(Given the context of the latest patch, I felt this entire thread needed a bump and an epilogue. Kinda funny how this story lined up parallel to Stormblood's MSQ before it was even released. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.)
Char Lohengrin set his feet atop the desk, lofting one over the other before sinking into his seat. His tail swished idly along his right side, as he removed his glasses and let them fall from his grasp unto the floor. It was already a terribly long evening, and this thin notebook sitting in his hands threatened to extend it well into the dawning hours of the following morning. His whole body felt as if it might begin trembling all at once, but the tremors never came... Was it anger? No, that wasn't right. 'There must be an explanation...'Â
Fear. The fear of the unknowable and wretched abomination he himself was responsible for. His father's legacy - adopted like he himself - to suit a definitive end... Only to unsettle the stage upon which all life dances. His stomach churned and the first grips of anxiety began to tighten their hold upon his heart. Sweat pooled along his forehead and his ears pinned upright as if in anticipation of a threat surely some thousand leagues far afield.
'Such fools were we to trifle with that which we do not fully comprehend... Even Ashorea must have known better... Where did we go wrong? What signs did we ignore? Was it greed? No, even I know better than to follow my father's example... Pride? Ah, but of course it had to be! So arrogant was I to think I might improve upon his own designs, derived on a simple piece of paper without even the faintest glimmer of recognition of such forces that shape the idea they were meant to represent...'
He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, and opened the notebook - his clammy hands staining the first sheets of paper upon first contact. 'Report #452 - Ashorea Mo'Thana' His eyes danced frantically from word to word, taking in the specifics of the havoc wreaked upon the Eorzea branch's research laboratory; The several mutilated and disemboweled corpses that were left behind in the wake of this -creature's- work.
The large scale damage and expenses wrought with the rampant and uncontrollable invocation of aether in such vast quantities it would shatter any ordinary individual... It -had- shattered it... Whatever that -thing- was, it was certainly nothing of Hydaelyn's design. They had presumed themselves fit to fill the roles of Gods, and in their arrogance... unleashed something terribly vile upon themselves, and indeed, the rest of the world. A remorseless creature filled with nothing but agony and despair walking upright and speaking as though a man. '...But of course, what else could it have known? It was not water, but fuel that we sought to stoke the fire with... We coaxed from embers, an inferno... Oh Father... What have you and I done?'Â
The various names of those employed at the research site deemed deceased began to spill out in well arranged brackets to include cost estimates as to how much it might cost to replace them. Everything - neat and orderly - as he'd normally like it. He shook his head, willing himself further until he settled his eyes upon a particular name that hooked his attention and refused to surrender it. 'Stroud Forscythe?!'Â
His friend; The mercenary. This was to be his last intended assignment before pursuing a simpler life with his fiance... There it was at last, the guilt to drive him to tears and a fury. He stood swiftly in a huff, casting the notebook against the far wall with a wail of frustration. His breath became labored, as if stolen away all at once - there was a gravity of loss that took him, the like of which he'd only experienced once with the passing of his mother.Â
'We create our own monsters... Don't we? So then...' He felt his back press against the cold steel wall behind him, and he fell to a slump against it - face buried in his palms. Tears rushed past his eyes, despite his own best efforts to suppress them. '...so then...' There came a knock at his office door. "Mister President..." The door opened, a lithe young man announcing himself as he strode in. "...All reports indicate that we're-" The Miqo'te raised his hand for silence, shaking his head in somber and pensive mood. "...I do believe we are finished, Master Lockenne.... I would advise collecting your final payment and vacating the premises before you are bid fall alongside this crumbling venture of ours."
"Sir... Ashorea was found dead; Shot herself earlier in the day, they think." The man replied, all three eyes averting to the ground. "...Yes, I rather thought as much..." Char closed his bleary eyes and reclined in his chair. "...Have the secretary relay the inquisitive minds of the Legatus to my office, and then instruct everyone depart at haste, lest they become implicated further... I suspect with the leak of information and our designs of some years hence they've come to collect what we would deign keep to ourselves... Primitive man has always been entranced by fire; And we'll play with it well past the point of burning..."Â
The man inclined his head, before turning to spirit out of Char's office like a man possessed. His friend long missing now declared dead. His father's ambitious foray into sciences of man and machine gone awry, and now... bankruptcy. The nation-state had come for it's due. Garlemald came for Char Lohengrin and the skeletons in his closet. What choice did the man have but to surrender them willingly to whatever ends they might wish if it meant he might somehow salvage his own life from such a sordid affair?Â
The minutes dragged, and the silence lingered as the moment blurred to his mind's eye broken only at last by the striding of several boot heels against the stone flooring of the militant escort following behind his expected guest. He rose, tail waggling back and forth nervously as he greeted the armor clad figure. "...Legatus."
Epilogue; 1 Year Later
[youtube]s4tLIRpdij4[/youtube]
Char Lohengrin set his feet atop the desk, lofting one over the other before sinking into his seat. His tail swished idly along his right side, as he removed his glasses and let them fall from his grasp unto the floor. It was already a terribly long evening, and this thin notebook sitting in his hands threatened to extend it well into the dawning hours of the following morning. His whole body felt as if it might begin trembling all at once, but the tremors never came... Was it anger? No, that wasn't right. 'There must be an explanation...'Â
Fear. The fear of the unknowable and wretched abomination he himself was responsible for. His father's legacy - adopted like he himself - to suit a definitive end... Only to unsettle the stage upon which all life dances. His stomach churned and the first grips of anxiety began to tighten their hold upon his heart. Sweat pooled along his forehead and his ears pinned upright as if in anticipation of a threat surely some thousand leagues far afield.
'Such fools were we to trifle with that which we do not fully comprehend... Even Ashorea must have known better... Where did we go wrong? What signs did we ignore? Was it greed? No, even I know better than to follow my father's example... Pride? Ah, but of course it had to be! So arrogant was I to think I might improve upon his own designs, derived on a simple piece of paper without even the faintest glimmer of recognition of such forces that shape the idea they were meant to represent...'
He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, and opened the notebook - his clammy hands staining the first sheets of paper upon first contact. 'Report #452 - Ashorea Mo'Thana' His eyes danced frantically from word to word, taking in the specifics of the havoc wreaked upon the Eorzea branch's research laboratory; The several mutilated and disemboweled corpses that were left behind in the wake of this -creature's- work.
The large scale damage and expenses wrought with the rampant and uncontrollable invocation of aether in such vast quantities it would shatter any ordinary individual... It -had- shattered it... Whatever that -thing- was, it was certainly nothing of Hydaelyn's design. They had presumed themselves fit to fill the roles of Gods, and in their arrogance... unleashed something terribly vile upon themselves, and indeed, the rest of the world. A remorseless creature filled with nothing but agony and despair walking upright and speaking as though a man. '...But of course, what else could it have known? It was not water, but fuel that we sought to stoke the fire with... We coaxed from embers, an inferno... Oh Father... What have you and I done?'Â
The various names of those employed at the research site deemed deceased began to spill out in well arranged brackets to include cost estimates as to how much it might cost to replace them. Everything - neat and orderly - as he'd normally like it. He shook his head, willing himself further until he settled his eyes upon a particular name that hooked his attention and refused to surrender it. 'Stroud Forscythe?!'Â
His friend; The mercenary. This was to be his last intended assignment before pursuing a simpler life with his fiance... There it was at last, the guilt to drive him to tears and a fury. He stood swiftly in a huff, casting the notebook against the far wall with a wail of frustration. His breath became labored, as if stolen away all at once - there was a gravity of loss that took him, the like of which he'd only experienced once with the passing of his mother.Â
'We create our own monsters... Don't we? So then...' He felt his back press against the cold steel wall behind him, and he fell to a slump against it - face buried in his palms. Tears rushed past his eyes, despite his own best efforts to suppress them. '...so then...' There came a knock at his office door. "Mister President..." The door opened, a lithe young man announcing himself as he strode in. "...All reports indicate that we're-" The Miqo'te raised his hand for silence, shaking his head in somber and pensive mood. "...I do believe we are finished, Master Lockenne.... I would advise collecting your final payment and vacating the premises before you are bid fall alongside this crumbling venture of ours."
"Sir... Ashorea was found dead; Shot herself earlier in the day, they think." The man replied, all three eyes averting to the ground. "...Yes, I rather thought as much..." Char closed his bleary eyes and reclined in his chair. "...Have the secretary relay the inquisitive minds of the Legatus to my office, and then instruct everyone depart at haste, lest they become implicated further... I suspect with the leak of information and our designs of some years hence they've come to collect what we would deign keep to ourselves... Primitive man has always been entranced by fire; And we'll play with it well past the point of burning..."Â
The man inclined his head, before turning to spirit out of Char's office like a man possessed. His friend long missing now declared dead. His father's ambitious foray into sciences of man and machine gone awry, and now... bankruptcy. The nation-state had come for it's due. Garlemald came for Char Lohengrin and the skeletons in his closet. What choice did the man have but to surrender them willingly to whatever ends they might wish if it meant he might somehow salvage his own life from such a sordid affair?Â
The minutes dragged, and the silence lingered as the moment blurred to his mind's eye broken only at last by the striding of several boot heels against the stone flooring of the militant escort following behind his expected guest. He rose, tail waggling back and forth nervously as he greeted the armor clad figure. "...Legatus."
