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IC INBOX: STORYTELLER

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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Oh - oh, could you - please not suffocate me, while I'm attempting to recover -

[They sound more vaguely disgruntled than genuinely pained, but it's clear they certainly weren't expecting this abrupt display of emotion.]

I did say I'd be away for a time, really. There's no need for this.

Away?!

[He hisses the word out, finally loosening his grip on the poor little fox, shoulders slumping. It's not nearly what Tory would want but he's at least going to try to position them in his lap, arms draped loosely around them as he finally breathes out a ragged breath, stretching his fingers as though it might make them stop tingling so much. Only to see the splattered ink smeared over his hands and his stomach drops again.

Of course a god of stories would have ink instead of blood.]

That doesn't fucking explain what the hell just happened. How are you okay after all of-

[Can he nuzzle you Tory? Please? Can he just... not stop touching you for awhile kthx He knows you're not a dog but gods above let him give you affections.]

I was...I was working. Mu is very unhappy with me at the moment and - for the love of all, would you...stop?

[They're discomfited, clearly, uncertainty making them more than a little antsy with this degree of physical contact.]

There's really no need for all this. I do apologize for the absence, but after a degree of balance, everything should be going back to normal.

I-

right...

[He winces a little, lets Tory remove themselves from his lap.]

Working... is that why you were so... uh... Fuck Tory I'm so confused. I don't understand. What are you trying to protect us from and what the hell was happening? I thought you were dying bro.

...no. No, I'm...fine. I'm quite tired, but Mu gets out of sorts easily.

[They look at him quizzically. Have you ever seen a fox look quizzical? It's quite the expression. Somehow, they manage it.]

I'm afraid the confusion goes both ways. Do you care to explain?

You were right here, you-

[He shakes his head, takes a deep, steadying breath.]

You yelled at me, a lot. It was weird though you were one thing and then another and everything all at once and you were so angry but also talking about protecting us and then-

[He holds his hands out, ink splattered up his arms, across his chest, smeared over his hands in thick blotches.]

And then there was nothing but ink and paper and you were gone and-

Now you're.... not?

I'm afraid you've...quite lost me. I'm not sure what sort of exchange that must have been, but I didn't hear a word of it.

[They glance down at his hands which look, from their perspective, quite clean.]

...is there something wrong with your hands?

[didn't hear a word of it

His stomach drops into his feet, a lead weight and for a moment he feels like he might honestly be sick. It's all too much, the emotional whiplash making his head throb and he's not entirely sure he can-]

Do you not-

[He closes his fingers, sliding two of them against his thumb, the ink still thick enough to be tacky, if not slick any more.]

There's ink everywhere.

[The Storyteller shakes their head, quietly bemused. It's plain they're struggling to make some sense of what's being said, and failing miserably.]

I'm afraid I don't quite see what you mean. Unless you mean - the blood and bone of the world? We are all made up of stories, in a sense, but...are you speaking metaphorically?

Metapho-

[A huff of frustration and he kinda wishes he could actually reach up to shove his hands into his hair for a moment. He's not usually one for wanting to pull his hair out but this mess is pushing him there fast.]

Do I sound like I'm being metaphorical, Tory? You were right here. We were talking. You were-

Fucking hell.

[There's a flash of annoyance; they're only going in circles, here.]

Well, then it wasn't really me, now, was it? Mu is a capricious beast, and I am not exempt from its trickery.

[It isn't until Tory mentions Mu that he even considers it. And then hes cursing sharply.]

And Mu's been on a fucking roll lately.

Shiva's tits, Tory I was so scared.

Well, then I'm...very sorry for the scare. It wasn't intentional on my part, I assure you. Aside from being...very tired, I am quite fine.

[A bit on the shrunken side, as they have been since Umui, but...nonetheless, quite unhurt.]

[Slowly, Gladio nods, still watching them with obvious concern. ]

You... didn't remember who I was.

[Of all the things to latch on to, for as terrifying as all the shifting was, that's what sticks out the most. They've talked about loss, about the importance of remembering. Was there really some version of Tory out there that would forget them? Forget him?]

...well.

[They do seem to find that troubling, though, again they seem...fine, besides.]

I cannot say that does not fill me with concern. Nonetheless, a great deal of what you have been seeing of late - it is not real. It might seem real, but...

It will not last.

Like my sister...

[He knows that, knew there was no way it could possibly really be her. Iris would never blame him for this reprieve, for not fighting harder to get back to her. Not when, here at least, Ignis...]

It seemed pretty damn real. My hand's still tingling from the... I dunno, overload. Mu's kinda kicking your ass isn't it?

I suppose it is real in the way dreams are. Real enough to hurt.

[The Storyteller sighs.]

It is not...my domain. I have done my best to maintain it to the best of my ability, but my sway over it is...limited.

Well if it would stay the fuck out of your domain then things wouldn't be so rough.

[A faint growl in his tone, he's so frustrated with all of this.]

It's not that simple. You've seen what happens when no one maintains it.

[They can't stop. They can't let their focus slip, not for very long at all.]

Is there anything we can do to help you? I mean, there's gotta be something.

[Let. Him. Help.]

[The Storyteller laughs. It is a tired, defeated sound.]

Do you happen to know any deities who have a proclivity for the metaphysical?

[That laugh hurts, makes Gladio flinch and look away.]

... no.

I'm sorry.

[Their sigh sounds like pages ruffling over one another, like paper being spilled out across the flagstones.]

Don't be. I recognize that you only wish to help, but...we all have our roles in our stories, do we not? Like it or no, we cannot change so much that our stories do not recognize us.

[Their sigh makes him shudder, absently scrubbing at his hands like he can rub the ink away, glancing back over his shoulder at the few scattered pages that haven't been caught up on the breeze.]

Yeah, I get it.... I just don't like it.

Yes, well. There are few things I like doing that I must now do.

But they are my job regardless.

IC INBOX: THE STORYTELLER

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