Yes, actually, this is the first I've heard of the place. You'll forgive me for not having taken the time to visit this world in any great detail in the last millennia or three, I've had quite enough to deal with elsewhere.
[You know, if he were so inclined. Emet-Selch glances around, as if taking in the world they reside in, and shrugs as though exasperated. It is on the sky that his eyes finally come to rest.]
You might say that I am an architect of sights such as that. Why, just yesterday I stood beneath its very opposite - a world which has not known night in some near-century or so. All for the sake of aligning it in such disarray that it might be Rejoined with the world from whence it was split, ages before ages ago.
Sounds dreadful. [Ardyn rolled his eyes, trying and failing to process what half of that even meant.] I've rather grown to detest light in my old age, I'm afraid.
Don't worry, young man, you still have plenty to learn.
[When was the last time he talked to anyone who even cracked two centuries? Anything like an equal, but those he has been with for so long that they quite literally have nothing to discuss anymore?]
Simpler does not always mean better. Unless you intend to say that buildings such as these are inferior to the mud huts mortals have used in ages past?
[It is possible that he may care more about the buildings than the people who live in them. A little.]
[Ardyn answered in a thoughtful hum, turning enough to look over his shoulder at the Citadel.]
That's not even remotely the same thing. A building can't callously betray anything. If a structure collapses and kills everyone within it, no one's fool enough to presume the building held malicious intent or the like. I'd sooner be alone with an empty city than suffer companionship of anyone mortal or otherwise for very long.
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[Yes, 'our,' just putting that out there.]
There's been fairly little of interest happening here until quite recently. An interesting case study, but nothing more.
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[You know, if he were so inclined. Emet-Selch glances around, as if taking in the world they reside in, and shrugs as though exasperated. It is on the sky that his eyes finally come to rest.]
You might say that I am an architect of sights such as that. Why, just yesterday I stood beneath its very opposite - a world which has not known night in some near-century or so. All for the sake of aligning it in such disarray that it might be Rejoined with the world from whence it was split, ages before ages ago.
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[And there, the faintest hint of a smirk.]
And you've no room to talk about old age in front of me, I assure you.
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[Stated as simple fact. There is no option but to know each other, after so very long.]
I was old when this world was born.
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[When was the last time he talked to anyone who even cracked two centuries? Anything like an equal, but those he has been with for so long that they quite literally have nothing to discuss anymore?]
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[Seriously, you have a very lonely city here.]
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[It sounds sarcastic, but he does mean it genuinely, in his way.]
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I see no reason for pity. Solitude is far less complicated than the alternative. It's simply easier this way.
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[It is possible that he may care more about the buildings than the people who live in them. A little.]
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That's not even remotely the same thing. A building can't callously betray anything. If a structure collapses and kills everyone within it, no one's fool enough to presume the building held malicious intent or the like. I'd sooner be alone with an empty city than suffer companionship of anyone mortal or otherwise for very long.
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[Malicious intent or not.]
I envy those who can find satisfaction in nothing but their own company.
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tfw you find an unfinished tag sitting open in a tab and can't remember where you were going with it