aftr_stories | [MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

"No, no...no!"

The Storyteller's voice cuts through the inkdrop-dark, frantic and scrambling. A distant blot of campfire gutters in the far distance - far from where you are. The disorientation of the week preceding this one has translated into Mu, and everything is hopelessly out of place. The Storyteller sounds muffled, clearly addressing someone or something else, their voice cushioned by the uniform, void-like night.

"Stop it. Stop it! I wasn't gone for very long at all. You can't behave for two weeks? You have to make it all...all...wrong? I can't keep this up - not with what I've had to do since returning - !"

Gradually, however, the shadowy campsite solidifies into being. Or...a semblance of it does, in any case. Four glistening pyres rear out from the shadows, each glowing a different color. The strange material that domes them almost resembles worked steel, forming different patterns against their multicolored backdrops.

[ ♆ ] The first glows a deep crimson, kicking scarlet embers into the dream-night air. Its pit sphere portrays a crowd of people in silhouette, heads bowed in genuflection - paying homage to some looping, many-coiled shape in the sky above.

[ ♆ ] The second glows a deep orange. Its pit sphere is worked into the shape of a looming mountain, with what might be some sort of village or ruin sprawled at its base.

[ ♆ ] The third's flames are a rich green. Its designs are most abstract; the starburst patterns that swirl across the metallic composition of its fire pit sphere could be explosions, maybe...or something else entirely.

[ ♆ ] The fourth pyre is one bearing host to golden flames, amber sparks sprayed out from behind the shape of a set of scales nestled among a flurry of birdlike shapes.

Beside each pyre is heaped a pile of sticks, colored to correspond to their respective flames. The Storyteller sounds agitated when they manage to speak again:

"Will you let them at least make the choice I left to gave them?" When there is no response, they sigh. "If you can hear me...I can't make it clearer than that, at the moment. Pick one. Pick one, quickly, and try to get out before it decides to make things worse! Just add a stick to whichever one looks best to you!"

Unfortunately, whether you abstain from voting or make your choice, that's not all there is to this night...

Tonight's Storytelling, further warped by Mu's capricious nature, will likely feel familiar to those of you who were with us in December of the year prior. Only this time, you don't get much choice in what kind of story you're telling...or, indeed, any choice in the matter at all. As you wake by the Storytelling campfire, Mu shifts to form three separate events from your character's present - which is to say, within one full year of their current canonpoint - in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play. You will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

While the initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams, things will be far more similar to the memory share that occurred in December. All memories must be from within one year of your character's canonpoint. For questions, please refer to our OOC event post!

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. The memory does not need to be willingly recalled in essence in order for Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

Just like the last time this happened, all memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation. So at least there's that!

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[ This memory pulses with a sickening heartbeat that makes the whole world quiver. It hurts to be around; it is the sound of a raging infection, a quickening, head-pounding pulse that reverberates within the Knight's head.

The Knight breaks the chains, one by one. Their sibling, hanging from the ceiling, twitches their head to watch them, as much as they're able.

It hurts to see them.

It hurts to know what they must do, that inevitability and dread settling like a numb, heavy weight.

The Hollow Knight collapses to the floor, pulled upright by the force, the infection seething within them that drives them to madness. They wrench their cracked nail from the floor.

The Knight draws theirs, willing numb fingers to wrap around the hilt in a motion they've done so many times before.

No prizes for guessing what happens next. ]

[ They clash and struggle against one another; even in their decline, the Hollow Knight (chosen, lost, cursed, sibling) is still strong.

Strong enough to hurt them. Strong enough, too, to wrestle control from whatever terrible light shines behind their eyes, has broken their body so badly;

the nail they carry is old, broken, but still strong. Still forged to perfection, a long time ago.

It punches through them with a sickening crack, like it was made for the purpose. Orange fluid gushes forth as they make frantic, jerky attempts to cut out the infection themselves.

The Knight watches in horror, and then the thought comes that it's not enough. It's not enough to stop her.

I have to help you.

They move in unfocused spurts; the memory blurs. Operating on instinct rather than conscious thought, because thinking about it is too much, thinking about what they're doing is too much.

They wield their nail with force in the dim light of their enemy's (sibling) prison, dully watching from a place deep inside themselves

(drown it, let it sink, because this is the sibling you missed for so long and this is the only way the only chance you will ever have to meet and if you think about it too long it will break your heart)

the silver blur of their weapon flashing again and again and again and hitting every time

I have to kill you.

The Hollow Knight lets out an echoing cry that makes their head ring and their vision shudder; a needle embeds itself in their cracked mask. Hornet follows her weapon, and shoves it further in, breaking that protection that has lasted so long.

She shouts something. A nail made of light bursts to life in the Knight's hand, and they strike the broken mask-- ]

[ They are cast into a dream of clouds, of a bright and eerie sky that has never known life. In the distance, high above, shines the sun.

They draw their sword. The sun unfurls too-bright wings.

In a rush of feathers, the god who has haunted their every step appears before them.

The light, forgotten.

The memory ends; a tiny shadow with their sword drawn against a looming, hateful figure. ]

Edited 2018-10-20 11:25 (UTC)

[OOC: Leaving it open for possibly more prompts if I think of anything good I want to cover.]

Player Name: Ruka
Character Name: the Knight
Character Journal:

lightlessfuture
Number of Memories: Three
Offering(s): here!

MORE BIRBS! Birbs are never bad!

unless it's a Zu but then it has tasty eggs so... that's still okay

[Of all things, Prompto's was of a memory he did not have.

Through blurry vision he could only tell at first that he was hanging. His feet were below, hanging above a gray, metallic floor. Grates were above his head, leading only to a sea of endless grates. All around it looked to be a prison. From what little he could see through the cell doors there were only more cells out there.

Metal bands firmly strapped him against a twisted, metal cross. His arms were stretched out and cuffed to it. His chest was strapped tightly, and his feet were bound together. Saw blades, chains and bars seemed to be all he could see from his small cage.

Everything about the place was dreary. Isolated. Completed void of life. There was no sound. No breathing. No life of any kind besides him. Though he was wearing his regular clothes, his face and arms were exposed and were littered with some fresh bruising and cuts.

The chains wouldn't budge an inch no matter how he tugged on them. Exhausted and beaten, he hung his head.]

[Two men in black stand upon an empty street in a ruined and dead city, beneath a blighted starless sky. The one who had once called the capital 'home' stood ready and defiant, blue eyes sharply focused on Ardyn--Ardyn, who had become king of a world of ruin, whose steps were almost lazily taken as though he found the whole affair mere theatrics.]

[And oh, but he did. It was just the gradual descent of a curtain upon the very last act. No more games. No more falsely affable nature, no more cheerful mockery, all of it was gone in place of the rage and hatred fueling a spurned and long-dead healer.]

The once helpless and hapless prince... Is he now ready to claim his crown?

[The city should have been his. The line should have been his. In a just world, nothing would ever have come this far. The crown would have belonged to Ardyn and not Somnus two thousand years prior, the darkness would never have fallen, none of it had to happen--]

[But the world was neither just nor fair. Some part of him knew it wasn't even Noctis' fault, that he was but a child made pawn in the gods' grand designs. But because the world was unjust, it didn't matter. He was the target upon which Ardyn would vent two millennia of frustrations, swinging a myriad of swords while unhinged laughter tore itself from his throat without thought.]

[Let it play out as it would. If the end was predetermined and even desired, then let his final acts in this world be shrieking rebellion, let the burning light of the sky flare up as an uncontrolled wildfire before it went out.]

[Why? Why did Noctis get all that Ardyn thought he'd once had? Friends, family, a kingdom that looked to him and trusted him--and yet he'd spent so long cowering in fear of the price to be paid. Hadn't Ardyn been willing to face his destiny no matter the cost? Didn't he deserve more than exile and erasure? This world didn't even condescend to remember his name, and how many of them would even have been alive if not for Ardyn protecting their ancestors so long before?!]

[Ardyn's fury and frustration emerged in clashes of brilliant swords in phantom red and blue, soaring above the destroyed city that could have still thrived had it not been for the gods who chose to make a healer into a mad king of the night. The city stolen by his brother, a line ending in the child unfortunate enough to bear the name of 'Lucis Caelum'.]

So you are the Chosen King...but you are a second choice, at best.

Birds are acceptable.

(Content warnings: genocide, I'm not sure how to label Legion's memory of being sacrificed to the Reapers and forcibly upgraded but that's also a thing.)

[Eventually, the pair of them crashed to the Citadel's courtyard--worn down and exhausted, the fight nearing its end. Nearing Ardyn's end, he quite well knew. But the spectres of the past appeared in brilliant blue overhead, kings long past bearing silent vigil over the result of two thousand years of waiting and preparation.]

[This is your fault, not mine. You chose your side and this ruined star is your result. I hope it was worth it. Ardyn thought bitterly, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as if he wanted to snap it in half. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know whose spirit hovered behind him--the Mystic, the Founder, Somnus Lucis Caelum.]

[His brother.]

The Crystal uses you. Drains you of life. [And not one of the line of kings cared. None of them. Somnus sold out his very own elder brother, and not a single descendant had ever cared for the sacrifice one day demanded of the last in line. Of a king they would never meet, a pawn standing before them all now-]

I accept it, if it means driving out the darkness.

[Why? Why sacrifice everything to protect a world that cared nothing for its savior? Ardyn couldn't understand it, and the confusion set the formless rage in his head shrieking in laughter--oh, it was funny. Funny that another selfless savior had risen after so long and dared to speak like that to the one who had failed.]

You are a slave to the dark. Until you are free--you suffer alone!

[...It wasn't funny at all, was it?]

Return as you were--a kind and noble king!

[Something about that...hurt, and he didn't understand why. The mocking tone Ardyn held began to fall away, chipped and eroded by the darkness that had fueled him for so long--the fury and hatred turning his voice to a low growl cursing Somnus, Crepera, Tonitrus, Regis, Noctis, and all the line of royals in between. Raising it to a frustrated scream-]

I hate you--with all my being-!

[Who...was he even shouting to? Noctis? His brother? The gods who would refuse to hear his voice even now? Ardyn didn't know, and he didn't even care at this point. Let someone hear him, let even just one person know he had existed-]

[One last sword flashed in the clash of weapons, black blood stained the polished stone of the courtyard, and Ardyn felt cold steel in his chest like a slap to the face. It didn't matter. Two thousand years of shrieking rage at the world by merely existing, and none of it had ever been heard. The curtain fell all the same, exactly as had been foretold.]

What will you do..banish the daemons and bring peace? Erase me from history once more?

[Ardyn Lucis Caelum had never existed. Not in this world where he held no place; a man left behind by time, the shadow to his brother's light. Dying unmourned and forgotten suited him.]

This time--you can rest in peace. Close your eyes....forevermore.

[And oh, how he wanted to laugh at that. Even now...Noctis truly was the king of light that Ardyn had wished to be. He would burn himself out just the same, and in the end the line of Lucis would end just as they all deserved.]

[Knowing he'd gotten exactly what he'd sought for uncountable eras, Ardyn simply closed his eyes and let his physical form dissipate; the rest was up to the Chosen King.]

Edited 2018-10-20 09:23 (UTC)

[ Guilt tangles itself in its complexities inside their chest, once again. Their heart is no less heavy than it was the first time they had to confront the Ritual's end.

Even though you surely see the path it illuminates for us?

A greeting, a farewell. Someone else's pain. They ache in empathy at the memory.

Something does catch their attention, though; Brumm had not returned at all, after they spoke to him. They had assumed he'd at least briefly come back and had left before they went to fight the Nightmare King, but...

That doesn't appear to be the case.

So they tug gently at Grimm's cloak to catch his attention once the memory is over. They can help solve that mystery, at least.

(They don't know if it will make him feel better, though.) ]

[Death, however, was nothing to the immortal Accursed but a brief respite. Existence in an ethereal nothingness for the brief time it took his tangible body to reform itself; an inconvenience at best.]

[To truly drive out the darkness would take more than that, and two kings met one last time at the crossroads of life and death. Except that only one was truly alone, with no reason or even will to continue fighting.]

[Noctis had never been alone, and that was what Ardyn had always hated most of all. He hated that his retainers had never broken apart no matter how close they came to it. Hated that Lunafreya had been so revered, shown compassion only a healer could ever understand, and been universally loved for it.]

[...Ardyn realized he hated that he was the failure they never were, and that was when he ceased to be Ardyn at all. The white noise of daemonic malice in his head reached a strength unlike anything before, and the last remnants of the healer were crushed beneath the endless darkness.]

[The last thing 'Ardyn' was ever aware of was Somnus' blade striking first, sending the Founder King's elder brother to a long-awaited oblivion.]

[Then, after the long night lasting ten years...dawn would at last break over the surviving world of Eos, unseen by either the first or the last Chosen who had both wished to protect the light of the sky.]

Player Name: Nao
Character Name: Ardyn Izunia
Character Journal:

scourgingstars
Number of Memories: three
Offering(s): here!

(CW: um FFXV spoilers, rampant headcanon, death... Not a whole lot to warn for actually!? Also fuck brackets but this is all so long I'm doing it "small" anyway lol)

You're such a part of who I am
Now that part will just be void
No matter how much I need you now

The rumble and creak of metal and leather, shimmers of deep purple and blue in the darkness pooling before them. Large shapes loom out of the darkness, blocking what little light the garden lights encircling the courtyard they're in manage to give off. Enemies everywhere and yet, over all of it, too loud, too final, the steady click, click, click of footsteps. Slowly growing quieter, lost to the darkness behind them.

Gladio is first to draw his weapon, summoning Hyperion from the armiger with ease and familiarity. It occurs to him, in that moment, that this will be the last time he does so and it's enough to make him grit his teeth, fingers clenching harder around the sword in hand, fighting back the knot of emotions churning in his gut, threatening to choke him.

There's no time to grieve, no time to think about anything but holding out until what must be done is done.

A heavy door creaks open then slams shut with a crippling finality, the sound like a punch to the gut, forcing his breath out in something that might be a sob on a weaker man. Then he's moving, rushing forward to bring the blade down across the side of one of the daemons before them. He's distantly aware of Ignis' dagger sinking into the hand that reaches for him, the rattle of Prompto's gunfire echoing across the otherwise empty courtyard. But nothing else matters. Just the fight, a battle that should be their last. Should've been their last. All of them. Together. For their King.

But Ardyn had taken even that from them.

It's impossible to say how long it takes, minutes? Hours? Too long and yet not long enough. Gone too soon and yet, the idea that it takes so long...

Gladio's sailing backwards through the air, flung from one giant hand when the first slivers of light break through the darkness. He hit his head, surely. The light cannot possibly be the sun. It only takes moments though, by the time he's dragging himself out of the rubble the blanket of darkness that has covered the world for long is nearly gone, the daemons standing against them reaching out in violence and dissipating into miasma, vanishing in the sunlight, blindingly bright after so very long.

"Noct..." Prompto is the first to react, barely a whisper.

And then he's racing towards the citadel, rushes towards his friend and Gladio's heart plummets. They have to stop him. He looks to Ignis, squinting against the bright light but the other man is already moving, following the sound of Prompto's steps, stumbling once over the rubble before he finds the stairs and then it is a clear path.

Gladio follows, half a step behind Ignis, falling further behind Prompto, too slow, too late, not enough.

They emerge into the throne room and Prompto is already there, on his knees, staring up at the throne where Noctis rests, his father's sword the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor. For a moment Gladio slows, not wanting to believe what he's seeing but Ignis cuts across to race up the stairs and Gladio finally drops his sword, not dismissing it to the Armiger, no crystaline tinkle or blue light, just the dull clatter of steel on marble and his hand closing around Ignis' arm. He wrenches his friend to a halt, pulls him off course and stops him.

"Iggy, no." And suddenly he's on the brink of tears again, swallowing hard to pull himself back under control even as Ignis opens his mouth to argue. and Gladio snaps. "Don't!"

A flinch, Ignis pulling his arm away and Gladio lets him put that distance between them again. The thread binding them together gone again already and for a second Gladio thinks he might be sick. "Please... You don't need to-"

A slow, measured breath. "I got it." And whether Ignis wants him to or not he moves to the stairs, body going through motions he barely has the mind for, squinting as the light from the shattered wall of the throne room becomes brighter and brighter.

For a long moment he stands beside the throne, stares not at Noctis, not at the burns that coil up his arm, suit ruined by the shattered ring at his feet, but at the brilliant sky outside. Then he turns, fist pressed to his heart and kneels, his other hand coming up to rest on Noctis' knee.

"Thank you."

And then he finally lets the tears begin to fall.

[The flashes of memory that Pryna had shown him in her last moments had given Ignis bits and pieces to work with. Ardyn's memories fill in many gaps. Gaps that Ignis really doesn't want filled in. It's too much on top of just waking up again and...

He lingers on the edge of shadow and light seeing everything play out in his mind's eye just as it had once before at the odd storytelling only a few months after they arrived. This time, though, everything is tinted magenta around the edges, just as the darkness is once the memories fade. The burning sensation comes and goes, but as far as Ignis can tell, the marks are still there. It takes all his willpower to keep himself from repeatedly checking that the ring isn't on his hand.

Why has he returned from death like this? Wasn't death punishment enough? And then these memories on top of it. Knowing what comes next and not wanting it with all his heart even though it's the only way to restore the light.

At least, it's the only way they know right now. Ignis doesn't let this crush his resolve, but sorrow still hangs heavy in his troubled mind and heart.

Eventually, he moves from the shadows to sit near Ardyn. He's not sure what to say after such painful visions and he knows how he looks right now isn't going to help much.

Well, they've always said he was a fool. He's just wearing that a little more clearly now.]

(Legion had been wondering, for some time, how their timeline turned out.

The Shepard in their timeline is clearly Shepard, though she looks nothing like the one residing in Lifeaftr. She's badly injured but still on her feet, struggling forward to shoot at some indiscernible target.

It explodes, and from some vast construction a sphere of red energy expands.

It engulfs the Reapers, floating in the vastness of space like so many ants in comparison. It engulfs the planet nearby, which due to the angle is hard to recognize as being Earth. It dissipates, but is quickly followed by a beam, shooting across millions of miles to strike other constructions, which then release energy of their own. In time, the entire galaxy is consumed.

Everywhere it goes, the Reapers die.

...They are not the only ones affected, however.

The Reapers, as it so happens, are synthetic life, and the Crucible is non discriminating: everywhere, sentient machines die. Combat units only recently permitted to join the fight drop on the battlefield. Experimental A.I. fry in their servers.

EDI, perhaps the only person in that timeline they'd still consider their friend, dies as the Normandy crashes on an alien planet.

Legion, as it turns out, is not just the last of their species: they are the sole remaining representative of an entire variety of life.)

...what are you even doing here?

[If Ardyn thought much of the way Ignis looked, he didn't mention it. He knew the inconveniences this realm inflicted in returning people to life, and he knew enough of what had happened to Ignis to put one and one together.]

I need none of your sympathy. Don't come to me after that like I don't realize you ran off and got yourself killed like some reckless idiot.

[Spoilers will be warned for in comment headers. Cw: wtf Garfle Warfle Snick, war, murder.]

That's good. I'm fairly certain I'm too tired for sympathy right now.

[Ignis pauses, wincing at how hoarse and weak his voice sounds. He sure hopes it doesn't stay this way long or get worse. The last thing he needs is to lose his voice completely.]

'I'm sorry' doesn't change the fact I did what I did, but I'm going to say it anyway and accept your anger. I deserve it. I allowed this place to get to me when I should have known better.

You're an idiot. Do you have any idea how much time I spent searching for-

[. . .]

...forget it. It scarcely matters anymore.

Fire + Birb = Phoenix, right? And Phoenixes are our friends!

(Right?)

[That gets Ignis to raise his head in Ardyn's direction.]

You looked for me? You...were so angry when we talked before.

[But then again, when isn't Ardyn angry?]

And what if I was? If I truly wished you dead, I'd just kill you.

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Page 2 of 47

[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

iii. death

Prompto | OTA

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+ 1

A: Episode Prompto/Chapter 13 spoilers

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I. in this twilight how dare you speak of grace

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Legion | OTA

II. and for every king that died they would crown another

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III. omnis lacrima

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Gladiolus Amicitia | OTA

I came by today to see you....

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A: Destroy ending

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Keith Kogane | OTA

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