#apoplexy

I am looking for the original version of "Apoplexy" (the best battle music in the soundtrack) from the original Final Fantasy Tactics, meaning both the original sound quality (not a remastered version) and without the section that originally didn't play as part of the loop and was otherwise included as something like "Apoplexy 2" in the OST. All of the versions I have found are the full (Apoplexy + Apoplexy 2) 4:12 version (varies from 4:10 to 4:12 or so and is a multi-loop). This annoys me because "Apoplexy 2" is extremely boring (1 is very energetic) and it was good that it was cut. Plus, y'know, having a straight, unlooped form works better if you want to play it as an indefinitely long loop in a music playing program like pieTunes or MPC or whatever.

The boring section lasts from 1:08 to 1:59 and then the whole track loops. In the original game, 0:00 to 1:08 was the best of the three random encounter tracks, worked well with the occasional stormy weather that would turn up, and would loop just that section (which was fantastico).

I MUST HAVE THE TRACK WITHOUT "APOPLEXY 2."

OCR04630: Final Fantasy Tactics: Antipyretic for Your Precipitous Apoplexy - jnWake feat. minusworld

[Antipyretic, Battle on the Bridge (Precipitous Combat), Apoplexy, Shock! ~ Failure]

✧ muster - to call forth, to summon up ✧

What will you choose to bring into this world?  What self will you choose to embody?

A roiling bloom of aether unfurled inside of Tiergan’s chest, expanding like wings beneath his rib cage, into his lungs.  It felt both natural and alien all at once, new and terribly, frighteningly ancient at the same time.  He ignored it as he burst into the Astral Advent Headquarters, too focused on the urgency of the moment to think about the power welling quietly inside of him. The others had already set out for battle and Tiergan had been too late to heed the call.  The Advent Headquarters was suffocating in its near silence, and the growing fear that it might remain that way - stark and bleak in its emptiness - was enough to send the gladiator sailing back out the door.  He needed to pursue his companions.

What will you pour from your vessel this day? What will you offer to others and yourself?

As the world blurred around him, streaking into a dizzying array of color and light from travel - Tiergan worked to convince himself that he needn’t worry.  Had his friends not survived worse before?  Had they not already fought all manner of man, beast, demon, and would-be god enough times to endure near anything at this point? All of that confidence abruptly withered the moment Tiergan crossed the bridge that led into the damned township of Thernli and was greeted with a heavy miasma of blood.  It bruised the air with its intensity, staining the sky a thick, arterial sanguine.  As he breathed fetid copper into his lungs, tasting it sharp upon his tongue, he couldn’t help but wonder whose blood it was that filled his mouth.

A beast?  A monster?

… A friend?

The sound of combat rang in the distance, and Tiergan shot from a horrified stagger to a sprint.  Through the scarlet haze, he could see familiar silhouettes in the distance - his companions gathered in a final stand - and beyond them, an army.

Tiergan slammed shield-first into the front-line as a vicious blur of ivory, black, and gold; his blade ripping into the first solid form it could tear into not long after.  The horde of mottled crimson was countless in number, but he was not too late.  His friends were all still here.  They were all still alive.  He was not too late.

What is the shape of your soul in this moment?  What will you allow yourself to become?

Joy and relief suffused everything he was, chased by a surge of focus, of determination.  That aether, so alien and new, so ancient and familiar, so terrifying and comforting all at once, sat waiting patiently inside of him.  And at last, he gave in, pouring of himself all he had to muster, all of his love, his admiration, his urgent, growing need to protect the people he’d grown to count on and believe in.  Intention given focus, focus given form.

((cw: blood))

The chrysalis was warm, pleasantly so. It almost didn’t want to leave -- yet in order to escape the prison man had so painstakingly constructed for it, leaving the comfortable warmth was a necessity. Perhaps outside it would be warmer, more pleasant. There was a light pressure upon the fleshy wrap that surrounded it; muffled sounds, wild aether cast about like spilled wheat. A feast, if anything. It could feel its host dwindle in number -- that wild aether the result of fevered battle. There was no time to waste. 

The flesh tore, and a great deluge of red spilled forth onto the already blood-slicked stone road. The clamor of battle rose from a muffle to a roar, and red light burned down from a damned sky. The scattered aether was delicious, and it instantly partook of it without shame or hesitation. Who would deny such a feast? Unlike the traces it had sipped on during its long stay in its pupal stages, however, this aether would not influence its form. Not like the Hellsguard who dared to command it had. Not like the Hyur who had dared to touch its mind had. Not like the hyur it had supped so greedily on had. Not like the Miqo’te who sought to play its master had. Not like the Miqo’te who had touched its essence had. 

It was grateful to them all, for without them, it would not have perceived how to make its flesh -- flesh that stood in the middle of the road, soaked in red and still draining above the slick remains of its own womb. It stood tall and powerful as a Hellsguard in stature, strapping and muscular with skin like red clay. Granted, its skin was not quite visible under the coating of dripping blood. The Hellsguard’s influence ended just at the end of its thick neck, upon which a hyur’s head was awkwardly perched. It was a worn, midlander sort, smoothened by a red film. Thick crimson dripped from what would have been a blond beard. Large, bright blue eyes peered about, eyes that seemed a bit ill-fitted to the head’s bone structure, and perhaps just a tad too large for its face. The mouth was of a similar, oddly placed quality, a tad too small, with the definite and subtle placings of a Miqo’te. Even more curious were the hair and ears -- the hair was brown, in comparison to the blond beard, and from them pricked up a pair of Miqo’te ears that didn’t seem to have cared that there were already a pair of hyuran ears on the sides of its head. 

There it stood, an agglomeration of those who had recently touched it, a macabre tribute to the contributions of those who would see it free. A monument; a memorial. Ever would their image live on in it, for the time had come for their flesh to pass. It did not draw breath, for its lungs were full of blood. It did not hunger, for its belly was heavy and sloshing, and the aether around it provided much. It did not lust, what was placed between its legs was of no consequence. It did, however, wish to kill -- and as its malice extended to connect to every heart and brain around it, its bloody dirge spelled itself out in a circle of glowing symbols at its feet. To the eye of anyone who knew, the symbols were spelled out clearly.

Racing hearts feed rushing minds, and from such heavy bounty I sup.

Apoplexy.  Accidents and emergencies. 1850.