...Unfortunately, I fear, it is a tale that I will not be seeing the end of. I can offer you only the next part in the telling. In spite of whatever she might say to the contrary, the finale rests in the hands of that young woman.
In the wake of Hydaelyn's blow, the world was born anew, as shattered remnants of what it once was. Not only the world - for Sundered too were the souls of all therein, the living and the dead, save for three of those who were once the Convocation.
[He pauses, bringing a hand up to run along his own cheek, a dramatized gesture that might almost seem mocking were it not his own pain he speaks of. And that - sarcastic and detached as he might seem - that pain is a genuine one, visible in hs eyes and audible below all the layers of his voice.]
The world we found ourselves in was wretched, a feeble imitation of what we had lost. The people who were once of one mind had split into so very many races and kinds, some of them of natures that seemed even monstrous to us. And diminished, all, not only in stature but in the light of their souls, their minds, their very selves.
Our families, our friends, all that we loved - for the three of us, Elidibus, Lahabrea, and I, never held any great affection for each other. Even in the circumstances in which we found ourselves, it was only our common cause and god that held us together, for we had naught else in commonality. An Emissary, a researcher of the phantasmal, and I, who might of sorts be considered a keeper of what man now calls the Lifestream, whence souls go to be reborn.
[He closes his eyes, for a just-long-enough moment that you might think him regaining his composure. That speaking of that time is hard is no act - it is showing the difficulty of it that he plays up for dramatic effect.]
And around us, naught but shadows not even worthy of being calling ghosts. A mockery of life - and such was what we found, upon every shard created by that fateful blow. Where we were lucky, we might find literal fragments of the world we had known - or half-people who spoke of the story we had lived as though telling a legend or a dream.
And so we set about the only thing we could do. Restoring our world, our god, our people - for the process was, in effect, one and the same.
[A sigh, again almost honest.]
...We made mistakes. An entire shard lost, because we knew not what we were doing. That world fell into darkness so deep that it was broken, the soul-shards that resided on it twisted into monsters. They seek only to consume, even now, more than ten thousand years later, for in our folly we created perhaps the only creatures as immortal and patient in their plotting as ourselves. Fortunately, as powerful as many voidsent may be, most of them are also stupid and capable of nothing more complex than basic deception.
[A shrug! Thank Zodiark for the little things, right?]
But in time, we learned. And each successful Rejoining gave more to the Source, made souls brighter, made the land bloom with new life... Some of which was things unnatural that we had made for research or whim, now part of the natural world, which was no small bit unsettling, I must say.
[He waves a dismissive hand.]
The Source is now seven times Rejoined, and hangs at a tipping point. For now, the people of the Source have grown enough that they have begun to be surprising, for the first time in so many eons.
[A slight smile. His eyes fall over the crowd, looking for a few faces in particular, should they be present.]
Why, some of them have even learned to hunt and kill us - but that is, I think, a tale for perhaps another day. Or another year, should we all be here long enough. It'd be bad form of me to monopolize the stage.
[And then - almost as though intentionally withholding a conclusion from the audience - he saunters off, back to his preferred corner to observe anyone else who might have something to tell.
Of course, he's fully prepared for the possibility of people coming to question him. Such is the nature of the story told, after all.]
[SHB spoilers here]
...Unfortunately, I fear, it is a tale that I will not be seeing the end of. I can offer you only the next part in the telling. In spite of whatever she might say to the contrary, the finale rests in the hands of that young woman.
In the wake of Hydaelyn's blow, the world was born anew, as shattered remnants of what it once was. Not only the world - for Sundered too were the souls of all therein, the living and the dead, save for three of those who were once the Convocation.
[He pauses, bringing a hand up to run along his own cheek, a dramatized gesture that might almost seem mocking were it not his own pain he speaks of. And that - sarcastic and detached as he might seem - that pain is a genuine one, visible in hs eyes and audible below all the layers of his voice.]
The world we found ourselves in was wretched, a feeble imitation of what we had lost. The people who were once of one mind had split into so very many races and kinds, some of them of natures that seemed even monstrous to us. And diminished, all, not only in stature but in the light of their souls, their minds, their very selves.
Our families, our friends, all that we loved - for the three of us, Elidibus, Lahabrea, and I, never held any great affection for each other. Even in the circumstances in which we found ourselves, it was only our common cause and god that held us together, for we had naught else in commonality. An Emissary, a researcher of the phantasmal, and I, who might of sorts be considered a keeper of what man now calls the Lifestream, whence souls go to be reborn.
[He closes his eyes, for a just-long-enough moment that you might think him regaining his composure. That speaking of that time is hard is no act - it is showing the difficulty of it that he plays up for dramatic effect.]
And around us, naught but shadows not even worthy of being calling ghosts. A mockery of life - and such was what we found, upon every shard created by that fateful blow. Where we were lucky, we might find literal fragments of the world we had known - or half-people who spoke of the story we had lived as though telling a legend or a dream.
And so we set about the only thing we could do. Restoring our world, our god, our people - for the process was, in effect, one and the same.
[A sigh, again almost honest.]
...We made mistakes. An entire shard lost, because we knew not what we were doing. That world fell into darkness so deep that it was broken, the soul-shards that resided on it twisted into monsters. They seek only to consume, even now, more than ten thousand years later, for in our folly we created perhaps the only creatures as immortal and patient in their plotting as ourselves. Fortunately, as powerful as many voidsent may be, most of them are also stupid and capable of nothing more complex than basic deception.
[A shrug! Thank Zodiark for the little things, right?]
But in time, we learned. And each successful Rejoining gave more to the Source, made souls brighter, made the land bloom with new life... Some of which was things unnatural that we had made for research or whim, now part of the natural world, which was no small bit unsettling, I must say.
[He waves a dismissive hand.]
The Source is now seven times Rejoined, and hangs at a tipping point. For now, the people of the Source have grown enough that they have begun to be surprising, for the first time in so many eons.
[A slight smile. His eyes fall over the crowd, looking for a few faces in particular, should they be present.]
Why, some of them have even learned to hunt and kill us - but that is, I think, a tale for perhaps another day. Or another year, should we all be here long enough. It'd be bad form of me to monopolize the stage.
[And then - almost as though intentionally withholding a conclusion from the audience - he saunters off, back to his preferred corner to observe anyone else who might have something to tell.
Of course, he's fully prepared for the possibility of people coming to question him. Such is the nature of the story told, after all.]