ourstosee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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victory_road2022-05-04 07:56 pm
ourstosee) wrote in victory_road2022-05-04 07:56 pm
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
ashstriferous]
[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
no subject
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?]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]