1, sort of (Special add-on content, lmk if you're interested)
[One incidence of seeing the priests happen to someone else is enough; anyone who makes conversation with Emet-Selch out in the open might find themselves the recipient of a sudden apology before he vanishes in a warping of dark energy. If you stick around, once the priests are past, he may reappear; however, chances are that you don't want to stick around for the ten minutes or so it takes before he declares an area safe. Catch up later?]
2; Hope is the thing with feathers (and claws, and snow)
[By Garlean standards, this is hardly even winter. While the warm drinks are appreciated, it is primarily the milkshake that Emet-Selch can be caught drinking, seemingly completely unaffected by the glitter of multicolored flakes that rains down around him. Rather than attempting the indignity of slurping the cake bits at the bottom out with a straw, he's Created a long silver spoon with which to fish them from the bottom of the cup, a tool that seems inclined to go most everywhere with him at the moment.
One must have some standards, after all.
Aside from pretentious milkshake consumption, he favors the tea and lattes, with no apparent taste for the cider or wine. Those who encounter him under the effects of the tea will find that nothing, seemingly, has changed; omission is safer than a lie, after all, and so there are only a few subjects about which he hasn't been entirely honest in the first place.
As for the lattes? Well, the keen-eyed might catch him with the sharp claws of a crow or raven tipping his fingers, his gloves banished for the moment. It takes no keen eyes to see the other change the drink is wont to work on him. Huge black feathered wings - crow's wings, for those with such familiarity - spend most of their time closed against his back, though they do occasionally follow the motions of his arms if he gestures particularly expressively. Best watch out if you're standing to either side of him.
As a related matter, Emet-Selch has adopted a backless shirt under his short jacket, which is easily removed if the wings should appear. The result is that there's a window of flesh visible under the edge even when he's wearing said jacket, for those who might be interested in that sort of thing.
Look, he lived his last lifetime in Garlemald, this is practically shorts weather by Garlean standards. It's fine.
You can catch him at his usual haunts of watching the comings-and-goings from the temples, or if you're the type to avoid the priests as much as possible in this season, the botanical gardens.]
4. Tell me your every truth
[It is not only one night that Emet-Selch spends at the quiet temple; he remains far enough from the altar to give people privacy, but it is not unlikely that anyone arriving, especially when no one else is there, will catch him in the far corner with the dragonlings.
That is not to say that he has no burdens to share, and should anyone find themselves here without anyone else to share with, he's receptive enough... Though, of course, those he knows are more likely to get anything beyond a nod of acknowledgement and a polite retreat, should they wish it.]
Emet-Selch | FFXIV
[One incidence of seeing the priests happen to someone else is enough; anyone who makes conversation with Emet-Selch out in the open might find themselves the recipient of a sudden apology before he vanishes in a warping of dark energy. If you stick around, once the priests are past, he may reappear; however, chances are that you don't want to stick around for the ten minutes or so it takes before he declares an area safe. Catch up later?]
2; Hope is the thing with feathers (and claws, and snow)
[By Garlean standards, this is hardly even winter. While the warm drinks are appreciated, it is primarily the milkshake that Emet-Selch can be caught drinking, seemingly completely unaffected by the glitter of multicolored flakes that rains down around him. Rather than attempting the indignity of slurping the cake bits at the bottom out with a straw, he's Created a long silver spoon with which to fish them from the bottom of the cup, a tool that seems inclined to go most everywhere with him at the moment.
One must have some standards, after all.
Aside from pretentious milkshake consumption, he favors the tea and lattes, with no apparent taste for the cider or wine. Those who encounter him under the effects of the tea will find that nothing, seemingly, has changed; omission is safer than a lie, after all, and so there are only a few subjects about which he hasn't been entirely honest in the first place.
As for the lattes? Well, the keen-eyed might catch him with the sharp claws of a crow or raven tipping his fingers, his gloves banished for the moment. It takes no keen eyes to see the other change the drink is wont to work on him. Huge black feathered wings - crow's wings, for those with such familiarity - spend most of their time closed against his back, though they do occasionally follow the motions of his arms if he gestures particularly expressively. Best watch out if you're standing to either side of him.
As a related matter, Emet-Selch has adopted a backless shirt under his short jacket, which is easily removed if the wings should appear. The result is that there's a window of flesh visible under the edge even when he's wearing said jacket, for those who might be interested in that sort of thing.
Look, he lived his last lifetime in Garlemald, this is practically shorts weather by Garlean standards. It's fine.
You can catch him at his usual haunts of watching the comings-and-goings from the temples, or if you're the type to avoid the priests as much as possible in this season, the botanical gardens.]
4. Tell me your every truth
[It is not only one night that Emet-Selch spends at the quiet temple; he remains far enough from the altar to give people privacy, but it is not unlikely that anyone arriving, especially when no one else is there, will catch him in the far corner with the dragonlings.
That is not to say that he has no burdens to share, and should anyone find themselves here without anyone else to share with, he's receptive enough... Though, of course, those he knows are more likely to get anything beyond a nod of acknowledgement and a polite retreat, should they wish it.]