in which Urianger tries to make me spend another night on Garuda HM weaponfarms.

[arcanima]

[There's a very intimidating, freakishly tall humanoid, attired in a cowl, with a tattooed face and pointed ears. And he's staring. Mumbling dear words, from a dear master.]

A blade born of light, and a blade forged of might.
Alas, man may entrust his fate unto but one.

[His voice turns stern.]

Refuse to choose thy path, refuse to suffer for thy craft, and thou art doomed to wander betwixt light and dark in your reveries for all eternity - not one, nor another. Dawn draweth nigh, dear lady, and thoust must cast away the shadow of apathy which defile and cloud thee to face challenge anew. Perpend thy heart to forge light - as others of thine acquaintance has't overwrought all sufferings, so you shall as well.

[Aaaaand yep, full blown Urianger!rant.]

Make a weapon of thy spirit! For the attentions of both gods and men wane waiting for thine indecision! This is the struggle of existence! And it is demanding, entrancing, mesmerizing, beautiful! Can'st thou not see it?

Comments

1/2

[duskwight]

Erm-

[ ...give her a second. ]

2/2

[duskwight]

...you want her to- to- try really hard. To make a sword. Out of... ghosts? Because it would be pretty!

[ Sounds legit, count her in. ]

[arcanima]

[nnnnnnnnnnnope. Hi, Braids. Have a 10-ilm stare, since he's totally going to take that literally.]

...
Past experience as reference does not often lead any astray. Thoust must mark thy words however, for a poor adventurer arms herself with naught but lingering sentimentality.

[Isn't that what he's doing right now?

...Yyyyyyyyep.

No wonder Thancred got Ascian'd.]

[duskwight]

Right! I have lingering sentimentality I think and a stick!

[ Gridanians would probably be incredibly unimpressed to hear her referring to the reforged, enhanced Thyrus as a 'stick'. But really, from what she knows of the padjal, A-Towa-Cant himself would probably take it in his stride. ]

[coerthan]

[It's a good thing he's at least somewhat familiar with fancytalk from Ishgardian liturgy, otherwise he'd be completely lost.]

She's failing at...something important. Otherwise you wouldn't be so worked up. What is it?

[arcanima]

[Ah, Drividot. You know, his neck was starting to hurt from having to crane his neck downward at all of the others.]

Destiny.

[coerthan]

[Talking duskwight-to-duskwight, awwyeah.]

[And--well. That may be the most forthright he's ever heard Urianger be.]

Destiny? You mean--business with the Ascians and the Primals?

[arcanima]

[He merely stares forward.]

Aye. Much hast been divined in no small part to the accuracy of mine master's journals. Yet marketh my words; more shalt come. Unbridled horrors, terrors unspoken, unwritten, unknowneth to all.

[And this? This scares him. Not knowing terrifies him.
But hi, shiny bow!]

... You are suitably armed, I see.

[potato_powerhouse]

Urianger, sir. [Head tilt and a gentle tug on the hem of his clothes.]

The Echo makes words easier to understand, it doesn't really always make them all make sense when you put them together. If you speak more plainly, maybe the mun would understand what you are trying to say.

[arcanima]

[And like all of the other gifted, he raises his--- wait, lowers his head -- to regard the tiny lalafell pulling at his cowl. And.

Shososu.

Shososu.

D:

His face remains quite impassive, stern even, non expressive, but that hurts!]

...
I woulds't fear not for her understanding of my words. More that they have not the desired effect..

[potato_powerhouse]

Well, of course. You can lead a chocobo to greens but you can't make him eat.

[sunfae]

[ Even a well-learned scholar such as himself almost cannot make sense of Urianger's ranting. This Elezen fellow has a way with words that honestly perplexes poor Elarian here, but he honestly admires the man for his complexities. ]

...Your words do much to move the spirit but perhaps the body refuses to be moved?

[ In other words, "Maybe your mun is exhausted, man." ]

[arcanima]

[Another walker of the path. Or was it bringers of the dawn? Truthfully, Urianger has lost track of whatever Minfilia decides to call her chosen between each era. There's too much to do to pay attention - too many tomes to scour, prophecies to translate...]

Then'st the world itself shalt flow and bend around her akin to a river.
Though I would'st have thee know this; presaging events to come; she shalt be swept from her bed by it- unable to right her path.

[swordtouch]

[He's acquainted with this freakishly tall humanoid attired in a cowl...]

Mayhap the mundane is... flighty, or distracted? ...Both?

[arcanima]

[Urianger might just be raising his head from his book at Garrett's presence.]

Nay. Disillusioned. Such should be cast aside now- for the future dictates her way is to become much more clouded.

I couldn't resist.

[ofmysidia]

[In contrast to most other of his company, Minwu is more interested in his first words.]

That certainly rings true. Is there more to that verse, though? It seems to be a fragment of something longer.

eeee

[arcanima]

[And something doesn't quite feel right. Urianger raises his head.

This is a sage of powerful magicks- as yet unexposed to aether. Probably explains the strange feeling. Urianger is sure of it- this man is certainly not of Eorzea, nor even Hydaelyn, somewhere distant, far away, yet removed even from that. He pauses; eyes somewhat saddened under his opaque goggles at the mention of the origin of the words. Why? Because he's still grieving. Five years, and he's still grieving.]

Aye. 'tis excerpts of journals of a soothfast friend of all those who would'st love our world. Proof incarnate that the Gods themselves love all which walk upon it- and that they hath loved dearly. If thee would'st listen to the closing entry, harken unto me.

[And. He clears his throat.]

Dawn may banish even the darkest night,
Yet ever shall primal desires burn.
Two swords shall vie to lay them low-
A blade born of light, and a blade forged of might.
Alas, man may entrust his fate unto but one.

[And the most elegant of bows.]