, not after what you've done at the cafe."

It's up to Irhya to imagine what that was. Hythlodaeus isn't sharing yet.

"But I do agree with you, Irhya. For all our Architect tries to act confident nowadays, that resolve is rather quick to crumble, if you but assert a little dominance over him."

He's not losing this game.

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Page 1 of 6

January catch-all (open)

closed to Hythlodaeus and Irhya

mirror mirror prompt

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Bridge to the Other Side

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