victory_road | Something Wicked This Way Comes

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Something Wicked This Way Comes

a. The crucifix in my hand's a lie/'Cause nothing ever kills you (action)

[Of course Aymeric thinks little of nudging a fish back to the water. It's so unnoteworthy, that he thinks nothing of it as he returns to his hotel. And so it starts with nothing more than a chill, one that runs down the span of his back. He's on his way back from a morning run, awake and at ease in the early spring weather. That mood crashes as the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and followed by the sharp rush of paranoia. It's a sensation he hasn't felt in a handful of months, not since his feet were last upon Eorzean soil. Where once his hand would fall upon a blade at his side, however, it careens through empty air.

Swearing, Aymeric turns, at least preparing himself for whatever attack comes his way. He expects... something certainly. Mayhap the bedraggled citizens or clergy who have suffered still despite his promises for a better future. Or perhaps still, a temple knight believing the claims of heresy and patricide, seeking to save Ishgard from him.

What he doesn't expect to find the white hair and resplendent garb befitting a wizened ruler, nor the pointed ears and willowy height of his people. And he certainly doesn't expect blue eyes, paled with age and shadowed from how they've sunken into a face, but still the same as his.]

Father-

[He takes a step back, thunking against a hotel room door -- perhaps one of his friends', perhaps someone else. He knows what he's seeing cannot be right -- though he had not witnessed the man's death, he had no reason to doubt it, either. Yet here he was, apparently living and breathing and...

Not speaking. Silent as the dead, but staring at Aymeric.]

b. Out of myself, it began evolving/I am not well, repent I'm guilty (video)

[cw: descriptions of injuries/violence pertaining to war and such!]

[Aymeric is not alone when the video starts. Depending on when one comes across it, maybe that isn't so surprising. But the sheer amount of souls behind him, never mind the variety, might still be alarming. Each varies, from Elezen to Hyur, and even the occasional Miqo'te and Lalafel. Some are dressed in armor or robes, others in farming garb or other clothes. The only thing that unites them are the fact that they are all wounded in some capacity. Be it claw marks, arrows, slashes from blades, or even horrific burns, it is clear that whoever they are, they met an end most unpleasant.

But they are not the only faces. Behind them are a number of draconic creatures -- some Wyvern in nature, towering over the humanoid faces, others flap their wings steadily to keep afloat. These creatures, too, are wounded -- this time most prevalently by blades, lances and other weaponry. Where such weapons linger, it's clear that they are of a relatively similar make, all bearing identical iconography, as if from the same standing army.

And finally, there are the actual dragons. Of these, there are only one or two, but foreboding nonetheless. It is, perhaps, a good thing that Aymeric has found his way to an empty space outside of the city -- corporeal or not, the sight would surely be alarming.

Weariness hangs heavy on Aymeric's features. He casts not a glance behind him, even though Lucille the Altaria does. Instead, he keeps his gaze focused on the camera, keeping his voice steady, though a hint flat for those that might know him.]

I... seem to have been plagued by an issue. [You know. Putting it mildly.] And so I wished to ask if I might be the only one struggling with... this occurrence. And if anyone else has come across this matter, how they have resolved it?

[He closes his eyes, and for just a brief moment, his brow pinches with something -- grief, despair, distress, it's hard to say.]

I thank you for your efforts.

c. You'll whisper, serpent tongue/What you fear you have become

[Here's your wildcard option! Want to deal with Thordan VII or the many faces of both Ishgardians, Dravanians, and dragons themselves? Send me something here, or chat with me at

ashstriferous]

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[Man I would love G'raha to actively be startled by SUDDENLY THORDAN but I feel like the A prompt isn't where that should happen? Where can we get these two talking about the elf pope do you think]

[Gimme the Groohoo...

But uh, I imagine after a certain point Aymeric is going to be going about his usual business (albeit like this so in theory anywhere around Goldenrod is feasible? What's our beloved catman up to this horrid day?]

[asdfghjkl

Gosh he's probably somehow not crossed paths with any weird fish and is like. Getting his two Pokemon the equivalent of pup cups from Starmiebucks? The boy's in for a fucking shock that's for sure!!]

[Sorry to interrupt ur Pokecino my friend but we've got bigger old men to fry

I can get something up here shortly though!]

[Ye take your time! G'raha's got a whole cup of ice water for himself he'll be okay he's hydrating]

[For better or for worse, it doesn't take terribly long for Aymeric to realize that, while Thordan is a upsetting disturbance, he is a harmless one. He doesn't speak, and perhaps even more importantly, doesn't seem to be able to interact with the world. Attempts to make contact, both verbally and physically, are met with empty air.

Which... sort of leaves Aymeric at a loss. Thordan being little more than an annoyance means that, in theory, he should be able to go about his life as usual. He doesn't exactly want to explain the towering elderly man following him around, however.

Still mulling as much over, he opts to at least treat himself to tea to calm his nerves. Not his usual preference of a sitdown teahouse, mind, but a quick drop in to grab something quickly and get out.

Which is why he ducks into the Starmiebucks with his head ducked low. With luck, the locals will think he's merely taking a relative out for a walk. And by the grace of Halone herself, mayhap no one will ask questions.]

[And surely it could've been like that - maybe it still could! Because G'raha is speechless.

He's speechless, a cup of ice water halfway to his lips, as his eyes had turned to the opening door and caught sight of good fucking gods is that the oldest Elezen he's ever seen trailing behind Aymeric. The robes give his station away immediately, and he can think of no one besides the late Archbishop who might fit this description, but...why was he see-through, and following Aymeric? He knew what had been written about the two, of course, and it wasn't his place to pry, but...

As G'raha Tia has a blue screen error, his Pokemon nestle beside him with tiny cups of whipped cream. Skimble is very vocal with his approval, while Adamas...h-how does a Carbink eat without a mouth one can discern? At least G'raha's holding the cup for him, forgoing the need for hands.]

[Had G'raha not made an immediate and obvious note of him, Aymeric truly might have turned tail and left. As it is, he's left to stare wordlessly at the Miqo'te, somewhere between sheepish and outright miserable. Surely a purveyor of history such as G'raha Tia would know of the complicated relationship between the two of them.]

I see you have avoided trouble this morning.

[Just ignoring the ele~~phant~~zen in the room.] </small.

[I mean, well, yeah, but he's not like...gonna flash Aymeric's personal business to everyone in the Starmiebucks.]

...I...what is going on, exactly?

[This is the first time he's seen this shit today what in the hells!!!!!]

I... wish I could tell you. [He casts another glance over his shoulder, only managing to make himself look all the more tired when he sees that Thordan yet lingers.]

He is not real. Attempting to make contact has only resulted in my hand passing through. And he seems to have little to say.

[But... you know, he's here. Looking at Aymeric with an expression that's close to disapproval.]

[Well his disapproval is wrong and mean.

Anyway.

G'raha just. His face flickers between silent horror and complete bafflement, while his Carbink, Adamas, finishes his cup of whippy cream to come and inspect the apparition. Hmmmm...weird looking elf man, huh. Weird, weird looking guy.]

And there is no way to...he will not leave?

Not that I have discovered. He simply... looms.

[There are worse people to have looming over you, at least when it comes to disturbing others. An old man in resplendent robes is strange, but it isn't terrifying either. Not unless you knew any better.]

Your work with the Students did not bring you to Ishgard at any point, did it? This is the first time you have "met" him, as it were?

No, nothing with the Students turned my path to Ishgard. [His time with the Ironworks in the Eighth Umbral Calamity, though...but that was not a kind or happy trip.] Briefly with the Scions to entreat Estinien for aid, though, yes. But the Archbishop had certainly not been a presence in the city at that point.

[I mean he knows...the base facts, but. You don't just tell someone their estranged father would have been super dead for a long time when you got around to visiting their home.]

So, insofar as this can be considered a "meeting", yes.

[It's doubtful that Aymeric was even privy to the details of the Eighth Umbral Calamity, simply because it's not the sort of thing that makes it into a report. Even if he were, though, it's not a thought he wants to linger overlong on. After working so hard to keep Ishgard not only afloat, but to set her on a path forward, it's nauseating to think that it might simply been wiped away in nary more than a blink.]

Consider it a blessing, then. Though the man was equipped with all the manners of an Ishgardian nobleman, he... was far from a pleasant soul. Good that you did not have to parse out all that he had to say.

[Yeah no G'raha Tia is no Debbie Downer, he isn't going to tell someone how badly their home fell to ruin over the span of centuries.]

Even if I had been able to reach the city, I doubt I would have warranted so much as a glance of notice. Unless, of course, Ishgard's various archives of knowledge require one to petition the authorities for use...?

[I mean. He would've definitely just snuck in if that were the case, and get into heaps of trouble if caught, but. Like. He'd try the legitimate way to see the Forbidden Tomes first!]

I imagine that much would depend on what information they sought. Some of the Vault's more sacred texts might require considerable permission, though an emissary of Sharlayan might have sway, given your commitment to neutrality.

[Aymeric can't imagine that any test even tangentially related to Ratatoskr would have remained, even in the Holy See's most securest of vaults. That would do little, however, to belie the paranoia that was passed down from one Archbishop to the next.]

[Oh he would absolutely not know what might be lurking under lock and key in the Holy See but he would try to find it on the principle of the matter. If you're locking it up, it must be intriguing!]

Perhaps, perhaps not. I am aware Ishgard was not much interested in those from the outside until fairly recently.

[The thud against the door is met with a muffled call of "Just a moment!" that Aymeric will easily be forgiven for missing, given his ghostly visitor. When G'rhyf does arrive to open the door, they're startled to see Aymeric so immediately in their line of sight and move quickly to brace him before he falls without that support behind him.]

Aymeric? What's wro--

[And then they see him. Thordan, in the guise of the Archbishop and staring with a cold gaze that chilled them to their core.]

["Who...what ARE you?!"]

[In a breath G'rhyf moves to shield Aymeric behind them, mouth twisted into a snarl and burning a glare of their own into the Archbishop. Whatever the man's intentions, they will not let him lay another finger upon Aymeric again.] When in hells did you get here?!

[Aymeric does indeed feel himself tip backward as the door opens. He makes a note to thank whoever has saved him from outright collapsing later. Probably after he explains why he's stricken dumb by what might as well have looked to be a harmless old man.

Before he can even think to begin that process, or even manage movements of his own, he's being shifted backward, with a smaller form shoving its way before him. He recognizes the faint highlights of G'rhyf's hair after a moment, though he can hardly appreciate the heroics and bravery of the warrior thrusting themself immediately into the fray. Wordlessly, he offers a hand upon their shoulder, though it may just as easily be for his own benefit. His fingers tighten, their presence keeping him rooted in the moment.

He isn't afraid, not really. Without his knights or any of his inherited power, Aymeric is almost certain the man could be effortlessly bested. But that doesn't keep the memories of one of their last meetings from flooding in, of how the man responsible for his very life had subjected him to a fate that could have easily been worse than death. Even now, staring Thordan down, he feels the aches of the wounds inflicted that day.

Yet the man says nothing. His eyes narrow as he stares down G'rhyf, clearly recognizing them, and even taps his scepter as if to summon his retinue, but he still says nothing.]

G'rhyf. [Finally, Aymeric manages to find his words.] Something about this does not feel right. Look upon his ears. He has not changed like we have.

[The clang they expect of the staff doesn't come, muffled by the carpet, and somewhere in the back of their mind part of G'rhyf laughs hysterically at that. An absurd anti-climax, but the gesture still leaves a feeling of dread in the pit of their stomach--especially given what the last time they had heard that sound had called.]

[Aymeric's hand on their shoulder called them back to the present, and feeling a phantom flick of their ear their eyes flicker over Thordan. His ears, the proportions of his limbs--all properly of an Elezen type, not Hyuran. They relax slightly, but still keep one arm out to protect Aymeric.] And he would have started saying something by now. Some sort of trick...?

[The eerie silence with which Thordan moves only makes the experience all the more unnerving. Unconsciously, his fingers tighten against G'rhyf's shoulder. The warm of the person before him, the life that they exude remind him that he's not there, that he had been saved. That he had lived to bring Ishgard forward in all the ways Thordan himself had been afraid of.]

I know not.

[Thordan's face betrays next to nothing, but there's a clear line between his brows that indicates his own frustration. Anyone else, and Aymeric might have pitied them. Now, he doesn't want to suffer whatever the man might have wanted to say.]

But if it were magic, I understand not who would cast the spell. Only a rare few know of the man, and fewer still would seek to... unnerve me with his presence.

[He absolutely might have pointed fingers at Emet-Selch but... They'd come to an understanding, had they not?]

[G'rhyf is equally unmoved by Thordan's frustration--whatever he may have been like in his youth, all they had known was the old man that had thrown in with those that he knew sought his own destruction. G'rhyf turns slightly towards Aymeric, their free hand reaching up to close over his own as they look back up to him.]

Could a Pokemon have plucked the image of him from your mind? Those little foxes before... [But then again, that mischief had been far less...subtle? More childish, might be a better phrase.]

I know little and less as to what these creatures are capable of. [The mischief that the Zorua had gotten up to had been a pain, but at least it had been easy enough to deal with. This, however, is a painful memory, one that Aymeric would have preferred to remain tucked away within the caverns of his mind.]

I might have hoped that I had seen the last of him, even if my Mind's Eye could never purge his visage.

[For once, Aymeric doesn't balk at the contact between the two of them, or fret over decorum. The touch of G'rhyf's hand is a grounding one, and though their positions make it difficult, he hopes that the Miqo'te can feel the gratitude he directs toward them.]

[They don't say anything with face or voice, but they do clearly sense it. A small shift to stand a bit closer, their grip on him tightening ever so slightly; their own silent way of saying I'm here for you.]

Perhaps Estinien would know... [Or Emet-Selch, but his advice is a bit of a last resort for any number of reasons. Either way, they need more information to be sure of just how real....whatever is happening right now actually is. G'rhyf considers Thordan for a moment, considering him, then reaches up with their free hand to. Sort of test how solid he is? Just waving their arm back and forth at him in a way that would normally start slapping at the staff and his chest because they have zero respect left for this asshole, okay.]

[ She recognizes the weariness on his features because her own mimic it. Similarly, in her video feed, there's a plethora of phantoms past loitering in the background. Some are monstrous, some more human- Either way, it's clear that she's exhausted by their presence.

This is what she gets for helping that stupid fish. ]

You're not alone, [ she answers, which- Obviously. Duh. The woman sighs, running a hand over her face and through her hair. ] But, unfortunately, I haven't figured out a way to make them stop- So, y'know, if anyone else clues you in- I'd like to know, too.

[Aymeric studies Rose's expression first, before his gaze shifts back past her toward the many faces lingering behind her. It fills him with an odd sense of foreboding. All of his ghosts made sense, considering his position and what he had done to them. It is hard to imagine Rose having such power.

Still, he doesn't pry. Though he might wish to know more, he can tell by her expression that this is not the time.]

It is unfortunate to know that I am not the only one afflicted. Though if anything, it gives me cause to find a source and resolve it.

[ The point is that it's hard to imagine. Rose doesn't want to be the person who had the power to be haunted by so many. Still, no matter how far she runs it seems it always has a way of finding her again. ]

I'm sure it'll pass. This kind of stuff here seems to. Still, I just... [ A shake of her head. ]

Kind of sucks, right? Having all this just, like, out there now.

There have been... violations of privacy since arriving here, but this is on an entirely different level.

[He would take having bad poetry spread in his name a thousand times over if it meant avoiding this.]

I can only imagine what those around me, those who do not know me, must think. To see something like this, I... would not blame them for being wary.

[The implication of his words is clear: I don't blame you for being wary.]

[ He puts it a lot nicer than she ever could have. That's probably why he's a politician or man of power and she isn't though. Rose was far too blunt and downright crass for that. ]

Actually, for me, uhm. It's... Relieving probably sounds bad, I guess, but to know that someone like you has been through what I have or, like, at least. Maybe not something like I did, but- Something that ended up in all of your, er. Friends, there? It makes me feel a little better like, I don't know.

If someone nice and important as you can have that kind of history, maybe there's hope for me too.

[There's a brief moment of hesitation there. Though Aymeric wants to comfort her, it feels disingenuous to lean into his own so-called kindness. The last thing he wants is to lie to her about who he is and what he's done.

He's silent, uncomfortably so, for a long period. Eventually, though, he manages --]

Every great leader of man leaves corpses in his wake, all in the name of their form of justice. I do not, cannot claim to be a force of good. Merely a leader who took his people in a new direction.

Honestly? The fact that you can't already makes you better than most men I've known to be leaders.

[ Charlie, for example, was one such man. He had claimed that what he desired would be for the greater good of their kind and while Rose wanted to believe him, well... She couldn't. Still doesn't. ]

A lot of them claimed to be good while excusing the horrible things they did in the name of it. I think... it speaks a lot to your character that you're not. But, still, I... I wish I could say my situation was similar or that I understand.

I didn't have the luxury of choice with my circumstances.

[He can empathize with that much, at least. Stories of such obligation were common in more than one pocket within his world. And though the truth might otherwise be unknown to him, he can at least empathize with that much.]

If ever you wished to speak of it, I would be glad to listen. But... I will not force you to divulge your story, especially not under such grievous circumstances as these.

[ There's a pause as she considers it. Really, what's the harm here? He's... He doesn't seem like the kind of person that would judge her for it. And there are no hunters here to come after her.

But so long of not telling anyone because of the fear of what would happen for it is hard to shake in an instant. ]

Uhm, it's not. It's not all that groundbreaking, really? I just, y'know, made a bad deal when I was younger. It was too good to be true, I knew that, but I was also desperate and wanted to hope for the best.

Still, it ended me in a gladiator ring for some rich people's entertainment. Turns out, I'm pretty good at staying alive. But that meant... [ A glance back to her ghosts of varying size, shape, and species. ] Well, you can probably guess.

Ignoring it, for the most part. [ He eyes the sheer variety of ghosts that have appeared behind Aymeric, but he doesn't comment on them. A older drow woman - white hair tied and braided into an elaborate hairstyle - touches his shoulder and stares at him as if she expects him to understand whatever she's communicating without words. He doesn't answer, but he seems cross, nevertheless. ] They can do little more than chatter.

I am not even certain if they are real or just projection, which gives me even less incentive to listen to them. [ Which is a...slightly odd thing to say, honestly. Surely they'd be terrible no matter what. ]

[Like Kimmuriel, Aymeric studies the guest behind him but maintains his silence. It is the least he can do, considering the courtesy offered to him. Trying to explain the scores of souls behind him would be more of a headache than he's ready to address, at least at the beginning of a conversation.]

They lack an aetheric presence, at least, though I cannot say if that is because my own senses have been blunted, or if they are truly illusions.

Either way, I am... unnerved, to say the least.

[ Half this interaction is basically just staring politely at each other's fucked up ghosts that imply Something about them that they'd rather not discuss and mutually going 'I do not see it' so far, huh. ]

They are irritating to deal with, [ Kimmuriel easily admits. His scowl, already present, deepens briefly when the older drow behind him again looks at him meaningfully. ] It is not the kind of power I would have expected from these creatures, but it seems they are capable of all sorts of troublesome mischief simply by existing.

It is something of a trial, especially when you are traveling with others.

[Sometimes ghosts imply things that are not polite to ask about when you've only discussed the faith of your people and not, like, getting to know them.]

I can believe it. [Trying to weave through a crowded city when you have a towns worth of specters following you is exceedingly difficult.]

I am grateful that we are stationary at the moment. I have... been able to avoid questions from those that I am traveling with. [Not that his allies would have been confused by where all the ghosts came from. Instead, there would be a hefty layer of concern for his own well-being.

... Actually, that might be worse.]

They have not attempted to cause any harm yet, at least.

[Some of the dragons have gotten a bit dodgy with people but... that's to be expected.]

I do not believe they can affect the physical world, which is...I hesitate to say a blessing, in this case. [ He glances at the veritable crowd of ghosts and again, does not say a damn thing. ] But lenient, at least.

Fortunate. My companions are too preoccupied themselves to ask, most of the time, but I assume you have more...concerned people around you. [ On his end, it's all awkward enough already that it's not going to get them to open up; Jarlaxle knows most of his really fucked up stuff anyway. Probably better than he does, frankly.

It's just complicated! ]

... [ There's a long enough pause that by all metrics it would be understandable if Aymeric thought Kimmuriel had just accidentally left the pokegear on. ] It seems you have not escaped unscathed from war among your own people. [ What else can explain the sheer amount of ghosts?

He doesn't exactly say or imply his condolences, but there's a solemnity to the acknowledgement of it at all. He's seen enough bloodshed that it doesn't faze him, but clearly it bothers the other man. ]

That I do. [And normally, he can appreciate such attention. His allies have never let him down, after all. But trying to explain the lingering turmoil is a different story altogether. No matter how often they might insist that it was not his fault, that he had done his best, his own mind insisted otherwise.

There's a brief moment of surprise when Kimmuriel so clearly reads the situation for what it is. Aymeric doesn't bother trying to hide it -- He's never been much of a liar, even in the best of circumstances. And while he might have been able to bluster it away to some degree (Kimmuriel is right, but not entirely) he opts not to bother.]

If only it were that simple. A civil war between my people would be an easier descriptor. But still, you more or less have the right of it -- many of my people have lost their lives to an endless war with one another, all without realizing knowing the reason they fought, nor that it was oft their own man they fought against.

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Something Wicked This Way Comes

C

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Now with 100% ic nonsense

comes here to respond!!

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cw: forced violence

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