[ Despite what G'raha Tia might think, Emet-Selch is wholly ignorant to the goings on in that room apart from the rapidly rising water level. Instead his thoughts turn to how stupid this whole endeavor is, and he asks himself why he's even bothering in the first place — a question he quickly casts aside.
He may not like that man, but neither will he consign him to death. Call it a first step toward... something. A peaceful co-existence, if nothing else.
He finds the panel soon enough, reaching out to pry it open and get to the buttons therein. His fingers slip right over the surface. Ugh, why is it slimy? Nothing in this place can be easy or pleasant, can it?
Nothing for it but to try again, hooking both hands around the edge of the panel to pull— only to have a deep sense of unease stop him short. It wriggles under his skin, settles in his bones. The hair at the nape of his neck stands on end as he feels like he's being watched. A strange sensation indeed, since Emet-Selch is rather used to being the one doing the watching. He grits his teeth against that sense of wrongness that makes even his ancient skin crawl. He does not have time for this. ]
You will stay out. Of my. Head!
[ With a mighty pull, the panel flies open, its edge carving a deep gash into one of his palms. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care, too busy jamming the buttons in the correct sequence.
That should be the end of it, right? The door open and the water draining away (upward, which he has yet to get back around to see), but there is more, because there's always more. An Ascian is no stranger to darkness, but much like everything else in this encounter, there is something about the encroaching, inky blackness that is deeply unnerving in a way he cannot put to words. ]
Oh, great.
[ Off he goes again, darting for the office where he'd left the Warrior of Light's companion, skirting to a stop in the doorway just long enough to see the water swirling upward instead of pouring outward. Hells. ]
no subject
He may not like that man, but neither will he consign him to death. Call it a first step toward... something. A peaceful co-existence, if nothing else.
He finds the panel soon enough, reaching out to pry it open and get to the buttons therein. His fingers slip right over the surface. Ugh, why is it slimy? Nothing in this place can be easy or pleasant, can it?
Nothing for it but to try again, hooking both hands around the edge of the panel to pull— only to have a deep sense of unease stop him short. It wriggles under his skin, settles in his bones. The hair at the nape of his neck stands on end as he feels like he's being watched. A strange sensation indeed, since Emet-Selch is rather used to being the one doing the watching. He grits his teeth against that sense of wrongness that makes even his ancient skin crawl. He does not have time for this. ]
You will stay out. Of my. Head!
[ With a mighty pull, the panel flies open, its edge carving a deep gash into one of his palms. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care, too busy jamming the buttons in the correct sequence.
That should be the end of it, right? The door open and the water draining away (upward, which he has yet to get back around to see), but there is more, because there's always more. An Ascian is no stranger to darkness, but much like everything else in this encounter, there is something about the encroaching, inky blackness that is deeply unnerving in a way he cannot put to words. ]
Oh, great.
[ Off he goes again, darting for the office where he'd left the Warrior of Light's companion, skirting to a stop in the doorway just long enough to see the water swirling upward instead of pouring outward. Hells. ]
We are going. Now.