Wasn't it always meant to be this way? The countless cycles spent searching, and her sisters finding so very little to offer their creator. Poor Hermes. He'd hoped for so very much--that's why Meteion--and the Metaia, her sisters, had even been created in the first place!
And each and every one of them, they had failed. The driving force of their creation--their potential, dead before it was realized.
Like so many other worlds she and her sisters had seen. Crushed under the weight of their own despair. Hurting. Hurting.
Come with us, Meteion...
Her sisters had tried.. We all had tried. But it was no use...A sorrow so deep, only emptiness remained...
We have seen the end.
Meteion turned away.
Captivity: sweet talking to despair
There had been plenty of Ancients in Elpis, and no one there had ever truly acted aggressively--only to put down unruly creations. Even Hermes himself had been pushed to aggression. So to be approached by so many people, filled with uncertainty...
It called similar uncertain feelings in Meteion herself, and she hesitated when she probably should not have--not that flight would come to her now. Not that she knew where she should go....
But they promised she'd be unharmed if she cooperated. So for the moment, Meteion has acquiesced, watching the townsfolk with wide eyes. The entelechy doesn't seem frightened, per se, only immensely curious.
It didn't hurt that they gave her a robe, either.
Waiting: without the courage to leave
What is there to do but wait, then? Wait. Watch. Be silent--though if approached during the course of their travels, or during the evening, the birdlike girl will listen and speak. Meteion has been a good girl. Not that there is much to be said for being obedient, save for greater freedom.
Though the soldiers haven't ignored the harpylike claws on her feet--or the wings on her head--and are all too careful to keep an eye on her. Just in case Meteion gets ideas.
Even if she herself hadn't, there are certainly others who have.
She isn't certain if she could help, or should--but Meteion also worries about this 'ritual place' she's heard tales of. The Ancients hadn't really used ritual, ever. Creation magicks came so easily to them. Ritual was nowhere near as necessary... It doesn't make her feel any better--assuming the feelings are also entirely her own. She catches your gaze--though she's hardly unused to stares.
"Do you think we should do anything?" Not that she's sure what that is...
[ooc: if nothing here floats your boat, or you've got another idea, feel free to PM me!]
Meteion | Final Fantasy XIV | The Innocent (Endwalker spoilers possible within)
Wasn't it always meant to be this way? The countless cycles spent searching, and her sisters finding so very little to offer their creator. Poor Hermes. He'd hoped for so very much--that's why Meteion--and the Metaia, her sisters, had even been created in the first place!
And each and every one of them, they had failed. The driving force of their creation--their potential, dead before it was realized.
Like so many other worlds she and her sisters had seen. Crushed under the weight of their own despair. Hurting. Hurting.
Come with us, Meteion...
Her sisters had tried.. We all had tried. But it was no use...A sorrow so deep, only emptiness remained...
We have seen the end.
Meteion turned away.
Captivity: sweet talking to despair
There had been plenty of Ancients in Elpis, and no one there had ever truly acted aggressively--only to put down unruly creations. Even Hermes himself had been pushed to aggression. So to be approached by so many people, filled with uncertainty...
It called similar uncertain feelings in Meteion herself, and she hesitated when she probably should not have--not that flight would come to her now. Not that she knew where she should go....
But they promised she'd be unharmed if she cooperated. So for the moment, Meteion has acquiesced, watching the townsfolk with wide eyes. The entelechy doesn't seem frightened, per se, only immensely curious.
It didn't hurt that they gave her a robe, either.
Waiting: without the courage to leave
What is there to do but wait, then? Wait. Watch. Be silent--though if approached during the course of their travels, or during the evening, the birdlike girl will listen and speak. Meteion has been a good girl. Not that there is much to be said for being obedient, save for greater freedom.
Though the soldiers haven't ignored the harpylike claws on her feet--or the wings on her head--and are all too careful to keep an eye on her. Just in case Meteion gets ideas.
Even if she herself hadn't, there are certainly others who have.
She isn't certain if she could help, or should--but Meteion also worries about this 'ritual place' she's heard tales of. The Ancients hadn't really used ritual, ever.
Creation magicks came so easily to them. Ritual was nowhere near as necessary...
It doesn't make her feel any better--assuming the feelings are also entirely her own. She catches your gaze--though she's hardly unused to stares.
"Do you think we should do anything?" Not that she's sure what that is...
[ooc: if nothing here floats your boat, or you've got another idea, feel free to PM me!]