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[Open] The heart is a bloom, shoots up through the stony ground.
Who: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shedgrace and OPEN!
What: There's work to be done in the water's wake.
When: Daylight hours on November 10th
Where: Ensō: The Storyteller's Temple or the area due west of it (B5 and C5)
Warnings: FFXV spoilers, otherwise none.
[It's a terrible thing, the destruction of a place.
Lunafreya did not see Altissia after the Rite of Leviathan, but she remembers that rising of the water, too--how it roared and towered above her and Noctis at the shriek of a goddess, tearing the walls and roofs off the beautiful Accordian architecture. She did see Insomnia in the dark. She saw the statues of ancient kings fall, saw daemons encroach on the Citadel.
There was little enough civilization here to ruin, in comparison, but the results grieve her all the same. The island she had just been coming to know has been scoured so bare, made so unfamiliar, littered with shells and driftwood and dead fish.
But this is Lunafreya's life's work: to stand in the wake of these acts of desolation and heal a wounded world.]
A: Storyteller's Temple
[Her first stop is to the Storyteller's temple. She spends some time kneeling in prayer, hands clasped, silent and unmoving. She prays for the island and the life it has sustained so far; she prays that the creatures lost in the flood know peace and that the plants and animals might recover without difficulty. She prays for her fellow transplants, particularly those newly arrived and her own dear friends.
And she prays for the Storyteller. She prays, whatever has happened to them, that they are all right.]
B: B5/C5
[The rest of the day, Lunafreya's slowly wandering the cliffs to the west of the temple--but no, wandering isn't quite the right word. She's searching, clearing away debris where she can, for signs of that hardy life that made its home here, on this higher ground.
Seabeets and the occasional dead fish she wraps in palm leaves and then gathers in her knapsack. But it looks like she's interested in the f'rshaymes, too. Even with their own little herds in disarray, she manages to track down a couple, and she crouches, holding out her hand, trying to coax them close.
Eeeeeven though her face looks like she'd really rather not. Ever seen the Oracle wrinkle her nose?]
Come, now. I won't hurt you. Will you not come with me somewhere safer, little ones?
shedgrace and OPEN!What: There's work to be done in the water's wake.
When: Daylight hours on November 10th
Where: Ensō: The Storyteller's Temple or the area due west of it (B5 and C5)
Warnings: FFXV spoilers, otherwise none.
[It's a terrible thing, the destruction of a place.
Lunafreya did not see Altissia after the Rite of Leviathan, but she remembers that rising of the water, too--how it roared and towered above her and Noctis at the shriek of a goddess, tearing the walls and roofs off the beautiful Accordian architecture. She did see Insomnia in the dark. She saw the statues of ancient kings fall, saw daemons encroach on the Citadel.
There was little enough civilization here to ruin, in comparison, but the results grieve her all the same. The island she had just been coming to know has been scoured so bare, made so unfamiliar, littered with shells and driftwood and dead fish.
But this is Lunafreya's life's work: to stand in the wake of these acts of desolation and heal a wounded world.]
A: Storyteller's Temple
[Her first stop is to the Storyteller's temple. She spends some time kneeling in prayer, hands clasped, silent and unmoving. She prays for the island and the life it has sustained so far; she prays that the creatures lost in the flood know peace and that the plants and animals might recover without difficulty. She prays for her fellow transplants, particularly those newly arrived and her own dear friends.
And she prays for the Storyteller. She prays, whatever has happened to them, that they are all right.]
B: B5/C5
[The rest of the day, Lunafreya's slowly wandering the cliffs to the west of the temple--but no, wandering isn't quite the right word. She's searching, clearing away debris where she can, for signs of that hardy life that made its home here, on this higher ground.
Seabeets and the occasional dead fish she wraps in palm leaves and then gathers in her knapsack. But it looks like she's interested in the f'rshaymes, too. Even with their own little herds in disarray, she manages to track down a couple, and she crouches, holding out her hand, trying to coax them close.
Eeeeeven though her face looks like she'd really rather not. Ever seen the Oracle wrinkle her nose?]
Come, now. I won't hurt you. Will you not come with me somewhere safer, little ones?
A
no subject
Hello again. It is good to see you once more. [Luna folds her hands neatly in her lap.] Are you here to pay respects to the Storyteller as well?
no subject
[He blinks, a little confused.]
no subject
[Even if this particular event waaaas kind of the Storyteller's doing.]
In my case, as it is my custom to pray, I was expressing my wish for the Storyteller's well-being and for the well-being of all who dwell on these shores.
no subject
Oh... so, if I want to do it too, I should kneel and clasp my hands like that?
no subject
While that is my custom, it needn't be yours. All you need do is open your heart and direct your thoughts and wishes towards the temple deity.
no subject
[Except he's not really sure how to do that. So he comes to her side, kneeling down, trying to copy the posture she had.]
Okay, let's see...
no subject
What would you like the Storyteller to know, right now?
no subject
no subject
O Teller of Tales, keeper of this island's memory... feel yourself neither forgotten nor forsaken, for those in your care continue the work of repair. Give us the strength to carry on and the wisdom to carry it well. Whatever the peril, we will not be afraid to face the darkness.
Does that convey your feelings, my friend?
no subject
That was amazing! You really have a way with words!
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All my life has been given over to prayers such as these. In some ways, mine is a trade just as any other, honed through practice and time. Is that not the way of any world?
no subject