IC INBOX: STORYTELLER

[story_teller]

   IC INBOX: THE STORYTELLER

The Storyteller's temple on the central island of Ensō is, unsurprisingly, where your local deity can most often be found. Those seeking to strike up a conversation or pursue the Storyteller for answers are not guaranteed an immediate answer, but they can certainly try. If one waits for long enough after posing a question, their expectation for a response from the deity in question may very well prompt them to happen along...eventually.

If you're looking to request an item, this is not the place to do it. Our Item Requests page is where you ought to pose those inquiries!

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code by photosynthesis

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Backdated to just after the Sunbird's rebirth.

[prettypurpleparlor]

[The week of darkness was a long and harsh one, for all that they lived to see the dawn. Still, they did win out that night, and the Storyteller was a very large part of why they did.]

[Muffet knows that it isn't their usual sort of offering, but the Storytelling isn't for
a little while longer, and she wants to tell them thank you.]

[So in a quiet moment, once things have settled down a bit, she walks into the temple and leaves something on the altar for them- a roughly carved wooden bottle of blackberry whiskey.]

[She puts it down with a gentle smile, then turns and leaves. Balance and Imbalance had seemed to like her brew well enough, so hopefully their fellow deity will, too.]

Oh... Muffet-chan.......

[story_teller]

[Should she venture back into the area the following day, the whiskey will be gone. She can be sure that it was greatly enjoyed- that afternoon, the empty (and clean) bottle will be returned, along with a single bag of flour for her troubles.]

sometime pre-storytelling, time is fake

[scourgingstars]

[Ardyn was rarely if ever here when he could avoid it, and hatred of deities aside it had taken him this long to fully understand why. It felt far too similar to Steyliff, to the point where he almost thought he'd see light filtered through blue water if he glanced upwards. A little shard of home, two thousand years and uncountable universes out of place.]

[Annoying. He traced a hand lightly over the stone of the temple walls, absent of the half-expected runes that would seal something like him in.]

So tell me- [he said to the empty air, tilting his head with a small smirk,] does the guardian Astral of this island care to speak to the lowly creatures which tread upon their ground?

welcome to LifeAftr where time is fake and the sass don't matter

[story_teller]

I do, though I also convey some surprise as to the precise lowly creature who treads in my temple.

[The voice, of course, comes from behind him, the Storyteller having taken upon themself a rather-- pointed appearance.]

What brings you here, Ardyn Izunia?

backdated to earlier this month

[deathfindsaway]

[It took Kravitz a week or two to find this place. Like everything on this island, it's confusing to him, and he's been trying to think of the proper way to address this regardless. He can't escape- and if this Storyteller can't send him, or anyone else, home, he needs to find a way to resolve this.

Despite the island's temperature, he shows up in his suit, aiming to at least start this respectfully. If they're a god, they deserve at least a discussion. But he has orders. A duty.

He steps into the temple, truly unsure of how to do this, and clears his throat.]

Would this be where I could request an audience with the... Storyteller?

you mean earlier last month because I am a fool

[story_teller]

[Really, Kravitz, their temple is practically one of the first areas many come across. At the least, you could've asked for directions.

At the least, the stone temple is a delightful reprieve from the tropical air outside; despite the sunlight that streams about the place in abundance, it's cool, quiet.]

That is correct. [The Storyteller says from above. Overhead, a sloth dangles from a series of vines- seemingly innocuous, if not for the rather sparkly antlers adorning the top of their head.

They've been taking fashion tips from Lup. Sue them.]

May 20th

[catpiper]

[It's not the first time their local god has missed out on a Storytelling session and it shouldn't trouble her. Shouldn't make her want to collect shiny rocks and pretty flowers and seashells to glue old cupcake sprinkles and small pieces from a candy bracelet on.

So naturally, she does just that and leaves this incredible pile of garbage in the depths of their temple. There's even a blue glowstick. She cracked it for them, so it makes the trash shine beautifully, like some kind of rpg quest item.

For about a half hour? she tries to figure out how to leave them a bubble, but it pops every time, causing little watermarks to appear on whatever hard surfaces she managed to get near. Her bad. Whoops.

Anyway, she did her best on this terrible """""gift""" and chalks the wall behind it with a little antlered bunny. It's bad. But. You know. Enjoy. ]

May .... 23rdish?

[crosslaced]

Storyteller?

[Sorry, he knows you're grieving and all, but his fiancé is having a hiatus disappearance and hasn't come home in a few days. And that's alarming. Laurent addresses the Standing Stone first, where he usually goes to for requests, and failing that searches the Chamber of Glyphs.]

[story_teller]

[In the Chamber of Glyphs stands a form that the Storyteller does not often take. Humanoid at its core, with a pale, featureless face the color of metallic powder; tall and long-limbed and cloaked with dark formlessness where the definitions in their bare skin should be. The drawings in the Chamber shift subtly around them, conveying a tale of a festival with little stick figures dancing in wide circles around a great cauldron filled with flowers.]

Yes?

[They respond, without turning.]

May like, 22nd

[hellawrath]

Things have been kinda... off, since the whole Bliss shit went down. In camp, and on the island in general really, there's a heavy, uncomfortable vibe. Some people shrugged off their fantasies like they were just a wild ride through some weirdass fantasy Freudian nonsense, while others... haven't. It's not as simple as setting a god on fire and going back to island time after all that, turns out.

So Lup ends up wandering deeper into the temple than she usually has any business going, until she finds herself in the Chamber of Glyphs. Ren made her check it out once after she'd found it, but she hasn't been back since. It's really something, though. She admires it for a bit, until the two clay pots in her arms are getting too heavy to haul around. One holds a few small tree saplings, the other a mix of blooming flowers.

"We've uh, been grabbing what we can off Ziziphus, since we're guessing it's not gonna be around forever. Can't let all that garlic and those strawberries go to waste, right?" she chuckles a little, quiet in the cavernous room. "Thing is, I don't actually know what to like, do, with these? I mean I could ask our botanists, we got a few of those now, but-- I thought you might have a place for them." And she quickly sets down the pots, drops her knapsack off her shoulder and shakes two mosslings out of it. The leafy lil critters hustle off into a dark corner.

She's just gonna, hang out here for a bit. And if she eventually starts doodling two grinning elves surrounded by levitating sparkling vegetables and an adoring, hungry camp fam, it's not like anyone's gotta know.

[story_teller]

There is seemingly no response from the god she speaks to, left to her own devices for some time. In the midst of her preoccupation in sketching out her family, however, she may notice movement out of the corner of her eyes.

The horned rabbit approaches the mosslings with a tired, loping motion, seemingly not perturbed by the way the creatures tremble and push themselves into the darkened corner in an attempt to escape. Touching the tip of their horns against the wall, moss sprouts quickly, coating a square foot of the wall in a green carpet that the mosslings- terrified, starving little things- set upon as soon as the god has moved away.

At that point, the Storyteller simply watches the two, head bowed under the weight of an exhaustion she's doubtless never seen them carry before. The trees and flowers are also lovely, Lup. Really.

Backdated to May 19th

[prettypurpleparlor]

[Muffet's expedition to Ziziphus has been quite successful, all told: she's brought back as many plants for her garden as she can possibly find, saving anything useful or edible for future use, and some curious creatures besides. She's rather taken with those floral sheep, and a small flock of them has begun forming around her home on the islets.]

[But the most important part of her expedition isn't something she's keeping for herself.]

[She did not forget the Storyteller's answer, and careful searching unearthed, among the many other plants of Ziziphus, several vividly blooming sweet peas. She took them from the crumbling island back to Enso, transplanting them carefully so that they would grow strong and healthy in their new home.]

[One of the plants she does not relocate to the woods of Enso, but instead plants it along with the others in the memorial garden. She does not carve out a name on a marking for it, as with the others, but she suspects that those who need to know will know who it stands for anyway.]

[From this plant, she carefully cuts a small sprig of sweet pea blossoms, and leaves the flowers on the altar in the Storyteller's temple. She bows her head for a moment, silent in sorrow or acknowledgement or perhaps merely contemplation, then turns to leave.]

[story_teller]

[A sound behind her may gain pause in her exit.

Their appearances this month have been brief- the field mouse that they have become for this instance moves with a frailty of one who has done far too much, far too quickly. Even the journey from the edge of the altar to the cutting placed at its center is arduous, one that culminates in the small, white creature curling about the blooms, sorrow heavier than any exhaustion.]

...I cannot thank you enough.

[They will not forget this kindness. To actively seek to remember a god who did nothing to her and her ilk but harm, it is-

It is more than they could have expected. Far more than they could have asked for. For the first time in millennia, they feel... humbled. Humbled, by these brief instances of life known as mortals.

It is how they know they have made the right choice.]

28th June

[lightlessfuture]

[ The Knight has been thinking much more about gods, lately. The one they faced in their own world was a raging, painful light, an enemy. The one the Drifter holds in such high esteem gave them purpose, a strength that allowed them to cut through their sickness. The one they have befriended (or perhaps has befriended them?) is warm, kind.

And the Storyteller...has been present. Has been kind to them. Has asked much, and given much in return.

What can one small wanderer offer a being of such power? They are not sure. But they remember all those they've seen, devoting themselves to someone, to something, to a singular purpose. They may not understand worship in a conventional way, but they understand duty. Responsibility. Service to another.

So, to the Storyteller's temple, they come bearing gifts. Wreaths of flowers (they made sure these ones weren't poisonous), tangled together inexpertly. They make a nest for two stones, cut to size, graven with symbols; masked faces to represent the Storyteller's changing nature, the images they'd seen from their brief meeting with Bliss (wings and flowers, sign of root).

They arrange their little bundle on the altar. Perhaps, if they hadn't had that conversation with the Drifter, they would simply leave it there and go.

But--

-after a moment, they draw their sword and place it in front of them, then sit on their knees and bow their head. A small, shadowy figure, motionless before the altar.

They do not know what is expected of them. They know no prayers, no ceremonies, no rituals. They do not know when the Storyteller might appear.

They simply wait, apparently in vigil. ]

[story_teller]

[They will not wait long.]

[There comes a sound of cloven hooves striking the dilapidated stone tile, softened by pads of fur. The shift from nothingness to thereness is difficult to perceive; one moment, the room is empty, and then in the next the Storyteller perches like a mountain goat atop the crumbling edge of a wide windowsill, a thick mane of white fur draping from their neck. Three twisting antlers fan out from their forehead. Leaning forward so that their forelegs set upon the floor, they tilt their head in polite greeting.]

[The offerings receive an interested look, though neither approval nor dissatisfaction instantly shines in the Storyteller's deer-like face. Very soon, their attention is back upon their visitor.]

Welcome, little one. You've not visited my hollowed nest in search of its ghosts, I take it?

July 1

[piercetheheart]

[Early in the day on the 1st Gladio can be found doing some small improvements around the temple. He'd ask before he does anything major but starting this morning there's the soft singing of ceramic bells all through the temple and the fruit trees to the East.

It's not an offering exactly but the poor ST has been busting his butt and he's heard too much of people being ungrateful. So he's here, making sure the poor thing has a relaxing atmosphere he can chillax in when he's not dealing with them and their drama.

He doesn't really expect or need a response but he does pause by the entrance, after hanging one more string of bells.]

Take it easy, little guy.

[story_teller]

[But a response does come, eventually. A cockatiel's cornflower-yellow head bobs beside the soft chime of bells beside their temple, their eyes ink-drop black and beady. Perhaps they chose this shape because they knew it would make it difficult to read their face.]

[Their tone is, however, undeniably...wistful, when they speak.]

Thank you.

I have missed the wind's music.

early july

[catpiper]

It's a day ending in y, which means it's time for another fun filled afternoon of bothering the local god. While Lup and Ren have spent their days lowkey cleaning up the temple, pulling weeds and whatever tidying up can be done, there's another reason they're ambling around today. It's time to summon a god and her method doesn't involve any kind of spellcasting or quiet prayer. It's just, you know, the rambles of an excitable kid. Lup's probably got a better handle on how to get their attention, but heck. She's gonna try anyway.

"Are you awake? Can you hear our hearts from here?" And if they can't hear them and need to rely on sight instead, she holds her arms in the air, steps to the side and turns to face another wall. "Or here? Can you hear us now?"

[hellawrath]

Are you kidding? This is the best way to get a god's attention, for sure. Trust Lup, she's an expert in getting woken up by this girl.

She grins at Ren's stellar attempt and leans against an overgrown wall, picking at the dirt under her nails. Boy the weeds in here are tough as old boots, too bad she can't just firebomb the whole thing? That uh, might not be received so gratefully.

"Hey what if you play a lil tune for them on your flute? I bet they're gonna hear that!" The fuckin dead hear that thing, she's checked.

time is a lie somewhere in july idk

[crosslaced]

[In contrast to his last call, Laurent seeks out the Storyteller with no hurry this time. He passes the Temple often in his weekly routine, and at one point asks out loud- ]

Hey- I have some questions, whenever you’re unoccupied.

[ He’ll be around, keeping an eye out for when the ST clears up their schedule. ]

[story_teller]

I am never unoccupied.

[The words originate from high above, as is generally typical for them. The Storyteller's current shape is that of a barn owl, heart-shaped face pale and practically glowing in the dark of the Temple's upper regions.]

[They flit down accordingly, alighting nearby.]

But I am more unoccupied at present.

end of July

[piercetheheart]

Yo! Tory?!

[Okay so not the kind of respectful way to request the presence of a god but Gladio decided last time they spoke that they needed more friends and less followers. So he's here with basket of snacks, a bit of Muffet's liquor that he snuck out of Denny and most importantly

The backpack he arrived with has been modified into a chocobo carrier and there's some very curious cheeps from the dusty purple grey ball of down that is now strapped to his chest.]

C'mere, dude. Want you to meet Tiana~

[story_teller]

I beg your...

[Today, perhaps unsurprisingly, they are a dog - a shaggy mutt, patchworked with black and white fur and largely indistinguishable from any other canid, save for the stubby pair of ram's horns coiling out from behind their flopping ears. Why the horns? Don't ask, my friend; it's surely not very important.]

[The Storyteller blinks.]

I see your eggs have hatched.

beginning of august

[antepone]

[ Alright. She's been here for a little while, and there's been a burning curiosity. Unfortunate that she's been so shy about approaching the deity, but it's fine. But if anyone knows exactly what's going on, it's them. So. Here she is, with a little bundle of fresh fruits and veggies for the Storyteller. She's not sure exactly what they like, but surely they'll find something.

... It occurs to her now that gods might not even need to eat, but she's already here so. It's fine.

She clears her throat. ]

Hello, Storyteller?

[story_teller]

[A little shyness is nothing to be ashamed of. The soft, leathery flap of wings is the only herald of their response, at first.]

[Then a small fruit bat settles, upside down, with tiny claws clasped in a thick fringe of moss hanging from the doorway.]

What brings you here? [It is more simply curious than it is accusatory, though they expect that this meeting is one with a purpose. Most are.]

late stage flower hell

[hellawrath]

The population of Ensō is sick, and Lup refuses to accept it. Her own imposing blooms have encased her hands like gloves, sprouting almost up to her elbows and out of one shoulder - the one that still sometimes aches, when clouds hide the sun and rain threatens to come in, ever since that week in January. Something tall and unyielding grows inside of her and up her throat, painfully slow, making it impossible to ever catch her breath.

But she still leaves camp, leaves the others in Barry's capable hands to offer her fires and an open ear to as many people as she can. And on one such round, she finds herself near the temple. It's empty and quiet, they haven't set up the Store in over a week - obviously, there's no point, it's not like anyone's up to haggling right now. But she drags herself in deeper, in some sort of feverish haze maybe, balefully glaring at the vines and weeds that aren't growing on a person, for fucking once.

A few people are getting better, but not nearly enough. They know what to do, they've got a cure and they're still-- getting worse. She's seen people try and it's just not enough, for whatever fucked up reason. Others, they're-- Taako's rapidly losing what little drive he had to play this horrible game. Ren still won't even admit she's sick.

Rounding a corner on trembling legs, wheezing shallow breaths through the phlegm and petals in her throat, Lup realizes she's. She's scared. She's helpless.

There's got to be an answer here.

"You-- you know what's happening, right? We're running out of time. We need help."

[story_teller]

Petals line the temple corridors. Soft like snow, multicolored; pristine and bloodless in the sun's gleam. Each petal is unique, and each one stirs at Lup's ankles as she makes her way through the temple: the bright yellow of dandelions; the delicate, pale bell-shapes of foxglove; the pink and sweet-scented honeysuckle; the vibrant, fanning oranges gifted to the bird of paradise.

And it is very quiet.

The Storyteller's chamber looks as it ever does, and yet the petals have invaded here as well, strewn thinly about the stone floor as if scattered first by hand and then by gale. When Lup speaks to them, there is at first only silence. As if the Storyteller will not answer, or perhaps is not there at all.

But, after several seconds, a soft sigh whistles through the brickwork, sending blooms whirlwinding into the air. A bengal tiger slinks down from the ruined rafters, their massive paws gliding soundlessly over petals.

Two ivory, antler-like tusks jut from the sides of their maw; lined with a multicolored swirl of budding flowers.

"You want to help. As do I. But we cannot force it onto those who would not receive it."

18th August

[lightlessfuture]

There are flowers everywhere; the temple is blooming.

The Knight might have enjoyed it once, but not now. The little hooded figure stops frequently to stare, free of blooms but -- disquieted, to say the least, that they have wound themselves so tightly into this place.

Is the god ill, too? They don't know. But gods can weaken, they can sicken (Grimm was proof enough of that). So they approach the altar, and as they did before, they wait.

They have nothing to bring, this time. Even if they had devised an offering, they wouldn't know what to do with it. What do you give, to make an illness better?

Words, which they have little of. Medicine, which is...a dicey proposition at best (and hadn't worked, apparently). A sword?

No, not a sword. Not the only end they have given, time and time again.

Perhaps something else, then.

So they sit and wait, as they did before. Curled up against the altar.

[story_teller]

Their entrance is not so grand as to distort the very fabric of space before the Knight's very eyes, not this time. Instead, it's somewhat anticlimactic, the Storyteller's claws clicking against stone as they round the altar to their champion's left, a canine's visage marred by the flowers that consume one side of their face. The variety of blooms adorning their body is as wide as that which has made a home across the temple.

Saying nothing, the Storyteller sits, looking through the open archway to the courtyard beyond. It is... a nice enough day, today. The sun is shining.



Should the Knight have anything to say, they know they will be heard. As they have been prior.

8.27

[piercetheheart]

[It's early when he stops in, very early, Leopold trotting sleepily behind him, rumbling his displeasure at missing out on his morning basking.]

Tory? Hey, I know it's early...

[He's speaking even as he makes his way into the temple. He drops down to take a seat beside the altar, tugging a wooden spoon out of his pocket and promptly shoveling some eggs from a coconut bowl he'd been carrying into his mouth.]

Don't wanna bug you and just take off but I have a question and I've got work to get done today too. You got a minute?

[story_teller]

[A spotted gecko scuttles along the walls of the temple, their back beige flurried with dark spots. A tapering tongue flicks out and then in again as the small creature curls up along the smooth plane of their discarded tome, thick with dust.]

[They suppose it was only a matter of time. For all his seemingly pleasant visits, there was an underlying reason to all things. There was something, in the end, that he wanted and that he expected them to be able to grant or explain or otherwise do.]

[It would be foolish to assume otherwise. They...hadn't let themself assume otherwise. Had they?]

I suppose, yes.

8. 30

[thermalwind]

[He can recall the last time he spoke directly to Storyteller. It feels like so long ago. For him it is. He steps into the temple and shuts his eyes. He'd made the decision to do this and now he'll follow through. The sky is just touched by the kiss of the dawn's light when he speaks up.]

Hey, it's me. Keith.

I wanted... [He falters and sinks to the floor, legs folded up under him.] I wanted to talk. You've helped all of us a lot. Even if that's what you feel you have to do...we're part of a team.

And I haven't been the best teammate to you. I want to fix that.

[story_teller]

[There's a momentary silence, until a dark-eyed lemur with a ringed tail scuttles into full view. They settle down on the temple flagstones just across from their visitor. It's strange, but their tome seems to have shown up where it's needed, at the precise spot they've ended up, even if it certainly wasn't there before.]

[They stare at Keith silently for only a moment longer.]

You are not unreasonable to mistrust me. Plenty do. Given your history, and theirs, I have little right to protest a sense of caution.

10/21 - Let's pretend I'm not behind lol

[piercetheheart]

[Immediately after both coming back to life and having so much of the unknowns of the future of Eos cleared up there's more questions than answers.

But that's not at all what he's worried about.]

Tory?!

[Leo's trotting along after him, worried because of his master's sudden disability but Gladio is stubborn, determined.

I can't keep this up - not with what I've had to do since returning

He knew things had been rough on Tory but he'd always been a little reserved about admitting it. For him to be so open about how much he's struggling... It's got Gladio worried, scared for his friend and unsure if there's anything he can really do to help but he wants to be there for the little god regardless.

He doesn't even have any presents this time, nothing but a shoulder to lean on and a very very very concerned tigerlily.]

Tory? Talk to me, buddy.

it's fine dear!

[story_teller]

I'm busy!

[An echoing shout of seemingly no source. There is no small creature skittering out across the flagstones to say hello, or much of an indication that anyone is here at all. The place is not quite so eerily quiet as it was in the Storyteller's absence, but they've not materializes just yet.]

I'm trying to restore balance, here, and do I look very much like an Avatar of Balance?

late october, periodic visits

[lightlessfuture]

[ They don't linger, but they do leave offerings piled on the altar. Simple things; a pillow, a blanket. Fragrant tea made from the flowers they've worked so hard to grow and food made from what they've collected on Nuidan. These, too, are the products of stories, in their own way, even if they are simple, straightforward ones.

And a note scratched into a flattened stone: "Feel better soon." - Knight ]

[story_teller]

[The offerings are...accepted, one by one. That is to say, someone certainly picks them up, and leaves the empty cups, overturned, when they are done.]

[The Knight will, at times, find a small wreath of dried campanula flowers left behind. Dried, as though that will be an assurance that they did not grow from the Storyteller's own shape. It is not altogether clear whether or not they are. Perhaps that's simply all they had on hand at the moment.]

[But purple bellflowers have one consistent meaning: heartfelt gratitude.]

early november

[catpiper]

[You know what their friendly, neighborhood god needs? A stuffed rabbit with two small antler looking sticks glued to its head. And that's exactly what she drops off one morning.

Now The Storyteller can always have a friend with them, no matter how far they go or how long they're out of commission for. This toy rabbit can be their family and protect them.]

[story_teller]

[It's a...very kind thought, Ren. They'll give you that much. They prop the stuffed toy up just outside the temple, like a greeting. Some days, it has a small circlet of flowers positioned atop its head.]

[Now there's reason for that, really.]

November 16th

[fortunefavored]

[Hey there, Storyteller. It's been two and a half months. Newt's ribs have healed up and he's adjusted (hahahaha....) to living here.

Kind of.

As if Newt could ever really adjust to this, really. He's been doing his best to keep himself busy, but it's still strange to him. It's even stranger still that there are people that know his face and his name. That "he" was here before. But it couldn't have been him, could it? He has no memories of it, no familiarity. People and things that he "should" recognize, he does not. It's not him. He should leave it well enough alone.

But, then, well, he's never been very good at leaving anything well enough alone.

So here he is, entering the Storyteller's temple. He's got his hands tucked into the pockets of his torn jeans, pushing his still-cracked glasses up onto his nose as he glances around. He's stayed away mostly; he's had some severely bruised ribs to contend with and a bunch of exploring to do. But now, despite the arrival of a new island...he chooses to be here.

Newt glances around the temple, rocking back on his heels a bit]

Uuuuuuuuh....Hey, Storyteller, you, uh....you in here?

[story_teller]

[The Temple is better than it was, certainly, and it seems to have been getting some...touching up? There's a stuffed rabbit perched up just outside, and a cup of tea resting at the entrance. It's not clear who it's for.]

I am.

[From high above, a fruit bat drops into sight with the flap of leathery wings. They're small, dark-furred, throwing the bright yellow dandelion shoots peppering their back into strange, sharp relief. They hang upside down several feet away, wings wrapped around their middle.]

The chaos of these last few weeks was not ideal, but I have done my best to put everything back the way it was.

12/11

[piercetheheart]

[Gladio's still pretty beat up but he's here first thing in the morning once it seems things have calmed the heck down to check on Tory.]

Tory? Hey, you holdin' up okay, little dude?

[Just limping his way over to the spot where they usually hang out, Leo rumbling worriedly at his heels. Whether it's because Gladio's sore as hell or because he's still wary after seeing future!Tory is up for debate.]

[story_teller]

[ The doors to the temple remain closed; no voice or movement greets Gladio's appearance.

There is no answer. ]

some nebulous point after the eruption

[scourgingstars]

[So this was the temple...? It didn’t seem too different from the old ruins back home, and yet Ardyn felt strangely on edge as he looked at them. As though there was something terrible slipping his mind...but no, that was absurd. There was surely nothing wrong here, so he’d just do as intended and leave peacefully. It was a bit embarrassing not to know where to find anything worth an offering, but hopefully he’d be forgiven for using some spare gysahl greens. Ardyn set the plants on the altar and lit them with a snap of his fingers, the leaves curling and smoldering into smoke.]

[Quietly, the near-unrecognizable healer with violet hair turned red and gold eyes turned blue knelt before the altar and folded his hands in silent respectful prayer.]

[story_teller]

[The soft scuff of feet over stone. A brush of nubbed claws over the rock, and - if Ardyn turns around, he'll see them.]

[They look a little different from what he, or anyone else, might remember. Smaller, too, about the size of a guinea pig. For once, there are no flowers in their fur. When they speak, their voice is...higher. Younger.]

[More vibrant than it has ever been.]

Oh. You're here. You're really here. Why are you here? What are you doing? What are those? Why are they so green? Why'd you bring them? [With each question, they hip-hop a little closer until they leap up onto the altar, their nose quivering right up at the tip of the greens.]

Some point after the eruption as well

[thermalwind]

[He stands in the doorway and looks over the inside of the temple. It feels the same but is he really older or is it some possible future? He hasn't found an answer to that. Keith enters while making no attempt to hide his approach. He kneels down before the altar and breathes in.]

Storyteller. Are you here?

[Ever since he saw plants in their fur he has felt a certain loyalty to them. Mortal lives are the kind that isn't always safe but Storyteller doesn't ask for some of the sufferings that seem to be reflected upon them. He waits, shifting into a more comfortable but still respectful sitting position.]

Whenever you're up to talking, I'm here.

[story_teller]

[For a long, long moment, there's only silence.]

[Then comes a voice like growling thunder, emanating from the walls themselves. It is so low and so deep that it causes the loose stone and gravel ro rattle underfoot, as though quailing under the heavy tread of some great, approaching beast.]

[But there is no beast. There is no one here but a low voice, coal-black and angry.]

You.

Whose people were you?

one more in post-eruption, tho def after keith, for krav + ren!

[deathfindsaway]

[After the writing on the rock and the subsequent discussion, Kravitz decides on a day he's got his wit's about him, temporarily without the affect of the ash, that he has to try. Even if he's been warned against the dangers of what the Storyteller could be, he knows that his own experience has allowed him to regain some lost memories in his time spent much younger. Minds keep memories very well, after all- it's the recalling that's the problem. But perhaps, they'll be able to more easily remember things lost, and he just can't miss that chance.

He almost convinces Ren not to come, but she's worried, and he can't disparage her that. Besides, Kravitz may be technical and have purpose, but the Storyteller likes Ren. It's not a bargaining chip, exactly- she did want to come- but... maybe a boon. Maybe.

He's got her close as he takes his steps in, calling out.]

Storyteller? Are you around?

[Kravitz looks down towards Ren, motioning for her to speak as not to catch them unawares.]

[catpiper]

[It is most certainly not a boon that she's here because her usefulness is going to go down by the second, but she adores their local neighborhood god and when Kravitz said he was going to check on them, she wanted to be there. But maybe an offering will entice them? She throws a bunch of colorful rocks on the ground, as if that might summon them. Enjoy these treasures??]

Can you hear our hearts?