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Post by Bharune on Oct 29, 2011 23:47:04 GMT -5
With every step glass crunched underfoot, and with it he heard the shatter of bones. Through the paved ground vibrated a thousand screams, radiating from every corpse in a powerful, yet discreet wave. Every building trembled in memory, broken and kneeling, every pool of blood rippling with a muted cry.
The Grand Maester of Yevon paused near a crumpled shop, leaning down to grasp the broken arms of a body, not flinching at the gore presented before his eyes nor the crimson that stained his garments each time the cloth brushed a piece of the devastated Luca. Already the cream-colored hem of his pant-legs were splashed a vicious red and the substance was starting to coat his gloves and sleeves, but that was at the back of his thoughts.
The Grand Maester murmured something – a soft bar, some fluttering hymn – and rose, maintaining a firm grip on the broken arms. They snapped back into place as life returned to the corpse, the man’s pyreflies swirling back into the wavering frame as the he struggled to stand while being lifted. Once he was on his feet, Nadani released him, the newly revitalized man swaying in dazed uncertainty.
Though stained with blood, Nadani lifted a hand, curling it around to touch the back of the man’s neck as he leaned forward, dipping his head towards the man’s ear.
“Go to the ships,” he whispered gently, then released the man and pulled back, continuing down the street.
The Maester progressed in much the same manner, stopping when the scent of death was recent enough to permit reanimation. He met few that were still living – most of the survivors had already gathered at the docks by the time reinforcements from Bevelle had arrived. Despite the magnitude of the city and its pervasive death, Nadani showed nothing but supreme calm and patience as he passed from ruined form to ruined form, silent except for the few soothing words he imparted on the rare living entity he happened across. He was alone, having firmly ordered his men to aid the survivors at the docks and, once the residents were on a safe trip to Bevelle, to scour the surrounding land for anyone who had fled the city in desperation.
“Hurry, my child,” the blonde hierophant murmured once the young girl’s spine mended, the marrow slithering back into the protective bone. She curled in lingering pain and discomfort, but Nadani took her hand and encouraged her to stand. “Your mother is waiting for you at the docks. The pain with ease soon.”
The girl nodded tearfully and slipped off, leaving the Grand Maester once again alone with the companionship of corpses. The pyreflies were starting to grow dense around him, silently begging for respite. When he walked, they floated near him, drawn by the subconscious understanding that he could spare them the damnation of mutating into something monstrous. Several more, Nadani revived, and then after spending five hours among the dead he finally felt the work was sufficient.
He paused in the apocalyptic town square, surrounded by the lazy drift of spirits, and glanced at his hands. His gloves, once cream and gold-embroidered, were splashed with red, but that red seemed to shift of its own accord. The splotches condensed into lines, which then lifted from the cloth into actuality, and instead of blood-stained gloves he suddenly had impeccably clean gloves.
And a handful of red string.
The Maester began walking again, his attention on his hands. This time, he hummed a low note, and then a second one, and then a third, each soft individually but inhumanly prolonged, overlapping the previous tones until it produced a harmony that sounded eerily like a multitude of distant voices. Soft as he sang, it rippled out from him much further than it should, stirring the pyreflies into a graceful dance. Still he walked, effortlessly, his fingers curling about the splash of vibrant string and slowly untangling the knotted mess.
He didn’t sing the Hymn of the Fayth, yet the reaction of the pyreflies as they slowly faded in peaceful passing was unmistakable. Up the broken steps, tailed by a long congregation of colorful anima, Nadani continued his path and his low, willowing song, something that resonated far more deeply than mere sound ever could. And as he untangled the string, he allowed it to drape from his hands, and several ends eventually became so long that they dragged along the ground, steadily lengthening into thin streams. As more pyreflies dispersed to the Farplane, the red became longer and longer, flowing from his white hands.
Until all of Luca was at peace.
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Post by Griever on Oct 30, 2011 19:11:36 GMT -5
Luca was a city of death.
It rang in the air, cold, as it always was, but with a particular vibrancy that seemed almost to quiver on the very edge of chaos. The trait was unique to new death, especially the sudden and violent kind that had torn through the streets here. It resonated through every part of Ark's being like an instrument in perfect tune, a cry with no voice, a lament beyond sound; he leaned back his head and closed his eyes in a peculiarly human gesture, to listen, to feel.
Death was indiscriminate. It made no difference, when it struck, if it fell to his dominion or not, it sought him out wherever he went. A cloud of iridescent light floated about him, drawn inexorably by the feel of his nature, seeking without thought to connect, imploring to be set free. Ark opened his eyes just a little, raising one slender hand and curving it around a wisp of light, smiling at the play of color on the illusory flesh. Pyreflies, they called them here, so different from the fragmentary crystal of his world. Ah, lovely creature, but I can't do a thing for you. The Door of Souls does not open by fal'Cie command, and could such a foreign thing even pass to the unknowable other side? Long fingers closed, but the light drifted on in its mindless wandering, slipping through him as if he held no substance at all.
Yes, that was the very nature of death, that it could never be constrained. Maddening that it should be a part of him.
With deliberate slowness, Ark leaned forward, dropping his head so that his gaze fell on the broken square below. Lifeless forms were draped here and there about the cracked stone, but it was the red that drew his eyes - splashes of it everywhere, on the carefully laid flagstones, on the steps, obscuring the shattered crystal pillar that had once stood as a monument to the city's life and glory. A cloud of pyreflies swirled like a sea of light, hovering close to the dead as if searching for a way to reclaim their lost forms. The glass scattered below reflected their incandescence, a flickering, fragmented wave of color, light like water, ebbing and flowing in a mournful dance.
Humans saw only tragedy in death. They feared it; they loathed it; they couldn't begin to understand that there was beauty in it. Ark twisted his head slightly to follow the passing of a pyrefly near to his face, perceiving its gentle brush almost as a warmth, fixing his absolute attention on it as it drifted. Such a strange thing. Familiar, and yet so unlike anything within Cocoon or the lowerworld beneath it. Was this the key to it, to the change he so desired?
Could this save him from falling beneath his own domain?
Before he could contemplate it further, something edged into his mind from in the distance, a ripple of intrusion, the subtle whisper of interference. The fal'Cie inclined his head toward the source, his eyes far from the ability to see it, but his will and his focus searching, prying, curious. The sense of death was fading in its wake, lessening by fragments in a gradual but steady procession. He stood, straightened, stirring the pyreflies gathered about him with the motion.
Was this how the dead would pass into their realm? That was a part of it, certainly, but there was something more, something he couldn't quite place with his limited senses. Even as he questioned, a figure came into view below, human by appearances, but calm - impossibly calm amidst the ruin. He made no sound as he observed, fixated on the way the pyreflies gathered about this stranger; but then, the man bent to one of the lifeless figures, whispered something, and suddenly there was movement there as the once-broken shape of the man drew breath, stirred, and finally stood.
Involuntarily, Ark drew back a step with a soundless motion, struck by the overwhelming violation of it. To profane the sanctity of death so...his eyes narrowed, and he felt his hand moving at his side, seeking to lash out, to punish. Firmly, he clenched his fingers shut, fighting down that instinct. No - there were things to learn here, things he needed to answer. With a flicker, he was gone.
Ark was waiting on the walkway above the stairs before the stranger could complete his ascent. He stood rigid against the wall, fixing him with cold eyes, but otherwise impassive.
"Who are you to turn back death's hand?" There was no threat in his voice, but though it came out smooth, there was a faint edge of ice there; his disapproval was so firmly etched into everything he was that it was impossible to wholly repress, and he didn't much care to try.
"Do you know what you do, to deny a necessity?" He stepped forward, fixing his attention on the man before him, his manner shifting from anger to perplexity. Though no human could possibly have the sort of power he displayed, his appearance was rather unremarkable, evidencing nothing of his abilities. "How? What are you?"
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Post by Bharune on Nov 5, 2011 17:36:47 GMT -5
The Grand Maester halted at the disturbance, his progression stopped at the bottom of the stairs and his face lifting as he focused on the individual. Though he centered his attention on the stranger, his eyes were gently closed, and remained so even as he listened to the other’s indignant assault. The blonde smiled faintly in amusement as the other creature presented his case.
Though Nadani’s mouth did not move, though his vocal folds didn’t vibrate and he didn’t seem to shift his regard from the intruder, the song didn’t cease. At his feet, an almost imperceptible arcane circle surrounded him, the glyph a discreet curl of slightly-lighter lines among the wrecked foundation, parts of the symbol moving to some consistent beat, like the ticking of a clock. The overlapping notes continued to guide the swirl of pyreflies as they faded into the Farplane, making it seem more like Nadani was surrounded by an invisible choir than him producing the sounds himself.
He couldn’t help himself; he laughed.
The sound wasn’t mocking or derisive, but the amusement was certainly patronizing. It was rare that he was so intensely questioned; the average person was content to accept his witchcraft as just a more powerful field of white magic or the divine will of their deity. But the individual before him was not a man, no, and not ignorant, that much Nadani could immediately perceive. Naïve, perhaps, but not ignorant.
“The only thing that is absolute,” the blonde answered calmly, amused but patient. “Is that nothing is absolute.”
He followed the other’s movements, though his eyes remained closed and his expression unchanged.
“There are only things too far beyond our personal limitations to change.”
The Grand Maester resumed his path up the steps, his pace slow to allow the conversation which, admittedly, was quickly beginning to interest him more than his sending. He traversed the broken, debris-littered steps without so much as a stumble, despite continuing to keep his eyes closed.
“Oh, I’ve denied them nothing. They’re not immortal, nor any less prone to death than before,” the blonde continued easily, walking past the stranger. “You’re appalled, but restoring life is no more blasphemous than taking it away; merely a feat more rare.”
He emitted another short laugh when the other individual inquired about him, his fingers still working blindly at the matted string, now almost completely untangled and streaming to the ground.
What was he?
“A man with fewer limitations than you, if your introduction is any indication,” he answered in a light-hearted tone, walking leisurely down one of Luca’s main streets. “A wise diplomat offers information before asking it; first, what do you know of the events that transpired here?”
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Post by Griever on Jan 25, 2012 8:29:33 GMT -5
Ark was power within Cocoon society. He was alternately a source of reverence and terror for his people, but always superior, transcendent almost as a god among them. Death was his dominion, and within its cold realm his power was absolute. A whisper from him, a single touch, could still the heart of the strongest man and steal breath even as it was being drawn. He was darkness, he was grief; he was mercy and he was despair. Cocoon bowed to his whim. For all the countless years of his task, he had never been questioned by man or fal'Cie, and the finality of his power had been inviolable.
Cocoon, however, was a broken shell, and the world beyond it was an unknown entity all its own, where fal'Cie order meant nothing. Ark's pride resented that - but his need to understand choked that pride down into silence, and he watched, hiding his offense behind a mask of infallible calm. There would be time for pride later. With casual, unhurried steps, he fell into step behind the blonde stranger, stirring the pyreflies almost as a light wind would a cloud of smoke.
The coalescence of death itself. Ah, if he could just take one of those incorporeal lights in hand, examine it even for a moment...
"I know what I see." His tone was cool, indifferent, and his gaze strayed among the ruin with impossible calm, even as the words passed his lips. Despite the stranger's advice, fal'Cie were not known for their diplomacy, but if words were the easiest way to open doors, the conversation didn't bother him. He had questions, and he would have his answers. "A shattered city. This was a massacre, not a battle. These people didn't fight back...or perhaps they couldn't. Struck before they knew what was happening."
Ark's lips curled just slightly at that, even as his gaze fell to linger on the still form of a child, half-buried under the ruin.
"This was careless destruction. Indifference, not murder." His steps paused, and he laid one hand on a shattered column. For a long moment of silence, he stared down at it, considering; then his eyes flicked up to the blonde and his procession of light. "But you know this. If you want answers," one hand made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the ruin, "then ask the dead. I have none for you. But you've had your question, and now, I ask again. You turn back death without a second thought. How?"
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Post by Bharune on Jan 25, 2012 19:22:30 GMT -5
At first, the Grand Maester didn’t reply to the stranger, merely listened to his words and kept his attention centered on his song. He was adept enough at his tasks that the minor diversion didn’t affect the efficiency of his sending, but the ritual still demanded a good amount of his attention; still, the fluid, distant chorus continued to reverberate through the area even as the blonde mused over his new acquaintance.
Clearly the unfamiliar man was someone of great importance and power, Nadani could tell more by his attitude than the pulse of his energy. The stranger was not only surprised that an individual could contradict the rules he existed by, but nearly mortified. But the dark-haired one was not only an entity of strength, but also bound by servitude, evidenced by his restricted perspective. Whoever held the strings of such a creature must be near omnipotent.
Or perhaps none held those strings now. Perhaps the poor being was lost, in a way, made naïve by a sheltered existence often required of servitude. Nadani smiled at the thought.
If that was true, it meant the other was like a child, despite all intelligences, agelessness, or power. The stranger was curious, even if that curiosity was hidden behind indignation. His assessment of the violence was valid, though Nadani was a bit disappointed that it was nothing he hadn’t already deduced. Of course, it was to be expected; the stranger didn’t have any reason to add effort into the observation.
“Not indifference,” Nadani corrected in what was almost thoughtfulness. He flicked the string to the ground and it splattered against the broken stones in the form of glistening blood. “Pleasure.”
The harmony faded from the wind, the light, arcane circle disappearing from the cracked foundation as the last of the pyreflies drifted safely into the Farplane. The Sending was completed.
“And misery.” Now appearing completely mundane, Nadani turned towards his spectator, his eyes opening to reveal unremarked pale blue hues. “Indifference creates lethargy.”
There was a strong mingle of energies, and even with the dead calmed there was no way Nadani could determine the culprit of the massacre. Perhaps, if he met the individuals in the future he might recognize the familiarity, but the only thing he could currently determine was that the destruction wasn’t caused by just one, but at least one of the aggressors was of Spiran origin. That one was his responsibility to tame, then.
“How is it that you perform your tasks?” Nadani inquired, stepping towards the other. There was nothing intimidating about his stance or apparent intentions – not that he could intimidate this force anyway – so he seemed mildly interested in the conversation simply for the sake of the conversation. “It’s an ability I’ve possessed since before I can remember. Oh, it has its limitations, as all things do.”
The blonde cast an absent gesture around at the ruin. “As you can well tell, I’m sure. Life is manipulable, organic matter pliable; one just needs to maintain an open perspective.”
His eyes met the other’s with interest, a calm smile resting on his features.
“I could show you more,” he offered with a faint trace of amusement. “What do they call you?”
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Post by Kupo on Feb 25, 2012 14:19:16 GMT -5
Glass and stone was scattered all over the city, it seemed. The destructive force that had decimated a whole area of Luca must have been impressive indeed. There was a twisted sense of disappointment at having missed all the action deep in the pit of Valeo’s stomach. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he’s have been nothing compared to whatever had done this but simply to witness such an atrocity would have been thrilling. He wasn’t overly upset about missing the show, though; he was content enough following around the Grand Maester, Nadani, for the time being at least. There was something impossible to place about that man that made him intriguing. Thus the mage found himself accompanying him to this recent scene of incredible violence.
There was an inescapable crunching beneath wherever he stepped as he felt the dull throb of something crystalline nearby. Nadani was apparently occupying himself well enough performing miracles for the victims around the city. There was little Valeo could do in assistance and so he was “looking for some information” about what had taken place here. By that he meant that he was going to look out whatever crystals he was sensing here. Telling that lie had been a sweet little fix to state his obsession with falsehoods. But now he could feel something close and that had captured his attention. He kicked aside small piles of rubble, preferring only to dirty his boots until he was sure he’d found what he was looking for, until he saw something glinting amongst the dust.
He was hoping for some materia, the magical substance he’d heard a lot of talk about but he doubted he’d find any here in a city that was of a world separate to the one that yielded materia. Kneeling down he reached in to grab out a small device. It wasn’t until he’d freed it that he realised that he had plucked it from the hand of someone buried much deeper in the rubble. The sight of the blood stained hand made him jump up in disgust. “Ugh...” he shuddered, brushing dust from the device as he turned away from the rubble grave. On closer inspection it turned out he’d discovered a recorder with a sphere inserted. He wasn’t very good with technology but when he took out the sphere he managed to get it to play back without really knowing how he’d managed it. It showed at first some kid buying a balloon from a vendor in a small plaza area.
At first, he thought it was junk but he kept watching and was rewarded. Only a few minutes of dull happy child scenes were present before the interesting stuff began. It showed a white haired woman with arms raised to the sky, pyreflies swirling around her. Clearly she had caught the attention of the recorder. In the moments that followed that first shot of the woman there was evident destruction and the footage was a bit garbled. It seemed to skip all over but there were recognisable scenes of combat between the original instigator and some other individuals, one notably in red. The rest was a jumble until the image finally went black.
The sphere was the source of the sensation that had sent him rummaging through the debris and although it was useless as far as he was concerned it was interesting and insightful. He hadn’t noticed that these spheres were crystalline and reactive with his own crystal until now. He was sure that the Grand Maester would be interested in seeing it, though and he set out through the rubble to find him, taking care to keep his cloak out of the blood that filled the sea air with a metallic fragrance.
His pace was relatively quick as he strode through Luca, the gore and sadness was unsettling. Although the events that had caused it all seemed very interesting to Valeo, he was loathe to staying here much longer than needed. The results, the death and destruction would break any monotony of the local people but for an observer only the mystery of the culprits held any interest and now that he was as close as he felt he could get to solving that mystery he was keen to move on before he started feeling depressed and/or bored. It wasn’t long before he found the bloody footsteps of the Grand Maester, following them he soon caught a glimpse of the long haired duo ahead. The sight of the dark haired stranger made him hesitate in his approach. He was used to the weird aura that went along with Nadani but even from a distance he could feel a darker vibe from the new arrival.
Valeo had no idea who he was but he seemed too composed to be a survivor and he certainly hadn’t come from Bevelle with the support. He knew that his presence would be felt soon enough, though, and rather than stand gawping he continued with his approach until he was only a few feet from the two men. His mask of diligent companion was fitted firmly in place. He paused for a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to cut either of them off before holding out the sphere for them to see. “I found this, I thought you’d want to see it. It appears to show the attack.” he explained, choosing not to comment on his confusion about the stranger. Better to pretend that such things didn’t faze him. He allowed himself a good glance at him though, taking in as much as he could about his appearance. His stance spoke confidence but his body language revealed little else to Valeo’s trained eyes. Nadani, seemed calm enough in his presence but then he was proving hard to read anyway. With that in mind Valeo had made sure to hold out the sphere in his right hand and leave his left hand lingering loosely by his side. Keeping his sword hand occupied with something else ought to imply an unthreatened disposition, which is exactly what he was going for.
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