drachenlance

[drachenlance]

Stone faced and barely moving in the club.

[drachenlance]

"Does ... Ishgard celebrate this holiday? Like the rest of Eorzea?"

Alta felt a fool. Tataru had painted her face to appear coeurl-esque, whiskers plastered over her cheek scales and a silly headband perched atop her head. When she ran into Estinien - as she tended to only do during the most inopportune circumstances - she noted, with horror, that the man was not adorned. At all.

She never should have let Tataru convince her that it was normal for a woman of nearly thirty summers to dress like a kitten.

How easily he forgot the traditions of other lands, even despite his travails. It was often why he failed to participate entirely, though even when he did remember, he often chose not to partake in festivities such as these, which would require his everyday wear for some silly costume. Yet the decor around the Rising Stones serves to remind him just how out of place he is today, the Warrior of Light's appearance even moreso.

She seems to be decorated in the manner of some black coeurl or somesuch. The headband is cute, and unfortunately he does not help to preserve her dignity this day, as he fails to fight down his smile at the sight of it.

"Not to the same extent that the rest of Eorzea does. Ishgard is only just beginning to embrace festivities other than its own, but I surmise you won't see her decorated as much as the other city-states."

His eyebrow raises at her. "Did you pick this look up by yourself, or is our coinkeeper at fault?" If it's the latter, he'd best not linger long, or she'll rope him into something ridiculous next.

[drachenlance]

╭┈┈┈┈ ₊˚ෆ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! ╰ ♡⸝⸝ 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ; 𝐩𝐭. 𝐯

' were you able to rescue them? '

' rest assured, i will never give up. got it? '

' even if you feel powerless to change anything right now, you're not alone ; there's still a long road ahead. '

' up to this point, i still can't tell if you've been truthful or deceptive, nor can i come to terms with what you've done to me. '

' no one will take your place, nor will anyone seek to destroy you. '

' stop deluding yourself that you can pursue the truth. '

' if you stay too far from the true reality, you'll only die trying to reach it. '

' the world wasn't this messed up before. people shouldn't be hurting others. '

' there's no one by my side. no one is going to be my hero. '

' one can choose dream, just as one can choose reality. '

' there are no right answers, only consequences. '

' you used all your might to destroy my last shred of joy. '

' let us choose where we ought to go. don't destroy our path. '

' maybe someday you will also find something worth cherishing in the real world. '

' you've been lost for too long. let us take you back. '

' it's just the natural order. the strong prey on the weak. '

' go back and find your own heart. '

' didn't we agree that you'd wait for me back there? what would i do if something happened to you, too? '

' you're the last one. i've saved all the people i can. '

' i don't want to lose any more companions. not a single one. '

' even if you don't remember, you can hear where your heart wants to lead you. '

' even if i don't belong here, even if i'm destined to leave... i want you to see me off. '

' i want to leave on happy terms. that's not too much to ask for, is it? '

' no matter where or when, or what we turn into... you will always be my companion. '

' the human heart is complex, yet fragile and easy to break. '

' you are weak, flawed, but it's okay. i've found you. i'll be your companion. '

' essentially, we are weak. it's our cherished feelings for each other that transcend all boundaries and make us strong. '

' i've been longing for your return. can you take me away from this place? '

' if you ever lose your way or encounter danger, i promise, i'll be right there for you. '

' i thought i was here to rescue you, but it was you who saved me. i'm sorry for being such a burden and causing so much chaos. '

' don't be afraid. i won't let anyone hurt you. '

' quick, leave now. it's not safe here. '

' perhaps one day, i'll lose control. when the time comes, do what you must do for your own safety. don't hesitate. '

' one can't live forever in the past, right? that's why i'd rather cherish more what's right in front of me. '

' money, life, and death are all up to fate. on second thought, they can be up to me. '

' i will guide you to where you need to be. then, we shall meet again. '

' i may be silent for a long time, but someday, you'll hear my echo. '

' i'm scared that in the end, i'll be the only one left. '

' learn from your mistakes and don't repeat them. '

' i was mad, but i got over it. how am i supposed to tolerate this again? '

' you've already seen things you shouldn't have. are you sure you want to meddle further in this? '

' is this another interrogation? you're gonna pry the answer out of me? '

' you shouldn't be dragged into this. for your own safety, don't cross the line. '

' that's all you have to say to me? even now, you've got nothing else to tell me? '

' survive, and save them from whatever hell they're in. '

' you are your own person; don't forget that. '

' you are not allowed to treat me as a burden. '

' as long as you find the right key, the door to the truth will surely be opened. '

' i hope you're here to stay. this is where you belong. '

' am i the one who failed you? '

[drachenlance]

“I’ve polished this anger and now it’s a knife.”

— Cathy Linh Che, from “Go Forget Your Father,” published in Poetry

[drachenlance]

Taken from you, Haurchefant says, as though the mantle of Azure Dragoon was not one he'd lain down himself with the conclusion of the Dragonsong War. Yet, he remains purposeless now all the same; a glaive with none to wield it, the flame of vengeance dimmed to a candlelight. He has naught but the violence he wields to his name; all else burned to ash the day Ferndale was razed to the ground. Perhaps, however, that violence can be used in new ways, much like a hammer that can crush a skull can also be used to build.

"Well enough," he grunts. "I am without occupation, but my limbs still work and my lance is still sharp, so I sought to occupy my time in other ways." He turns his head away then, the shadows darkening his face. "...I placed flowers at the grave of Ratatoskr, and I mean to do the same for Lady Iceheart soon. After that? Perhaps I'll travel to faraway lands, to see all that I missed out on."

Estinien glances back at Haurchefant's jest and the touch of his hand over his own. He snorts. So he's feeling well enough to fool around then-- good. "No need for that-- Aymeric will have work for me if I want to serve Ishgard again, and I need to make sure he's still alive in that office of his, anyhow."

His smile sharpens into a humorous grin. "I've thought of taking up some adventuring, perhaps, though not in the same way that the Warrior of Light does-- I've not their patience to stop and help every dimwit in distress."

Haurchefant hesitated, his response sundered between a snort of amusement and a knee-jerk apology. He had intended no offense - had no ill meaning behind his words, having simply chosen what first came to mind. But the way his friend curled his lips, lopsided and indulgent, hastened away any doubt he had of offending the man.

"I am oft so caught up with my own recovery," he states with a small amount of shame, "that I had not thought to ask of your own. How are you fairing, with your own life's purpose taken from you?"

They were chocobo of a feather, he realized, their stories nearly mirroring. Haurchefant had spent his youth and young adulthood seeking a way out of the manor - out of Ishgard, and it's politics. He had spent well over a decade as a knight, nigh half his life, and now - and now -

An excess of time, indeed. A further excess of nervous energy, of time to brood and consider.

"Mayhaps it will steer you in the right direction," he mused. "Should you not grow weary of being by my side - perhaps you could take up hours in Ser Vaindreau's Grace, once that venture is completed."

It is entirely spoken in jest, amusement rounding the words on his tongue. Haurchefant reached out, settling a hand behind Estinien on the bedding; a vague, distant attempt at ensuring that Estinien knew he was simply teasing his peer.

[drachenlance]

Estinien as a lover would unintentionally be hilarious because as someone who has no good handle on his feelings, he'd be such a conflicting partner to have. He's intensely devoted. He'd run away for days at a time because he doesn't know what to do with himself. He'd leave gifts like a stray cat dropping off dead pigeons for his beloved. He'd get confused if his partner thinks he lost interest for being elusive. He'd get embarrassed if he's kissed in public. He'd growl if his partner stopped kissing him in public. He'd get possessive and leave marks all over his lover during sex. He'd be shy about holding hands. The climax of his relationship would probably be getting him to finally say "I love you" plainly.

[drachenlance]

"'Twas but a few moons ago when I had my first taste of alcohol. I did not partake before because I could not risk imbibing at all, lest Nidhogg seize control in my weakness." What a poor drinking partner he makes, with his small talk too grim for a lighthearted setting such as this. His leer, too, pins Gaius down as though he were taking his measure in a contest of strength, not sitting aside him in some dingy tavern bar. The intensity he wears does well to help him forget his trepidation, as familiar as the weight of his lance in his hands.

...All to ask the man for his drink recommendations. Bah. "Since then I've found that I've taken a liking to sake, but they don't appear to serve that here. You seem familiar with this place-- do you know if they'd offer anything similar?"

@heirbane / sc.

[drachenlance]

Gabrielle Bates, from "Eastern Washington Diptych", Judas Goat

[drachenlance]

@aurouze asked: "... they itch, don't they?" She remembered what it was like to be a dozen summers old, her scale pattern beginning to grow alongside the rest of her body. They had appeared in dark, splotchy patches as the keratin began to push through the skin, the scale patches spreading and taking over. It had, in all likelihood, only happened a few times as she went through puberty, but the spurts of growth were agonizingly itchy. It was like a babe's milk teeth beginning to rupture through their gums, she had heard it compared once. Painful, fevery, with little to do for it all but be horrifically grouchy. The memories were not fond, but they were memories all the same. Her lips curled just so as she gazed upon him, before reaching for her medicine bag. "It will get worse," she lamented, "before it eases. And the first shed - ... is not comfortable." She dug through the pouches, feeling around blindly for a jar she had kept for nearly a decade. Finally, with a huff of triumph, she withdrew the palm-sized jar, full of a thick, fragrant balm. She held it out to him, tail swaying just so. "Take a hot bath," she encouraged. "As hot as you can stand. And then - put this on them. It's lanolin, and herbs. It should soothe the itch and any irritation." And then, belatedly, her healer voice turning back into her own: "... let me know if I can help. I'm happy to try a sleep spell, too - ... if it gets that bad."

'Twas the end of the Dragonsong War he'd planned for, not for what might have come after, and certainly not for the consequences that came with surviving his own recklessness.

Embracing relief too soon had been his mistake, and no sooner had his shoulders slackened than Nidhogg had wrested control in his weakness, transforming solace into terror. His consciousness had felt as if it'd crack under the weight of that terrible hatred, but he somehow clung to life even as he felt his soul rent in twain, as though the wyrm's own dread talons gouged into his being. He bore it until he felt a fracture in the hold, then clawed his way back into his own body even as agony crawled him, hot as magma.

"Kill me! It is the only way! Ending Nidhogg... will be my final duty!" He'd screamed, and then he'd felt as though he'd died... but then his vision returned, bleary and dim. The hells ought to have had more sulfur and screaming if he truly had passed, according to his beliefs; instead, there was only the clammy warmth of a heated room, the weight of a blanket over his body, and the relieved crying of Alphinaud over his ragged state.

So Estinien had survived after all. Mostly intact too, save for the blackened scarring that formed pits where the eyes once sat. He'd thought the deformities to be the end of it, but then he'd woken up one day with a terrible discomfort blooming from his shoulder and arm, and pulled back the fabric of his garb to reveal little shards of obsidian embedded in his flesh.

To think his combining with Nidhogg warped him so. At least the memories of the wyrm did no more than burden his mind; the itch of these new scales were intolerable and nowhere as easy to subdue. Even newly formed, they felt hard as armor, and his feeble nails could do nothing to penetrate to the prickling. He'd thought he might tear them out of his skin with the force of his clawing before Alta came to see him, an explanation on her lips and understanding in her eyes.

"The first shed," Estinien had echoed after her incredulously. The recovery process must have slowed his brain, for it was only then that reality clicked into place, and he hardly felt the weight of the jar deposited in his hand as he reeled with understanding. Nidhogg had hewn more than claw marks in his soul that day; he'd transformed his very aether into something draconic, branding the magicks he'd called forth from the eye into his being.

His appearance would soon become entwined with that of his mortal enemy's. His former self might have flayed the scales from his skin in defiance of the wyrm's claim, but now, he feels no such urges, instead closing his eyes in acceptance.

"Hmph. I only hope this torment ends sooner rather than later." He grouses. A hand runs over the tips digging outwards from his skin, something like pebbles under his touch, and though he fights the urge to scratch, something else purrs within him. To know that he'd soon feel jagged plate rather than skin here somehow feels familiar, feels right.

"Oh, and Alta? Thank you." A genuine smile touches his lips, though it quickly turns wry. "I was ready to gouge these scales from my flesh ere you came. Seems you may have done the chirugeons of Ishgard a great service by sparing them that sight."

[drachenlance]

"Don't give me that look. 'Tis by pure coincidence that we find each other again in Tural." The promise held by this land proved more than mere artifice-- beyond the legends of a golden city and the political intrigue of the Dawnservant's competition, these yet uncharted lands beckoned for adventure, and it seemed he and Koharu both found themselves in the trappings of its siren call. He smirks, visibly amused despite his earlier protestations, arms crossed as he surveys the Warrior before him.

"You certainly seem cheerful. Feeling lighter now that you needn't toil for your duties, are you?"

@unmeiha / sc.

[drachenlance]

I've Endured, Now What?

Blue Iris - Mary Oliver / So This Is All I Will Ever Be? - Fatima Aamer Bilal / Vive, Vive - Traci Brimhall

[drachenlance]

As a dragoon main I really want to see Estinien going through the dragoon struggle I've been going through this tier. Estinien busting his ass to get every single double weave in for his burst as things are happening around him. Estinien despairing because he needs to use Dragonfire Dive off cooldown but he has to give up melee range so he can't and now he'll have to deal with the drift. Estinien forcing himself to hold back and not immediately Stardiver into an AOE. Estinien refusing to feint because he's in his burst so #healersadjust.

[drachenlance]

Starter call! Please specify if you want a specific expansion/verse too.

[drachenlance]

Though Estinien notices the way Haurchefant stares at his hand, the way a cautious ewe would ware a shepherd she does not yet know, he makes no mention of it. Silence is a mercy, especially for a man who is so clearly exasperated by coddling, and Estinien did not come here to have him endure more of it. He simply watches in silence as Haurchefant lowers himself onto the bed, and then after a beat, sits next to him when the seat is offered. The mattress dips slightly under his added weight.

That so many answered the call to help the vaunted knight commander in his time of need is of no surprise. Not even the Scions-- not with the way he'd seen Alphinaud fret over him. The boy had despaired about "anti-healing magicks at work," yet set to work depleting all of his aether trying to seal the wound, as if the sheer volume of it might undo the curse cauterized into his very flesh. Eventually Estinien himself had to step in and pull him away so that the chirugeons could step in and take over his work, though with no aid to provide, he saw fit to cry himself to exhaustion instead.

Why he and so many others labored to see him well is plain to see. Yet by the same token, he knew why his friend had felt smothered. It was all too easy for concern to feel like pity, and easier still to be sickened by the excess of it.

"Given your current company, you may very well be speaking to both." A smile threatens his lips, though he elaborates no more-- if the man knew nothing of his fusion with Nidhogg, then that would be a tale for another time. "...But you needn't fear the same treatment from me. You are a survivor, and I would not belittle you with pity."

"Nor do I care for how slowly you move. Shuffle, if you must." He gazes at him meaningfully. "Truth be told, I did not expect to survive the Dragonsong War, and with my mantle lain down, I find myself with an excess of time. I could do worse than to spend it lending you my aid."

Haurchefant could not ignore the warm, hovering forearm at his back, cautious and kind in equal measure. The dragoon wore his scale mail as if it were a part of his skin, sharp and dangerous - but in the quiet of his quarters, he knew better.

He did not wear his heart on his sleeve as the knight did, nor did he proffer the organ for no reason. Which meant that Haurchefant, likely, looked more dire than he wished he had. He avoided Estinien's gaze, as sharp as a glaive and just as able to pierce through his facade, a weak, humorless sort of laugh coming from his person.

"Very well," he said simply. He hesitated - eyeing the calloused, scarred hand as if it would damn him for even considering the aid - before taking it. Beneath his tunic, his scarring torso protested as he sat on the edge, angry at the mere idea of being bent at the waist.

"How does the verselet go - all the king's chocobo, and all the king's men. I have had chirurgeons and astrologians - and the scions, as if their hands aren't full with the realm already - forcing my aether back together, and yet it continues to fight the very idea."

He gives in. Haurchefant leans back against the wall beside his bed, allowing himself a few moments of respite from the throbbing, furious ache that spread from shoulder to hip. His lips twist into something bitter and unlike him as he peers at the man between heavy eyelids, releasing Estinien's hand to pat at the duvet beside him.

"I would quite enjoy being whisked away - by dragoon, by dragon, it matters not. However - ... your company would be most appreciated, my friend. Out of all of our companions - ... you do not look at me as if I am - ..."

As if he is still laying outside the airship landing, flesh burning, innards severed and viscera on his Warrior's hands. As if he could simply crumble again, bells and days since; as if he is but a fractured porcelain teacup, pieced backed together, bound to weep at the edges.

"... a charge," he chose carefully. "A patient. I would much enjoy your company," he finished, "should you be tolerant of shuffling. I am in no condition to jump rooftops, unfortunately."

[drachenlance]

The hardest part about recovery is always what comes after. If he hadn't known as much from himself, with scales gnarling the flesh on his shoulder and the nebulous task of learning to live again weighing on his mind, then Haurchefant could have shown him as much. Once a proud knight commander of Ishgard, he now struggles like a newborn calf trying to prop itself up with its wan strength, and Estinien can't help the furrow in his eyebrows as he brings a hand to his back so as to stop him from falling backwards.

The fact that he's standing at all is a miracle. Estinien had thought him a dead man when he saw the lance pierce clean through, and his stomach had become a pitiless chasm of dread as he watched him crumple. If the sight of him hadn't been seared into his memory, the smell most certainly had; overpowering as the stench of iron was, it could not hide the fetid smell of flesh burning from where it made contact with white-hot light. A lesser man would have fainted at the horror of it.

Yet here Haurchefant was, alive and well. Unfortunately for him, defying those particular odds made for excruciatingly slow recovery, and Estinien hadn't missed the way his jaw set in his frustration. When he hears the way he tries to hide it with brittle, false cheer, his eyes narrow.

"You needn't put on the heroic act for me, unless you wished to practice your charades on me as well." Spoken dryly, but not unkindly. He supports him with a steadying arm as Haurchefant makes his way to the bed, then holds out his hand should he need help lowering himself down.

"As for your predicament-- once you've rested enough, I wouldn't be opposed to helping you get outside." An eyebrow raises sardonically. "Provided you aren't opposed to being whisked away by this dashing dragoon."

You just ran into the wall. It's time to lie down. / exhaustion.

Haurchefant felt his jaw work, struggling to hold back the irritated snap that bubbled up his throat. To offer anyone a foul word when all they had done was aid him - ... to spurn their care, even from those who had ferried him back from the brink of death - ...

It was unlike him. A small part of him, however, relished in the idea, in letting off steam: he had been coddled and tended to and had healers at his bedside for more days than not since the Vault, and the manor was beginning to feel as if it were closing in on him.

This fact was not Estinien's fault. He knew this; he knew the man's words, as gruff and ash-coated as they were, came from a place of care. And maybe that was what stung the most.

In his friend's time of need, he was bedridden.

Haurchefant leaned his forehead against the door frame, mere ilms from an escape, had Estinien not come when he did. He had been able to amble around his quarters more and more, if in short, careful bursts - but to actually attempt to leave was another issue all together.

He thought he could handle it. It had been nearly two moons. A set of stairs, another door, and he would get to see the fog and the icy breeze once again.

"Mayhaps you have the right of it, my friend," Haurchefant spoke, doing his best to quell the disappointment in his words. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, before pushing off from the door to his room to begin shuffling back to bed.

"I've - ... gone a little stir crazy, being stuck in this room. But enough of me - I do not have dashing dragoons slinking in through my window for nothing. Tell me, Estinien - what troubles you?"

[drachenlance]

— [ ... ] I HAVE LIVED INTENSELY. I MUST LEARN HOW TO MOVE FORWARD. Independent and selective blog for Estinien Varlineau from FFXIV, as portrayed by Tao. They/them, 22. Spoilers and triggering themes will be present.

Blogroll: @forgesahead @levinstrike @yuunos (art blog)

I. This blog is a mostly canon-compliant blog portraying Estinien Varlineau from FFXIV. I do my best to base my portrayal on the material given by canon, but there will be canon divergencies here and there. Expect these to be present in the Endwalker and Dawntrail expansions, mostly in the form of headcanons. If you have any questions about how I portray my character, please don't be afraid to ask!

II. This blog will have semi-low to low activity. I study and raid, which means I don't always have time to write. I'll get to replies when I can, but please don't badger me to reply faster. Poking after a week is fine, but nothing excessive please.

III. By nature of the game itself, this blog is going to have a lot of potentially triggering topics present. I'll tag everything to the best of my ability, and I ask that you a) be respectful to me if I've forgotten to tag something, as it usually isn't intentional and b) return the favor and tag your own potentially triggering posts. You are also welcome to come to me and ask me to tag something specific, I won't mind. I aim to curate my dashboard based on my comfort, and I highly encourage you to do the same.

IV. I follow based on interest for writing or the passion people have for their muses. I'm fine with following and writing with duplicates of my muse, and I am also open to writing with characters outside of the FFXIV franchise. My only hard limit is that I will not follow self-insert blogs, as they make me deeply uncomfortable, but everything else is fair game. If you're interested in writing with me on this blog, don't be afraid to hit me up for some plotting.

V. Shipping isn't a priority on this blog, but I am very much open to them. The only thing I ask is that you communicate; I'm not a mind reader, and in fact I am a bit of a blockhead who appreciates having things clarified for me. If you don't approach me about ships OOC, then I'll probably just assume any chemistry or flirting is one-sided. I don't have any plans for ship exclusivity in mind for this blog yet, but I don't mind exercising it for a particular character if I'm asked to.

VI. Please don't heavily format replies to me, as I tend to have a difficult time reading them.

VII. Discord is available on request, and I much prefer chatting and plotting there to doing it in Tumblr IMs, though I'm fine with either. I also play FFXIV of course! Feel free to ask if you ever want to hang out.