faderift | [open w/ some closed threads] escort missions.

[Given that Emet-Selch is now spending very nearly all of his time here, it's not difficult at all to find him here and there around the Gallows-- most prominently around the Research office, but it's not the only place he keeps himself occupied:

-around the armory and training area, you can find him at times practicing with a wooden sword, though he has a somewhat odd stance and way of swinging it for the type of practice blade this is; presumably he is more used to something a little different. On rarer occasions he is actually helping out a bit around the armory itself, though it doesn't last long-- just a little assistance with maintenance while he happens to be around anyway, rather than larger or more involved tasks and projects. Weird how there's always something to go do for Research if something that requires a lot of effort pops up.

-outside at night, he can occasionally be found anywhere with a decent view, with two star charts. One is clearly the Thedosian sky, and the other is unfamiliar, done by hand. It's not uncommon for him to seem slightly irritable, in general, but this is the exception; he seems in a decent enough mood, at these times. Calmer, more contemplative.

-he is most often around Research and the library. Very rarely will he be around in the mornings, but if you also tend to work anywhere from the afternoon to the late hours, you're far likelier to run into Emet-Selch. This is where you'll want to look if you need him for anything; more often than not, he's going over existing information and taking notes, or organizing anything that needs it, though it's also fairly common for him to be looking into various language resources.

(These are definitely a focus in any downtime he has, as well-- find him in the office or one of the lounges with a book, and he's probably studying Orlesian or something.)]

[if you need something more specific to respond to: please feel free to hit me up!! plurk/discord/dms are all fine.]

[ For a few minutes, Bastien watches him from a distance. A distance overhead, specifically, from the narrow window of one of the buildings rising up around the courtyard. He's looking for—what? Signs of evil? For the wooden sword to grow tendrils of black blight around his hands and glow ominously? Obviously that isn't going to happen now, if it hasn't already. But he watches, he notes the mismatch of footing and weapon, and after those few minutes he jogs down the stairs and out to the training yard.

He stays quiet until he's spotted, but he's once he is he smiles and waves—a little awkwardly, a little apologetically—and says, ]

I am supposed to interview you.

Are you, now.

[They've yet to meet, so the look Emet-Selch gives him certainly has a touch of curiosity to it. Evaluating, looking the man over briefly with the practice sword at rest over his shoulders. A moment or two passes before he exhales a sigh, his posture shifting back to its usual slouch from the straighter bearing he'd kept while working.]

...Very well. I assume you'll be wanting someplace with a bit more privacy to it, so if you will allow me to put this back first-- we may go.

[ Bastien, under examination, is more than anything casual: one hand in his pocket, a few hairs curling stubbornly out of place on his otherwise neat head, well-dressed for a peasant but with worn spots on his knees and elbows, face open with a hint of friendly mischief.

But he slouches just a little more, when Emet-Selch does—standard enough mirroring, common in people everywhere, but in his case not entirely subconscious. ]

If you don’t mind. We can go just over there.

[ He gestures to an alcove in view of the training yard. ]

Unless you would prefer the indoors.

[The shift is something he notes quietly, before he follows that gesture to the alcove, quiet for a moment or two while he considers.]

I believe I would prefer it, yes.

[To at least have the sense of being away from others, rather than having an eye over one shoulder the entire time.]

D'accord, [ Bastien agrees cheerfully. ] We can go to my office. It is a lot of stairs to get there, but very indoors.

[ He doesn't start off straight away, to give Emet-Selch time to put his sword away if he doesn't want to bring it along—though he can, if he'd prefer, and either way Bastien starts toward the central tower as soon as he's ready. ]

I am Bastien, by the way. Diplomacy Division. [ And the project for Southern counterintelligence. Thus the private office. ] And you are Emet-Selch, Research Division, from—is it rude to say you are from the Fade? That does not seem to be how most of you think of yourselves.

[He does, in fact, take the time to put it away; he doesn't want to carry it at the moment, for one thing, and it seems more conducive to the entire interview business to not insist on going armed.

-visibly so.]

We may not view ourselves in such a way, no, but neither should I think it rude to say. Quite the lofty expectation, after all, to insist those who dwell here learn each and every one of our homes.

Oh, I don't know. I get very cross when people don't remember I am from Val Royeaux instead of just Orlais.

[ Cross is an overstatement. ]

What is it called? Your home.

I had rather expected you to be more interested in other aspects of my history, over such details.

[He accompanies that with an arched brow, a brief glance over.]

But if that is where you wish to begin... I consider our capital to be home. Amaurot.

[ The critique of his technique gets a little smile and equally little shrug in answer. ]

Amaurot.

[ An echo to set the word and its pronunciation in his memory, as they reach the door to the tower. The stairs still lie ahead. Once they start up them, Bastien's quickly short of breath, but not so much he can't keep talking. ]

Are the people there human?

Moreso than those who would be called 'human' these days, yes.

[A drier tone, there; he seems to have more ease with the stairs, on his end.]

[ One of Bastien's eyes squints shut for a moment. It's a thinking face, for a second, before he says, ] What do you mean?

I mean precisely what I say.

[As if it's the most normal thing in the world to have said. He knows full well it isn't.]

Mankind has changed significantly since my time, though I understand that much of what I might say to explain will sound... farfetched, at the least. I do hope you are used to rifters saying seemingly outlandish things already.

It is your unifying characteristic.

[ So yes, he's used to it. ]

Do you mean mankind here is different compared to your time, or mankind in your own world? Are you one of the very old ones?

[ Of course he is. Astarion said so. ]

I mean both-- and by your standards, yes, I would be.

[A light shrug, there, one-shouldered.]

There was once no such thing as dying from old age, though I have lived quite a long time even by my own measure.

That sounds like the stories the elves tell.

[ Which are arguably true, if this Fen’Harel isn’t only a highly skilled con man.

He pauses on a landing to huff in a couple deeper breaths, then leads the way through the door—this is their stop. His office is around the corner. ]

What changed? To make dying of old age possible, I mean.

[He'll pause with him, waiting quietly for him to move on, before he follows once more.]

Mayhap it does sound similar, but I doubt the stories are identical.

[Those stories, though, aren't something he's yet had occasion to study; he quietly puts them on the list.]

As for what happened: the world itself was broken. Divided into pieces, resulting in fourteen separate worlds that all were reflections of the original-- all populated by the fragmented souls of those who once lived upon it.

[ Bastien's eyebrows go up in a mild, silent expression of the thought: that's weird. But it goes without actually saying. ]

So you—you could die of old age now? Or were you spared the fragmenting?

[It's fine, he more or less expects all of this to sound strange; when he answers this time, it's quieter.]

I was spared it, yes. Three of us were.

[ Bastien opens the door to his office to usher Emet-Selch in ahead of him. Sometimes there's another occupant, as evidenced by the second recently-used desk on one side of the room, but Alexandrie isn't here now. Bastien's desk is covered in clutter. It also isn't where he's headed, once the door has closed behind them. Between the two is a small table and chairs, with a bowl of nuts. He takes one of the chairs and two of the cashews before he asks, ]

Why?

I cannot say. But had I any control over the situation, then I assure you, I would have ensured far more of my people were spared than that.

[...he exhales, shakes his head, moving to take a seat in the other chair. The nuts, he leaves alone.]

All three of us were leaders of our people. Members of our Convocation. If any of us were to be left whole then we were, at the least, well suited to attempting to repair it all.

Mm.

[ His elbow rests on the table, his chin on his fist. Whole. ]

I imagine that changes how you think of people, if they seem incomplete—and short-lived, of course—compared to you. [ He'd be happy to be contradicted on that point, of course. It's just that sometimes people say more to a statement they disagree with than a question. ] Did that play into the, ah, what did he say? Loss of life on a planetary scale?

So it does.

[Namely, they didn't really think of them as people, but that's a bit blunt to say.]

And, yes, as he said: from his perspective, that is precisely what it would entail. From ours... those worlds were not simply broken, you see, and when they fell-- everything composing them flowed back into the primary reflection. Every fragment of a soul returned to it. What they viewed as destruction, we saw as renewal.

Of course, tell this to any given mortal who may be affected by it, and they naturally would cling to the life they knew over the restoration of a life they no longer remembered. They had no way of fully comprehending what it would mean, to regain the immortality they had lost.

Did they bring their lives back with them, to the—the primary reflection? Their memories?

[ He doesn't bother disguising the concern on his face. Not finding this disquieting would be a little insane, he thinks, at least for a mortal who'd empathize less with the gods and more with their playthings. ]

And what if they had children who were not part of the world you were restoring? Could that happen?

The only mortals who knew the truth of it... well, I had not asked them of their memories before they killed me, so I suppose there truly is no telling for certain.

[It's not something he'd ever been concerned about at the time, really. He wasn't interested in the memories of their mortal lives, and of course now that he's actually more capable of considering it-- it would be interesting to know, if only there were anyone to ask.]

As for the rest: everything was a part of that world. Everything. Every soul returns to the great aetherial river sustaining our world, and in turn every soul is born of it-- their fragmented souls have existed as many individuals, over the millenia since the sundering, and will exist as many more.

[open w/ some closed threads] escort missions.

some open prompts:

training area.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)