ofonyxshade

[ofonyxshade]

@duskryuko

Ishgard is cold.

At least, that's what Fray Myste would say. Fray Myste would skirt through the streets of the Brume as silent as morning fog, would shiver and tremble from the chill of keeping to the shade for bells on end, would seek out the warmth of a safe hearth in a shabby house stashed between crumbling buildings after coming back covered in blood and Fury knows what else-

But this corpse can't feel anything, because Fray Myste has been gone for quite some time.

This phantom stands in a stalwart vigil in the shadow of heavenly spires, undeterred by the unforgiving stone and steel, and basks in the endless snow without complaint. But that isn't to say they don't play their part of appearing lively at the behest of another.

“Ryuu. I knew you'd be back.” Fray’s voice is quiet, but unnaturally clear through their faceplate, sure to reach the weary figure stalking their way. Their words betray a thin veil of elation upon the other’s return; a slight smile sits underneath their barbut, evident in the way their pale eyes imitate a familiar glint. To meet him now, to have him come to them, fills them with an indescribable joy deep in their sea of sunless pitch.

(And, perhaps, he would listen this time.)

They shift their weight on the scaffolding, steadying their sluggish flesh when they step forth from their unceremonious grave. Memories coalesce slowly in thickened blood, flickers of bright runes and ancient words passing behind their eyelids, rites ringing in ears like cathedral bells, the smell of old blood and the worn grip of a sword flooding the forefront of their mind. A hint as to who this vessel might have been, between the fervor of their last moments.

Not that any of that matters now. Ryuu doesn't care for ghost stories, so Fray will not offer them. He wants power, and they're here to satisfy that burning hunger. The sword on his back makes that much plain.

“You seem vexed.” They point out nonchalantly, a small puff of white forming in front of them. Of course he would be, with how every devout lamb of Halone seems to cower in his presence - they think of him as no better than a Dravanian abomination, another scaled heretic to be excised from the flock. But they know better than that. Fray Myste did, too. “Something happen since the last time we met?”

[ofonyxshade]

Hello all! 

This is a BRAND NEW masterlist blog for muses within the FFXIV fandom. Please reblog this post if you are a muse in the FFXIV fandom, and you shall be added to the MASTERLIST. OC’s and CANON MUSES both welcome! Multimuse blogs are also welcome to reblog this if you have a muse in the FFXIV fandom. Please dont reblog this if you are a character from another fandom with a FFXIV verse, or a fandomless OC with a FFXIV verse. Check the GUIDELINES for more info! 

When reblogging, please write your muse’s NAME, if it’s a CANON MUSE or an OC MUSE, and which NATION your muse comes from. Thank you! 

[ofonyxshade]

leeeeeans over to try to peek into the visor of their helmet.

In the streets of Ishgard, most people would know to steer clear of someone with a serrated mass of sharpened steel strapped to their back. If not for the whispers circulating about those who shared their unwieldy choice of arm, it was plainly the sort of thing that tended to remove a limb or two if one wasn’t careful. Dangerous, either way.

…She is, apparently, not most people. They’re unsure if she’s possessed of an adventurer’s gutsy curiosity or simply blessed with a distinct lack of self-preservation. Neither of which garnered their admiration, mind you. It feels as though she is attempting to look a panther straight in the maw.

“Can I help you?” They ask pointedly, brow furrowing from within the confines of their barbut. A little personal space never hurt anyone, you know - they duck slightly out of her line of sight, always uncomfortable with being scrutinized directly. Just be thankful they haven’t made a habit of clocking innocents when startled.

[ofonyxshade]

espressoxpanna‌:

“ Wow Fray, you know better than Anyone Im the most mature Adult  Au'ra in all Ishgard” Well, he was the only one, so that established him the most mature of all of them. And Fray couldn’t deny that.  He can help but to chuckle at this, and of course wait for another hit on his head. “Fine, I promise. I will be careful.”

But he would throw his life away to protect Fray. Sure, that would symbolize the end of the Orl tribe.  But what is his little life compared to save another? Nothing, if he could save his friend he would do it without hesitation.

At the distinctive sound of the bells, he just groaned and hides his face under the blankets. He had to sincerely appreciate the Inn Lord always let them stay inside despise all the things they did. But Sidurgu knew, they were the ones who fiercely protected the Brume from all the disgusting things that happen on the brume. “ For the love of Nhaama….Again?”

How many times did they have to make the bell sound? Every time the two dark knights intervene in something. The Xaela can’t help but to huff and to continue to hide under the blankets. Many times, his race had made him a target for the other soldiers to make fun or him or just beat. The hate to the dragons lead them to slay his people. And even if he tried to inform them, Au'ra and Dragons are not the same, the would never understand.

“Aye, again.” Their ears momentarily strained for the sound of footfalls outside, but they were unable to catch wind of any commotion outside. A blessing, perhaps. They’d escaped under the cover of rubble and shadows without any obvious pursuers finding them. Still, the following silence did little to alleviate the anxiety permeating their thoughts. To leave would be unwise now, yet they couldn’t help but worry about their young charge.

So that was the way of it, then. Fray allowed themselves a short snort of amusement upon watching the other burrow under the covers. They’ve half a mind to swathe Sid in the blankets and trap him in a makeshift cocoon so he wouldn’t be able to move - one part because it would prevent him from doing anything harebrained, and another because their petulance tended to rear its head when they were woefully unoccupied.

Instead, they sought other avenues to temper their restlessness, rifling through the contents of the scraped bedside drawer. Nothing terribly interesting, though - a few empty bottles from the previous occupant, scraps of paper, and a rather trite-looking romance novella. A Passionate Flame in Coerthas? Fray raised a brow at the title’s attempt at the semblance of creativity, although it did spark a fleeting memory that had been gnawing at them.

“What do you think Ser Ompagne meant by that? The flame in the abyss, I mean.” Fray suddenly asked, straightening their previously bent posture and turning towards Sid. It had been moons since their Master’s passing, and as far as the knight was concerned, nothing had changed since then. The streets were ever crawling with monsters disguised as pious men, ones who were in dire need of a good culling. Work remained the same, even with that enigmatic riddle taking residence in their moments between blood and steel.

[ofonyxshade]

body language -

bold what applies, italic what sometimes applies + tag followers to do the same in a new post !

defensiveness .

arms crossed on chest   /   crossing legs   /   fist-like gestures   /   pointing index finger   /   karate chops   /   stiffening of shoulders  /   tense posture   /   curling of lip  /   baring of teeth

reflective .

hand-to-face gestures   /   head tilted   /   stroking chin   /   peering over glasses   /   taking glasses off — cleaning   /   putting earpiece of glasses in mouth   /   pipe smoker gestures   /   putting hand to bridge of nose   /   pursed lips , knitted brows

suspicion .

arms crossed   /   sideways glance   /   touching or rubbing nose   /   rubbing eyes   /   hands resting on weapon   /   brows raising   /   lips pressing into a thin line   /   strict , unwavering eye contact   /   wrinkling of nose

confidence .

hands behind back   /   hands on lapels of coat   /   steepled hands  /   baring teeth in a grin  rolling shoulders   /   tipping head back but maintaining eye contact   /   chest puffed up   /   shoulders back   /   arms folded just above navel   /   wide eyes   /   standing akimbo

insecurity & anxiety .

chewing pen or pencil   /   rubbing thumb over opposite thumb   /   biting fingernails   /   hands in pockets   /   elbow bent   /   closed gestures   /   clearing throat   /   “ whew ” sound   /   picking or pinching flesh  /   fidgeting in chair   /   hand covering mouth whilst speaking   /   poor eye contact   /   tugging at pants whilst seated   /   jingling money in pockets   /   tugging at ear   /   perspiring hands   /   playing with hair   /   swaying   /   playing with pointer / marker / cane   /   smacking lips   /   sighing   /   rocking on balls of feet   /   flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

frustration .

short breaths   /   “ tsk ” sounds   /   tightly-clenched hands   /   fist-like gestures  /   pointing index finger  /   rubbing hand through hair  /   rubbing back of neck   /   snarling   /   revealing teeth   /   grimacing   /   sharp-eyed glowers w/ notable tension in brow  /   shoulders back, head up — defensive posturing   /   clenching of jaw   /   grinding teeth   /   nostrils flaring   /   heavy exhales

tagged by : @seenstars (thank you!) tagging :  im late to the party so idk whos been tagged? but if anyone wants to do this :^)

[ofonyxshade]

mythsbreaker‌:

NOTHING BUT AN ECHO. She hasn’t pondered on Fray that much until now, yet the light consumed them as much as it (almost) destroyed her. Have they suffered because of her reckless decisions? Can a heart still break when it’s made of nothing but everlasting darkness? ❛  —- sorry, I didn’t ask for your consent before swallowing so much light. ❜  The knight (sincerely) apologizes as she closes her eyes; a silent wish to reach for the somberest part of her soul. What will she find here? She hasn’t roamed among those familiar shadows for quite a long time now. 

         ❛  I didn’t realize it would affect you too. ❜  What’s the point of lying when Fray (already) knows everything about her? About her mistakes and fears — the thoughts she doesn’t share with anyone but them. How ironic — for years she tried to run away from her own monstrosity and now, the Miqo’te desperately wants to (re)connect with this hidden facet of her being. She has grown accustomed to the darkness in her heart; they have sheltered her from the cruelty of this world when she had nothing but them. In many ways, she wouldn’t be the protector of Eorzea without them. After all, even the sun casts a large shadow — and the stars shine brighter during nighttime. 

There's nothing left to break, nothing left that beats that is solely their own - they are as much of her as they are the dark in the sky, and what sits in an ivory cage only twists and rends when she offers an apology.

Her shade receives the sentiment clear as day, but it is not met with righteous rage nor the fierce desire to protect. Fray’s silence holds a quiet pride, watching her grow and mend from afar with each burden placed upon her weary shoulders. They only feel a fond relief that she is still alive, still here. They take solace in each breath that makes her chest rise and fall, delicately existing in the moments between.

“There is naught to apologize for.” They reply, faint enough that it could easily carried upon the wind if she so chose. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing.” A sorry knight they were, unable to protect their charge in her brightest hour. 

No longer do they dig wanting claws into her in frustration, shadow now curling about her like a docile direwolf. “But you've gotten on quite well without me, wouldn’t you say?” The hint of mirth finds its way into Fray’s voice, yet the words are sincere. They may have sheltered her tender heart when they first met, but her allies are there to protect it now. “I’d say you don’t even need me anymore.” 

A jest - or the truth, perhaps. For they are but a memory of a memory, another familiar ghost. There is communion here. No tender press of bread on a waiting tongue, no sweet wine on parched lips, no gentle give when teeth sink in. They rest beside her, ink moving languidly in hushed tones, wondering if they're enough to fill the space that Ardbert left. “Tell me about your travels, then - of the times when I could not be by your side. Any notable bastards you came across?”

[ofonyxshade]

Are you tired of not being able to interact with quest npcs you know and love? Do you have a dire need to get bullied into oblivion by a Lalafell or support the best DRK daughter? Then like/reblog this– If you’re down with interacting with a low activity multi-muse blog containing an ever growing list of the less loved npcs in the FFXIV series, that is. written by yun.

[ofonyxshade]

grindinghatchet‌:

“Really? Looked to me like you were ready to come in and try your luck.” There was a devilish smile on her face after she had defeated another drunkard at their own game. The Au Ra took a swig of the alcohol next to her (her third might I add) with face still barely hinting at a flush of intoxication. “It’s all in good fun! Not like I’m gonna break your arm in half.”

Of course Nua could break his arm if she wasn’t careful, she already gave a few men sprains that’ll last them a few days. Perhaps she was getting a bit too into it, but as a Dotharl a challenge was always exciting when it involved physical strength.

“Unless you have something else on your mind? Another challenge?” Nua tilted her head at the stranger. 

@ofonyxshade​

Her assumption wasn’t wholly off the mark. Fray had been keeping a close eye on the scene, because the only thing more dangerous than a fool was one with wounded pride. Not that Gibrillont would allow a full-on scuffle in his tavern, mind; it was simply a habit of theirs to be on guard lest they end up on the wrong end of a sword.

But her antics seemed to have sent most of them running with their tails tucked between their legs - that, or hobbling back to the Congregation to nurse their hangovers before the morning’s patrol. They couldn’t deny they were impressed with her handiwork, monstrous strength and all.

Not like I’m gonna break your arm in half, she’d said. “That sounds like the kind of thing someone who was going to break my arm in half would say,” Fray cracks a grin at that, still keeping a careful distance.

They silently weighed their options. They could suggest a test of agility if they wanted the upper hand - slinking about the Brume was their expertise, even on moonless nights when there were no lanterns to guide light-footed ghosts. A stray, fleeting tangent passed through their periphery - that they could invite her on their normal route through the city - but they strictly refused to involve outsiders in their affairs for any reason. Besides, they’re not sure how useful she would be if anything arose; enlisting the aid of someone who’s had approximately... three flagons by now didn’t seem like a wise choice. (And it wasn’t Gibrillont’s cheap, watery swill, either.)

Fray shrugged, seemingly at a loss. They could always repair the damage with a smidgen of conjury before heading out. "Well, if you insist.” They slid into the seat across from her after sparing it a cursory glance, making sure it was free of ale, piss, or bile. “So if you do shatter my arm, who do I have to thank?”

[ofonyxshade]

Why must my feelings be "rational"? Is it not enough to sit quietly in my hawaiian shirt, deranged?

[ofonyxshade]

coeurcondamne‌:

Oh. He listens to their explanation in silence, a furrow in his brow as his hand shies away from the imaginary circle he’d created, flickering behind his eyes whenever he blinks- Dead tongues of last moments, the precarious balance in a dance with the dark wholly tipped to one side in a final, final blaze of glory. The screams in the pyres. The flames and embers licking up skin, devouring all in its path as the tinder shrieks defiance with wild, glowing eyes. The bright, bright end of the heretic-hunt. All but a corpse, it is the fever pitch that pushes it to shamble just a few more steps further.

It’s a morbidly romantic image in his mind’s eye, though it should be anything but. Drinking deep, letting it run back out with the blood, the guts, with each savage swing of the blade, drowning and drowning and drowning with abandon. A deliberate plunge, if only for a touch longer to deliver hell and all its retributions.

“…and then you die. just like anyone else.”

Fire can kill a dragon, if used right. Just as the Dark can kill its wielder. It is merely a matter of method, of measure; A reckless or final charge, the fine line between simple folly and unshakable conviction. He’s seen his fair share of Temple Knights fallen for the former.

The comparison puts him off as soon as it forms- Whether the look on his face is a grimace or one of contemplation, he cannot rightly say. Death- All paths lead there, don’t they? In the flames or in the ice, to levin or earth. His will come in time, when the Fury ordains it so. Theirs as well.

Part of him was already aware of the consequences, he’s certain; Perhaps he just wanted to hear it in their voice, their words, to sear it into him that he is not meant for this- No, that this is not meant for him. Though he hears the tiny gap in their sentence- One where his traitorous mind thinks perhaps there is a way to– He does not gently tear his hands into the word doubt like he would anywhere but the Brume in the deep night. Faith-driven touches pile crosses upon his heart to resist temptation.

(his mind keeps the runes there, just in case.)

“I find the wielder more important than the means,” he replies nonetheless, his hands both warming themselves against his cup. “-so I wouldn’t quite call it that. Devotion comes in many forms, after all.”

“As for myself, I…” He pauses, frowns, tips his mug towards him to peer at his drink. “Anything I can take to… Anything I can do to make this place better, for everyone. I would do it.”

Green eyes flit up to meet gold, should they wish to. He feels the way they fix on a point somewhere behind him. “In the end, the Arts are most used for justice, are they not?”

Again with this. 

Fray graciously resists the urge to roll their eyes into the back of their skull. Zephirin has spoken of his unwavering conviction more than once, grand dreams of justice and guiding the Holy See to a better morrow even if it meant consorting with those who lived in shadow. The sort of things that were far beyond Fray’s ken when they were simply trying to survive each day between scalekin spit and Templars’ ire. Gold receives him without flinching, tinged with the intent to singe away that bright-eyed earnestness.

“Try explaining that to the Inquisition.” They snort, cracking a mirthless smile, a flash of feral and reckless white in the otherwise earthen tones of dark wood and soft glow of candles. “First you’ll be found with tongue and flesh rife with runes, then they’ll accuse you of performing rituals to appease the Dravanians’ gods. Heresy, they’ll cry. Whether they run you through immediately or turn your execution into a spectacle, it makes no difference. The See is purged of another heinous criminal, and peace restored to her beloved citizens... All bullshite, of course. Men who think themselves the voice of the Fury are loath to be challenged. It’s just because they’re afraid of others having power.”

Fray’s voice crescendos the barest amount, possessed of an unsteady tremolo that morphs into a low growl at the last sentence - then hardens when they find themselves vaguely incensed by their own words, the beginnings of fire kindling in their veins. They speak as though they have lived through the descent before, which is not entirely untrue when their newly acquired soul crystal plagues them with visions and portents even while awake. 

The memories swirl and churn unending, vile enough to make one feverishly retch if they partook too deeply of the horrors. The abyss burgeons from between bruised ribs like a sickly heart, tightening its vise to choke out the flames. Thick tar sticks to the rungs of bone with each pulse, a constant reminder that it stays, taints, becomes a part of you - that you become a part of it. It wasn’t something to be quickly shed when you wanted to walk in hallowed halls. A scowl affixes itself to their face before immediately slackening, because they’re too tired to properly entertain the emotion welling up between the cracks.

“And power is dangerous. The Arts are used for whatever the wielder wants. The darkness may be channeled, but in the end, the abyss remains untameable. We who nurture it always risk succumbing. If it takes you, you’ll be no better than a beast acting on the petty wants of your heart - fear, hatred, revenge, misguided pain. A slow rot from the inside, if you don’t perish first.” It was why training was necessary, be it through a resolve forged from prior suffering or extensive preparation. Beckoning the abyss meant inviting remorseless jaws to sink their teeth into tender skin, to swallow you in a single flood of black. The festering dark is not silent. The promise of retribution is decadent, infectious, a siren’s call in honeyed blood and wanton slaughter. Not all who took the plunge wanted to return to the surface. “The only reason you know of Dark Knights as agents who deliver justice is because they don’t tell you of the many who couldn’t cross the threshold unscathed.”

They pause, exhaling a quiet sigh. They know the warnings will do little to deter the other from taking what he wants. Zephirin was a perplexing paradox; surely there was something wrong with his head. He wouldn't have endlessly pestered Ser Ompagne for tutelage otherwise. Fray reaches up and touches the scar on their lip out of habit.

“Devotion? You sound like the old man.” They mutter, wrinkling their nose and turning away. Fray always found it strange their master refused to sever ties with the Fury after enduring her silent judgement. He still attended mass, still prayed before retiring each night, still read familiar verses from the Enchiridion to soothe them when they violently wrenched themselves from the grasp of a nightmare. It was his way of honoring the Fury’s design, he explained once. That it was the wickedness of man he subjected to the guillotine, for they were beholden to Her in title only. She would never allow their atrocities in all her boundless, stringent love. If Zephirin felt the same, then why couldn’t he simply walk the path, rather than teeter maddeningly between holy light and damning dark?

(...Yet at the same time, they want to believe in his dream. They want to believe he would be able to make their hell into a home, to prevent an existence like theirs from being necessary, to make a place where tragedy did not claim children and hollow their hearts-)

Fray says none of this, and promptly replaces any admiration they may have for the other with all the instances Ompagne pathetically trounced him.

“Weapons are just steel; you can put them down and lock them away. Steeping your eternal soul in mire is not. So leave the blaspheming to those who are prepared to bear that burden, worm boy.” They sneer, because they know damn well he wasn't willing to forsake his place in Halone’s Halls.

[ofonyxshade]

today i have in my hands... the forbidden frays - most of this is taken from their character data with a couple minor tweaks! obviously there is no option for pointed ears on hyur but they’re like hilda’s :^)

[ofonyxshade]

In truth, they’re tempted to surrender to exhaustion right then and there - a day’s sparring coupled with a secluded corner of the tavern has them periodically dozing off like a comfortable coeurl, shadows wrapped about them in a seamless veil. Their own glass of apple wine sits cooling on the table, half-downed and keeping them pleasantly warm.

Fray stirs only slightly at the other’s voice, gold eyes gleaming in the dim light of the lanterns. They absently follow the path Zephirin’s finger traces into the well-loved wood, a mindless motion they can recount behind their eyelids in fever dreams and fitful sleep. Their brow raises a fraction of an ilm when the circle is nearly complete, the ghost of foreign letters following in his wake.

It's not scripture, they want to spit - to take the other’s wrist to still the precise movements. It is a language of the dead, the damned, those spurned by Halone’s grace. The runes are unnatural in the neat strokes of practiced penmanship, even without ink or blood to make them solid. The dissonance creates enough of a nagging feeling to distract from the slow melody of a badly played harp floating through the air.

They gaze upon - through Zephirin from where they've melded with the dark, giving him an incredulous look when the question breaks the relative silence between them. Are you daft?

“No.” Comes the clipped reply. Never. They had never even witnessed it in person because rarely did they cross paths with another who walked through the nadir, let alone one who was received by the cold embrace of death. But they have pored over the texts, the worn and smudged script, read horrendous accounts of knights who suffered grievous wounds but refused to die. There was a certain beauty to the tenacity; a last defiance to what unkind deity thought to claim your fate.

Yet Ser Ompagne made it perfectly clear it was a dangerous incantation, only to be used in the most dire of circumstances. It was only due to Fray’s own voraciousness that they came across it and pressed the old man for details.

“You're aware of the consequences, aren't you?” Fray asks him, wondering if Zephirin truly grasps the gravity of what he is asking. They lean forward with elbows resting on the table, partially bridging the gap as if sharing a secret. “You reach into the furthest depths of your rotten soul and viciously rip out what you can - then, hold it close and let it burn. The precious moments in which you are naught but brilliant flame are the ones where you cannot feel pain, nor the fear of death.”

A scene akin to a firebird trapped in a desperate dance of agony, except there was no glorious rebirth after everything turned to ash. They let a faint smile touch their lips, laced with bitter mischief.

“...And then you die. Just like anyone else.” The knight finishes with a nonchalant shrug. They hope that would be enough to put some sense into the other.

They sink back to their earlier position, letting him chew on their words. In the distance between them, they privately ponder what would come to pass if the rites escaped familiar lips, the runes firmly writ in stone instead of held behind a bitten tongue.

“Even if Sid or Ser Ompagne were to use it, I doubt they'd come back alive.” They say, quieter now. They don’t mean to speak ill of their mentor and fellow apprentice, but the words slip out regardless. “I wouldn't be able to do a damned thing for them.”

There was but one way to salvage those who invoked such a forbidden incantation. If enough aether was crammed into that gaping emptiness of scorched, blackened earth, the user would live another wretched day. But dark knights were solitary creatures, and Fray thought it doubtful one would receive adequate healing when lost in a sea of Templars. Living Dead was just that - a prolonged death sentence in a funeral pyre.

And healing came with its own price, one where they found themselves openly yawning after stitching up both of their cuts and bruises. They languidly cock their head in minute curiosity. “I thought you didn't have an interest in the dark arts? Thought it was too sacrilegious for one of Halone’s most devoted soldiers.”

@ofonyxshade // starter

“Living Dead, Ser Ompagne called it? The runes?” A pale hand traces ghosts of ancient letters into the tabletop in front of the other, written in a circle before Zephirin rests his hand in the center of that imaginary ring. The mug of apple wine is warm in his hands, its presence lifting him just slightly over the din of the tavern- Like spectres, snowflakes piled on a branch, leaves on the surface of a pond. His face is warm, his arms ache, but it’s a satisfying feeling, warm and drowsy, too tired to pay the background noise as much mind as he normally would.

It’s anchoring all the same, the feeling of that little bubble around their table. The young knight looks up at Fray sitting across from him and stays awake.

“Have you or yours ever had to use it?” The question comes without thinking- And after it falls, he winces a little. Though his hands have scarce been dipped in the black, he knows that consorting with the abyss can be a risky thing- Surely a skill called Living Dead couldn’t be good for you. But also, all the spells and skills sound similarly dark- He remembers Unmend prickling at his fingertips, and keeps that feeling in the hand grasping the handle of his mug.

[ofonyxshade]

dayofazure‌:

Head titled upward as she heard a voice ( a whisper ) call to her from behind. Perched comfortably on the edge of the ravine where the white clouds swirl about below, the Dragoon slowly stood up and turned around to look see the Knight staring at her. Cocking her head to the side, Seiza’s expression was a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“If it’s my neck you’re worried about, I suggest you take that concern back.” Pulling her lips inward in a straight line, Seiza thought carefully about her words.  “My neck will always be in a suffering state whenever I talk to anybody that’s over five feet five.” Light sarcasm dripped in her tone but the truth of her statement remains strong.

Turning around, the Dragoon put her back against the Knight as she placed her hands on her hips. Lavender eyes continue to stare down into the white abyss of down below. A moment of silence crossed between them before the Xaela finally spoke up.

“I’ll move if this so happens to be your “spot” but if not, I’m not moving.” The Warrior of Light honestly…didn’t want to do much, she simply wanted to stay put and stare down. There was much to be done in Isghard and all-around Eozera but for now, she simply wanted a bit of quiet as her thoughts continue to mingle around in a misty void of her mind.

“You can’t find many places that are quiet and without people bugging you for something.”

They were unfazed by the curt response - after all, the two things Ishgardians dealt with best were spitfire and biting frost. They wondered if they should regale her with a tale of Temple Knights thrown into the churning mists by a pair of dragon talons, but cocky adventurers were not wont to take such advice.

Instead, Fray joined her on the precarious ledge, if only to make the conversation a bit less conspicuous. They effortlessly wove through the billowing fog spit up by the clouds below and spared a glance at the view for themselves. In a way, it was one of their favorite perches - somewhere they could stop and pretend they were unfettered and unburdened, an abyss of white to draw their thoughts away from one of black. Truthfully, they didn’t mind she wanted to do the same. Not like they could stake a claim on what was essentially public property.

Her choice of words was certainly interesting, though. Quite a lot of gall for an outsider who willingly came to the holy congregation of sentient dhalmels.

“If you didn't want to develop a crick in your neck, then you've chosen the wrong place to take a jaunt. The See’s pointy-eared bastards easily reach six fulms and over - without noble egos to swell their heads.” They stated plainly with a shrug, having been witness to the phenomenon only too often.

The knight then paused, feigning a moment of deep contemplation, tapping their chin.

“...But if it bothers you that greatly, perhaps I should crouch for your convenience?” Their gaze flicked towards her weapon again, careful not to betray their growing amusement. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to jump to match my height?”

[ofonyxshade]

// hello one and all! this is a new rp blog for zephirin de valhourdin from ffxiv, and im the fool setting him loose.

as im still trying to find people to follow (my tumblr recommendations havent gotten the memo yet), please throw this post a like/reblog if you’d be interested in interactions!

[ofonyxshade]

Let’s go out tonight Kill some stubborn myths Set those ghosts alight, get into it.

No one’s getting younger Would you like a souvenir? Let it take you under, Feel your worries disappear

[ofonyxshade]

i believe that’s all the starters i owe from my initial post? thank you for your patience! if anyone else would like to thread feel free to poke me via ims, or i’ll just toss up a meme somewhere down the line and you can snag that lol

[ofonyxshade]

g*d gave me two grubby little hands and one grubby little mouth for the exclusive purposes of: 

1. saying the fuck word

2. rude gestures at authority figures