#^ would be me too when i finally have my friends go to ishgard for the first time hehe

[noxtivagus]

thinking about haurchefant hours (tales from the dragonsong war side stories) 🥺🤍

[quinn-borel]

A Familiar Face

“A ball?” Quinn asked quizzically over the breakfast table at Fortemps manor. 

“A ball? In these times?  I can hardly see how it is appropriate when the Dravanians are nearly at your doorstep.” Alphinaud mused to himself as he sat across from Quinn, barely touching his breakfast.  Lord Edmont de Fortemps sat at the head of the table, placing his knife and fork down as he looked towards the youngest Elezen at the table,

“Be that as it may, the lords of Ishgard aren’t one to forsake an excuse to hold a party.  This one will be smaller than the usual foray, but nevertheless, I was requested to bring Eorzea’s savior in tow, along with my sons.”

“Why me?” Quinn tilted her head a bit, “I’m not of nobility.  Sure, I’m your ward, but if anything, I’m just a runaway.  Wouldn’t Alphinaud be a better choice to attend?  He’s more…diplomatic.”

“This is probably a way for the Lords to put you under a microscope,” Alphinaud pointed out, “I’m sure despite the city being as closed as it is, word has traveled of your deeds.  Given how close you’ve been working with House Fortemps these last few weeks, I’d say you may have become a popular topic of gossip, I’m afraid.”

Quinn sighed, absolutely defeated by the truth that came from her fellow Scion.  Nothing sounded less appealing than getting dressed up and mocked and prodded all night by a load of stuffy nobles.  She looked to Edmont with pleading eyes, as if to say, ‘Please, don’t make me go, dad.’.  But to no avail, he closed his eyes and gently grasped his cup of coffee,

“It will be tomorrow evening, around sunset.  We will have a seamstress fit you with a proper gown as well–at our cost, of course.”

Quinn sank in her seat, the feeling of dread wafting over her.  She was never one for formal events, nay, she was an adventurer and heart and a bard by trade. She wasn’t meant to dance along with Ishgardian nobles, she was meant to sing and parade around tavern locals. 

“C’mon, Quinn, old girl, it won’t be that bad!” Emmanellain stated as he entered the breakfast nook with Honoroit behind him, “A night of food, wine, and dancing with some of the finest in all of Ishgard.  It will be a delightful event, for sure!”

He was a little too excited for the gala for Quinn’s taste, she sank further in her chair in response.  Alphinaud shrugged with a wry smile as he looked upon his friend with pity.  She would have to take the fall that evening while he continued his work at the manor.  Quinn stared blankly at the young Elezen across from her, irritated that he had no further objection to the idea.

“Who knows, maybe this will be good for you, Quinn.” Alphinaud finally broke the silence between them, smiling into his morning tea, “It may teach you some class.”

“Oh, haha, you’re so funny, Alphi.” Quinn extended her leg underneath the table and practically dug her toe into the young lad’s shin.  He yelped in response, almost dropping his teacup and saucer.  Despite everything that happened to him, there was still an air of cheekiness to him.  That, he hadn’t grown out of just yet.

——

The evening approached rather quickly, almost too quickly to Quinn’s dismay.  She arrived at the House Durendaire estate along with Edmont, Emmanellain, and Artoirel, adorned with the finest Ishgardian gown that matched the other ladies in attendance.  Truly, one could not distinguish her in the crowd—she looked as if she belonged within the circle of socialites.  Her only distinguishing feature was the grimace on her face as they walked about, obviously displeased to even be there in the first place.  The dress was uncomfortable, her bodice was tighter than she’d like, and the extra makeup on her visage felt caked-on and unbearable.  Artoirel had her on his arm, serving as her official ‘date’ for the gala, for every lady needed an escort of sorts. 

“At least try to act the part,” he muttered under his breath so that only she could hear him, “you’re already under scrutiny, after all.  Best you act like you want to be here.”

“Maybe if I had a drink…” Quinn eyed the refreshment table from afar, manned by a steward who seemed to be serving the finest ports.  While she was more partial to ale and hard liquor, wine would certainly do the trick in calming her nerves. 

“Just don’t go overboard.” He warned her as he allowed his arm to fall, allowing Quinn to float away from him and gravitate towards the table with glee.  At the very least, it got her to drop her sour expression.

As she approached the table, Quinn could overhear some faint whispers around her,

“….outsider.”

“….Fortemps ward…..outsider…”

“….oh, it’s her…..Eorzea’s ‘savior’….”

“…..drunkard…..harpy”

That last one stung a bit.  Sure, she got around, but outside of Ishgard only.  Not once had she bed anyone since her arrival in the city-state, and she barely visited the Forgotten Knight for a drink.  At least, that’s what she could remember…

One drink was followed by another as she strode around the gala, visiting the refreshment table every time her glass went dry.  It put her at ease, her body feeling warm with her cheeks and suddenly the whispers were so faint they barely bothered her. 

Let them talk.  I’m Quinn-fucking-Rin’ria, the savior of Eorzea.

She spun around a bit to the music as she came dangerously close to the dance floor.  A few patrons had to step aside in order to not be bumped into, yet, one guest in particular was not so lucky.  Quinn’s hand smacked the arm of one Ser Forlemort, who immediately whipped around and glared at the young woman,

“Bah, you again!” He coughed, “I thought I’d had enough of you and your party poking your nose around Ishgard, yet here you are in the city.  I can’t believe they let rabble like you in.”

Quinn glared back, yet a smirk was painted across her features, “Same goes to you, old man. They should have kept you locked in that observatorium where you belong to wither away.”

“How dare you, you drunken-” he stopped and his gaze went upwards, past Quinn as if there were someone behind him.  He gritted his teeth and turned away, muttering curses under his breath as he went back to his own party.  Quinn tensed up as she, too, felt a looming presence behind her—such a presence that seemed to startle the old man back to what he was doing.  She slowly turned to find a rather tall Elezen standing behind her, dark hair with piercing blue eyes and a warm smile with a look of bemusement on his face. 

“Are you always getting into trouble like this?” He asked.

“Ser Aymeric?” Quinn straightened up at the sight of the man no longer in his imposing golden armor, but rather relaxed in what she figured was the standard Ishgardian evening coat.  She shook her head a bit, trying to clear her mind so that she could talk to him without coming off as a drunken fool, “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“As the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, I have a duty as a representative here at these formal events.  But that aside, I am more surprised to see you here.”

“Me? Well, I was encouraged to come here as a member of House Fortemps.” She explained, “Though I think I was invited here to be more of an entertainment piece than a guest…” Her gaze fell to the floor, and Aymeric looked awkwardly off to the side,

“I cannot deny that I have heard whispers of you here and there.  Though, I feel that now is a time where I can meet the proclaimed ‘Warrior of Light’ on a more personal level to expunge such rumors I’ve been hearing.”

“Truly?” Quinn looked to him rather curiously, “Well, those rumors are rather true. I’m just a bumbling outsider who drinks too much.  Aside from the whole ‘savior of Eorzea’ thing.”

Aymeric chuckled, offering his hand to her as the music changed, “If I may?”

She wouldn’t let his charm get to her, her trust in people already as fragile as ever.  Yet, something compelled her to take his offer, her slightly-shaky hand touching his palm.  Aymeric guided her to the dance floor,

“Do you dance?” He asked.

“Not particularly.  I mean, I used to when I was a young one.”

“It should be easy to catch on.  Just follow my lead.”

The pair made their way to the dance floor, Aymeric taking the lead in their waltz,

“…So, how much wine have you had this evening?”

“That’s,” she hiccupped softly, “none of your business, Ser Aymeric.  Is that what they teach fancy nobles to say to a lady during their first dance?”

“I consider us friends at this point,” he said with a warm smile, “I was just wondering if you were enjoying yourself, that’s all.”

“Oh, Gods,” she sighed, “between you and I, I’d rather be performing at the Forgotten Knight than dolled up and in this place.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, you clean up well.”

“You as well, Ser Aymeric.”

Quinn’s feet moved in unison with Aymeric’s, as if she were a well-seasoned dancer. Their movements flowed with ease, Aymeric being somewhat gentle with the way he held her hand and somewhat timid with the way his other hand sat at her hip.  Quinn expected a military leader to be a bit rougher with his movements, but something about Aymeric seemed more refined and gentlemanly.  He truly was treating her with care, and she noticed.

“So, question and answer time,” Quinn began, “you said you wanted to get to know me better?”

“Well, just by your movements alone I’ve gained quite a bit of insight.”

“Hmm,” she tilted her head, the alcohol really taking effect, “I guess then I can keep my mouth shut for the rest of this dance then?”

She looked at him with a smile.  Her smile.  The smile of a thousand suns, one would describe.  Aymeric’s grip tightened slightly on her hand, and his eyes glistened ever subtly. 

“You needn’t silence yourself.  In fact, I encourage you to tell me a little more about yourself.”

“What is there to tell that you haven’t already studied with your ‘borderline fascination’?” She mused, “I’m an adventurer, a member of the Scions, and a bard by trade.  I like to drink and dance and be merry.  Not much to tell you past that.”

“I see.” His gaze never left hers, and the two of them locked eyes as they went about another turn in the dance.

“Boring, right?”

“On the contrary.  I knew you had skill with a bow, but I wasn’t aware you were an entertainer.”

“You should stop by the inn some nights, if you’re not busy being…commander and all that…I’m sometimes there.”

“I may just have to.”

The beat of the music slowed down, just a tad, just enough to where the world itself seemed to stop at that very instant.  His piercing blue gaze felt as if it went right through her, as if he were studying her.  Yet, there was a tinge of red in his ear, something that Quinn failed to notice past his stare.

“Something wrong, Lord Commander?” Quinn asked, noticing that Aymeric suddenly went quiet.  He shook his head immediately, continuing to smile back at her with his charming expression. The music changed number, meaning that their dance had come to an end.  Aymeric gracefully released her, bowing slightly to thank her for the dance.

“I hope that we can see each other again soon, my friend.” He said, “It was a delight dancing with you.”

“You’re too formal,” Quinn teased, “I thought we were friends.”

“Ah, you’re right.” Aymeric straightened himself before looking to his left to see that Artoirel had approached them, “Lord Artoirel, it is a pleasure to see you.”

“Same to you, Ser Aymeric.” Artoirel gave him a slight bow, “I see you’ve had a chance to get more acquainted with Quinn here.”

“Please, we barely talked.” Quinn huffed,

“Well, perhaps we should choose a different venue next time.” Aymeric replied back, “One where you’re more comfortable.”

“I’ll take that offer.” Quinn shot back with a big grin, “Drinks on Ser Aymeric at the Forgotten Knight!”

Artoirel sighed, pressing his fingertips to his forehead, yet Aymeric patted his shoulder with a chuckle, “I tag out to you, friend.  Take care of her.”

“Hm?”

“You heard him, Artoirel,” Quinn snickered, “You are my escort, after all.”

“Yes, yes, please remind me.” He sighed, turning to her and offering his hand, “Shall we?”

“Another dance?”

“No, I’m taking you home.”

“Gods, yes, finally.” Quinn sighed, grabbing his arm and leaning against him, “I’m getting tired of this place.”

“Lower your voice, please.”

——

“Artoirel-”

“Keep quiet.”

She hummed against his lips before he allowed her tongue in his mouth.  Artoirel kept his grip firm on her hips, allowing her to continue to grind against him in such a seductive manner. 

“By the Fury-” he muttered as she parted from him, she placed her fingertips against his lips to silence him.  Quinn smirked behind her drunken daze, sitting back on his lap as she ran her hands down his well-toned frame. 

It all started with their arrival back at Fortemps manor, Edmont and Emmanellain had not yet arrived and Quinn, inebriated to hell and back, felt that her sudden feelings of longing needed to be satiated.  Artoirel had no such immunity to her own personal charms, and one thing lead to another.  The once-irritable and stoic lord now lay on his bed, shirtless, being straddled by the Warrior of Light. 

“What? Do you think your daddy’s gonna hear us?” She muttered with a smirk, her aching hands slowly gliding down his abdomen and towards his belt, “It was just a matter of time, my good ser.  He would be proud to know you’ve bedded Eorzea’s savior.”

Artoirel’s lips made a thin line, his hands doing most of the talking as his grip tightened on her hips.  Quinn snickered at his response, tapping a finger to his nose.  Yet, as she leaned over the world shifted slightly and her vision blurred.  Perhaps….it was too much wine.  Perhaps, trying to drink away your anxiety was not the best plan of action.  Nay, the Warrior of Light, with as little grace as possible, closed her eyes and flopped on the side of his bed.  Sound asleep.  Artoirel sat up from his daze, looking over the poor thing and gently patting her head,

“I’ll carry you off to your room then.  Get some rest, ‘Warrior of Light’.”

[iron-roots]

28. Blunt

"Well, perhaps if you were not so terrible to everyone you would have someone else to ask for help." Anselme pointed out with all the subtle grace of a hippo. "Have you considered /not/ calling your friends 'heathens', 'beasts' or 'mongrels'?" He suggested helpfully before grunting with the effort of moving the heavy armoire a few more ilms to the left after it had been declared 'off center'.

Lebeaux scoffed from his spot comfortably resting in an arm chair, dumping more brandy into a teacup that hadn't had actual tea in it in bells. Clearly displeased with his brother's blunt assessment of his social skills.

"Have you considered /not/ being an insufferable imbecile." He countered sharply despite the saintly smile on his lips. "First off, they are not my friends... they are my associates at best. Second, they are heathens and beastly mongrels both and therefore I see no reason not to call them as such." He continued, waving his hand to indicate that the Knight should shift the heavy furniture back to its original position. "Finally, they are all woefully unsuited for such work. If I stacked them atop each other perhaps they would reach your height and they are more accustomed to lifting books or wineglasses than priceless Ishgardian imports-... take /care/ with that, I do not want to have it refinished!" The chirurgeon snapped when the armoire tilted dangerously during its shifting. "I know the Fury saw fit to gift you a headful of rocks rather than brains but do try to use a little common sense."

Anselme stopped short, taking his hands away from the armoire to let it tip over fully. The heavy furniture crashed to the ground with a resounding boom that drowned out his brother's high-pitched screech of dismay. Somewhere further in the apartment a bird echoed the sound, though it wasn't clear which of the two had been more gratingly shrill. The Knight folded his arms over his chest, thick brows furrowed in annoyance as he stared over at his brother.

"Oh, apologies, I was too busy trying to think to focus on holding onto the armoire as well." Anselme explained, heat creeping into his tone. "If you insist on being terrible to me after calling me for help... then perhaps I may not answer the next time." He threatened, fingers digging into his own arms.

The bridge of Lebeaux's nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing into an expression of outright fury before it was quickly smoothed back into a derisive smile. "Will you now... will you finally cut ties fully. Will you give up on whatever ridiculous crusade this is to try and lure me back to Ishgard. Will you finally allow our uncle to declare me dead. Will you be content to become the only son of our withering branch of that miserable thorn bush. How fares Mother, by the by, surely you have been to see her recently... perhaps thinking me gone will ease her troubled mind. Mourning may suit her well." Lebeaux demanded, words spilling out rapid-fire and each one dripping sickly-sweet venom.

"It would kill her, I cannot do that."

Lebeaux lifted a shoulder for a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back in his chair again, settling his elbow on the arm and propping his chin in his hand as he smiled sweetly at Anselme.

"Nor can you tell her the truth of the situation. So you will continue to come when I call. It is not as though you have so many others you may run to. Now pick that up. /You/ are going to pay for its refinishing."

[pangolinheart]

I almost never read the journal entries in final fantasy xiv but I happened to be looking for something and in my search found that the journal entries for the Stormblood Dark Knight quests are actually "written" by Esteem AND I- Here are some choice selections from the sb drk quests, from the mildly amusing to the ones that ripped my heart out:

Four more times must he do this. Four more times must he employ his powers to make broken men and women whole, so burdened by his deeds he is. Again you consent to the plan for...reasons. 

But, for now, Sid could do with a drink. Or a nap. Or one, and then the other.

...you realize it is none other than the woman who led the protest against the peace conference at Falcon's Nest, and poisoned your drink, which was not very sporting at all. 

...she admits she once looked on you with hatred, but no longer. Fight, if it be your will, and if the gods show you favor, then so be it. And when we are called to account, so be it.

Her heart knows naught but guilt. Seeks naught but forgiveness. Ware the penitent, for theirs is a compulsion all consuming. 

Myste is nevertheless troubled, as is his wont, though at least he is grateful. And you are still a good person, apparently. That's nice. 

And so, in a fit of what can only be described as temporary insanity, Sidurgu has proposed that you return to Moghome. Apparently he hopes that the fresh air and the quiet might cheer the boy. Alternatively, he may long to punch a moogle in its furry little face. 

Myste stares out at the endless expanse and speaks of loss, which we know all too well. So, so many friends and loved ones. Close your eyes and you can see them pass, one by one, in solemn procession. A lesser woman would be tempted to forget, but we know better. 

As feared, Sidurgu will require some time to recover from his wounds. So poor is his condition that he is not even fit to make the journey back to Ishgard. Alas, this means that he must enjoy the company of the moogles at Moghome for the foreseeable future. But all is not lost─he did give you leave to punch a moogle for him. 

He laments his fate, wishing he could go back and convince his former self not to place his trust in the Griffin...but if such things were possible, you wouldn't have a broken shield, now would you? 

She is not the first, nor will she be the last to betray you. She will implore you to see reason, to seek solace in the fiction. And when you refuse, she will have no recourse but one. As I did not. Be ready.

And now, the betrayal. Myste believes that the only way we can atone for our sins is to “undo” them with his simulacra. Every life we took, every death that weighs upon our soul, he would make amends for it all with his beautiful lies. I can end this charade, godsdammit, I can end it! Now is the time! You need me! YOU NEED ME!

The little girl who wanted to make this cruel, twisted world a better place, futile as that is. She's going to get us killed one of these days...but what can I say? I love her. I forgive her. And you... 

(the very last sentence really got me afhajkfla)

... he knows that your destiny leads you elsewhere, for you are still a hero. You are still a good person.

[housedeaubemarle]

The Grand Hunt - Part 3: The Hunt

Part 1: The Call

Part 2: The Tracking

Part 4: The Trophy

(written with @escherstrange-ffxiv who's gamely joined this adventure that's gone so far beyond my expectations, and I wouldn't have it any other way)

~*~

Rewelle looks out to the highlands beyond Falcon's Nest. Black Iron Bridge stands out in the frozen wasteland, the path littered with slimes and beasts. She takes a deep breath, then pulls her hood over her head as she walks down the steps leading out.

“You're leaving at first light.”

The adrenaline and fear running through her body make her colder than before. The soft light of dawn, just beginning to bloom above the horizon, is a small comfort.

“Don't sprint – you’ll draw the beasts’ attention.”

She’s lived in this place her entire life. Ishgardian born and bred, and proud of it.

But right now as Rewelle clutches the straps of the satchel she’s carrying, as if she had taken minimal belongings from the house, she has never wanted anything less than to be here.

“But don't go too slow either; they may smell a rat. Hurry like you want to meet your cousin.”

Her grip tightens as she makes herself walk, one foot in front of the other. Soon the cobblestones of Ishgard proper are left behind, making way for frozen soil and thick snow.

Fury send me where I must, with courage and discipline, in the light of the divine. Let me not quail in the wake of this calamity; here is your spear, here is your helm, here is your righteous justice, O Fury of the Gods…

Hymn after hymn, prayer upon prayer, and step by step, Rewelle pushes forward, trying to keep on the worn, iced-over path without slipping. The wind’s howling accompanies her, along with the muffled sounds of snuffling beasts, scratching claws and the strange squelches of other things she would rather not meet face to face. 

“You will be followed. They'll probably try something before the sentries can spot you. Be on your guard as soon as you see the huge chains of the Bridge.”

Rewelle pushes a lock of hair out of her face, gulping in icy air as her boots crunch the snow beneath. When prayers to the Fury come to their end, she tries to imagine her friends back at Aubemarle, tries to hear their voices and see their faces. There’s Aeda’s cheerful optimism, there’s Yisa’s light-filled eyes, there’s Denisot’s reassuring tones, there’s Bremmant’s easy grin, there’s Lamb’s overbearing, overprotective, underappreciated face.

“Last thing, Miss Rewelle: when the time comes, shield your head and run.”

Rewelle takes in one more deep breath, and plunges forward.

Some way behind her, buoyed by the expectation of success, three shadows follow. Behind snow-covered outcrops and taller snowdrifts, they maintain a safe distance, watching the lone figure trudge through the brilliant white terrain of Ishgard’s outskirts. 

They watch her walk determinedly, and think: Not long now. Not long. Before the bridge, we’ll jump and finally get our damned wages.

~*~

Joshua picks up the gadget and observes the numbers click upwards. "Half a malm to Black Iron Bridge."

"Good, now take the aether counter and point it to the base of the tower and tell me how much is the highest aspected aether." Escher leans against the buttress of the top of the tower tapping a pencil on a notepad.

"Don't let him know what we're doing."

Joshua squints at the counter. "Ice aether, 9900."

"Of course ice aether is over 9000," Escher grumbles, "Fire? Lightning?"

"Fire…2000…"

Escher gets up. "Good enough for a control." A wave of his hand raises the nouliths to his height, aiming at least 6 fulms from the bridge. Fire aspected aether streams into his nouliths, glowing hotter with each mote.

"He needs plausible deniability. We need plausible deniability."

The nouliths converge into a single point, firing a stream of fire akin to a serpent rushing to the bridge. Joshua's breath catches in his throat, immediately bringing up the first gadget to see where Rewelle - and his brother - is. His heart thumps rapidly, hoping it doesn't hit Rewelle - or Isillud.

"Bit weird for your brother to suddenly have plans when he told me to come here ASAP."

~*~

Isillud pulls his snow-white hood lower as he crouches against a rock, trying to blend against the background as he trails Rewelle. 

His ears perk: the soft crunch of snow a constant rhythm. He turns behind and sees three heads bobbing behind a snow drift. 

Good, they came.

~*~

None of the three men notice anything extraordinary as they go past a camouflaged Isillud. Their full concentration is on Rewelle, controlling their movement in case she takes fright prematurely. Overpowering her would be only too easy, but the day has decided to begin especially cold, and the wind turns biting.

“Let's get on with it,” growls Andreau. 

Hourlinet looks to Padiloux who's peering forward, calculating how long more before they can pounce - far enough from the city so there are no witnesses, not near enough to the bridge for help. When he nods, only then do they pick up speed, making a beeline for the girl.

Ahead of them by several crucial fulms, Rewelle has just seen the gigantic, jutting points of the Bridge, piercing upwards like the Spear itself. Then, right before the wind picks up again, she hears them: pounding footsteps that belong to no creature of the land. She throws a glance over her shoulder, sees the speeding figures and with an involuntary cry, picks up speed to flee. The wind makes hee veer more towards the left even though she's doing her best to reach the Bridge straight on.

She runs, and runs, and runs, but the crunching behind her gets ever closer.

And then, right before a gloved hand can make contact with her person, the ground about four fulms away inexplicably explodes in a violent blast of… flame. 

The impact throws her off her feet, flinging her like a ragdoll into the snow. There is a deep ringing in her head as she crashlands into the frozen ground. She can only gasp through the pain stabbing into every muscle of her body. Stinging heat radiates far across the area, even managing to steal over towards her.

The Warden? Here?

Her spinning, confused thoughts almost blur together, but when she picks up her head, she can see her pursuers too haven't been spared. All three are struggling to rise. 

Run while they can't. Now.

Rewelle gathers every ounce of strength she can muster and forces herself upwards, rapidly following the force of the icy wind. Her satchel, stained with blood she hasn't noticed yet, lies crushed in the snow.

Padiloux is the first to heave himself to his feet, despite the aches shrieking their way through his burly body, specially in his ribs. When he can finally see straight, Rewelle has regained the lead she'd had before the explosion. He roars in rage, taking after her.

Behind him, staggering upwards, Hourlinet is swearing up a storm. “Gods fucking dammit,” he spits as a rivulet of blood flows down his face. There had been a rock at exactly the right place when he’d hit the ground.

Andreau, bruised and shaken, is not helpful as he stares at the impossibly scorched earth. “Fire? Fire, here?! What the fuck-”

The explosion, the blood, the pain - it is all too much. Hourlinet grabs Andreau by the collar.

“Get the girl, NOW,” he growls, shoving Andreau in the direction Rewelle and Padiloux have already flown in. The order shakes the man out of his bewildered horror; he starts running.

Hourlinet takes another minute to swear again before he wipes the blood from one eye, and sprints in the same direction.

~*~

"Eh, could be better." Escher scribbles in his notepad. "Can you check how much aether is concentrated in the spot? Want to check if there's any dispersion."

Joshua picks up the aether counter when he sees a cluster of shapes around the explosion area. They are still, but one moves. One looks confused, standing still but looks around. Another runs away towards the bridge. Joshua doesn't need a spyglass to confirm who it is. He points at the bridge to Escher, "Professor! Someone's in trouble at the bridge! We have to help!"

"Huh, wha?" The pink hyur squints through the cold and frost. "How? We can't fly fast enough from here."

"The nouliths!" Joshua points, "Do the same thing you did earlier!"

"What, with fire? There's not enough ambient fire aether here for a shot that big." Escher explains without any urgency.

He thinks of dragonfire. "Yes, yes it has to be fire! Just make it big enough to stop them!"

"Hang on, I think I have an idea." Escher flips the nouliths upright, whirring to life. Below them the bonfire at the base of the watchtower flickers and dies out to the faint cries of the guards below. He directs the nouliths to the bridge, arcing through the currents, gradually lighting up a bright orange until it hits an invisible barrier. He looks at Joshua, "What's the reading on my nouliths?"

"Uh….four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine."

"...fuck's sake. It'll do." The nouliths have no convergence point unlike earlier: they aim at the ground six fulms from the cliff between Black Iron Bridge. Joshua can hear the sound of aether charging up to a shrill peak. It fires just as another thought crosses Joshua's mind. "Wait, I don't mean ALL of them-!" He immediately slaps Escher's hand but it only breaks his concentration just enough to veer the nouliths' aim deep into the cliffside. "Hey-!"

The explosion is massive. 

White snow and black soil spray to the heavens like a geyser laying dormant for millennia. Rocks arc to the ground and down the ravine. The shrieks of various beastkin are faint but audible. When the sounds fade and the smoke thins there is a loud CRACK, and part of the cliff tumbles down to crash into the frozen river below, creating another explosion.

The pair can only watch, as does everyone in every watchtower all the way to Falcon's Nest (and perhaps even the Convictory).

Escher speaks first: "You did this," he says, weakly pointing at the carnage.

Joshua looks like he's been slapped with another heresy charge. "What?!"

~*~

Isillud raises his bow to aim for Padiloux when the first explosion hits, throwing him face-first into the snow. He shakes his head counting to 10, keeping low to steady himself. Frantic shouts pick him back up in time to see Rewelle sprinting towards the bridge.

Unlike them, he sees the aether aimed at the ground.

There is no time to shoot; he sprints away and in a wide arc around what he thinks to be the centre of the oncoming attack to get to Rewelle. It hits the edge of the cliff instead; he frowns at the discrepancy but there is no time for calculations as the ground gives way, pulling everything down with it like crockery on a falling tablecloth.

He pulls his hood back - to hells with identity, she needs to know she can trust him - and stretches his arm out, calling her at the top of his lungs. "REWELLE!"

~*~

“Lamb…?”

Whatever expression is on her face makes him frown hard. More gently than he’s ever done in the years they’ve known each other, he raises his hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek. 

“You can do this. You're as stubborn as they come and as brave as they make.” Lamb's dark eyes bore right into hers. “Give them hell. Then come home.”

-

Her lungs are on fire. So is her heart, and her stomach. Everything within burns and singes, and her feet are beginning to become leaden. The last vestiges of her strength are fading, but the bridge with its potential of safety is still so, so far away. Breathing becomes so hard.

Rewelle wheezes and gasps, as the shooting pains that had been dulled by the shock are coming back at the most inconvenient times. She has no idea that there is blood seeping and soaking through her black uniform, ragged and singed by the blast she endured. All she cares about now is how much slower she has become, how unable her body is to keep up with her will.

Please. Please, she begs, tears streaming down her face as she feels herself slow down. She can’t hear the ensuing boots coming closer, can’t feel the growing pressure in the atmosphere as something larger and fiercer than anything she’s ever known or imagined approaches with growing speed. Please help me, Fury please-

Time slows. Exactly three seconds before the echoes of the splitting cliff face boom across the tundra, a voice – the whisper of a young girl – speaks right into her ear.

Duck.

That one sound apparently shoots straight into her central nervous system, as Rewelle instinctively flings herself down. She lands with a muffled thump, and the pain of it nearly knocks her unconscious. 

CRACK!

Around her, the world shakes, as if Hydaelyn itself is ending. The deafening groans and crashes of falling rocks and stones drown out the screaming of those caught in its wake. Unlike her, two of her pursuers, fuelled by adrenaline and inertia, hadn’t managed to stop before the very edges of the crumbling rocks.

“REWELLE!”

Somehow, the sound of her name cuts past all the chaotic noise of the world smashing apart, through all the conflicting temperatures of ice and fire. She knows that voice. She heard it thank her in her ladyship’s drawing room, albeit softer and smoother. She's always had a knack with voices.

She chokes on a reply. She can’t speak, suffocating as blood enters her lungs.

Breathe, goes the same soft, child’s voice in her ear.

How?

Like this.

From nowhere, fresh, cooling air suddenly floods her lungs, rushes up through her throat, and expels from her mouth in a loud, sharp gasp. Blood sprays onto the ice. But that one breath gives her just enough time, just enough will, to find Isillud's glowing green eyes, and grab hold of his forearm. He yanks her further backwards, safely away from the unsteady ground.

“Be… careful-” is all Rewelle can manage, before everything - finally - goes black. 

~*~

Hourlinet's groans alert Isillud to the thug's presence. Placing Rewelle's head gently on the snow, he steps cautiously to Hourlinet, removing the katana from the belt behind him and slamming the scabbard vertically in front of the man's face.

"And how much will it take you to leave Ishgard on your own volition - without a trace?"

~*~

Hourlinet's thoughts have been whirling like the snow around him as he tries to catch up to his companions. The gash in his head doesn't do him any favours, though he persists in keeping his knees up as far as he can. There have been worse injuries in his past but this was supposed to be an easy job.

The sudden boom - another thrice-damned hellsent explosion - and what sounds like a shattering of godly proportions, answers his thoughts with thundering irony, shaking him off balance. He staggers, but still stays upright. One hand goes up to swipe more blood from his face while, groaning and swearing, he tries to see ahead.

By the gods–

Hourlinet has never seen the like. There in the distance, the sun has risen high enough to show all the world what has happened: a huge portion of the cliff near the bridge has fallen dangerously away. Echoes of great amounts of earth and rocks crashing into ice and water are still resounding through the air. The last few sprays of soil and debris keep falling as if there were no end. Crucially, he can feel the edges of a great and powerful heat, emanating in all directions.

Then here, right before his nose, the end of a scabbard being held by the idiot noble from last night. He's standing in front of Rewelle, lying unconscious on the ground.

Hourlinet's eyes widen in shock, staring back at the glare of unnatural emerald. His thoughts slam into place - they’d been bloody well tricked. Isillud's question goes unheard as a more important idea takes hold: what else could explain such disastrous firepower in this place?

“You called them here! You damn well called the bloody Horde down on us, you heretic!” Hourlinet's outrage at being outmanoeuvred drives him to snatch the blade strapped to his thigh. “Just for the sake of that wench!”

Normally the word would have Isillud seize up, the fear of fates worse than death pinning his bones to the ground till he struggles for breath.

Now fury burns his lungs.

One swing of the scabbard swats Hourlinet's hand away, knocking the blade into the snow. "The wench has family and friends and likes and dislikes! She has brains and sense and courage unlike you and your shitestain of a so-called lord!"

The second swing clocks him in the jaw, slamming into his stomach and making sure the man stays down. "And you dare to put her beneath you, damned cretin! Did nothing I say yesterday register in your thick skull?!"

The blade sings when Isillud unsheathes it, hovering dangerously close to Hourlinet's jugular, "I'll not repeat myself, Hourlinet: will you quietly leave Ishgard of your own accord, or shall I help you with it?"

Winded, pained and now horrified that this twig of an Elezen does in fact have the ability to wield the long foreign sword in his hand, Hourlinet’s mind supplies the following equations: resist any further, and having his throat slit may even be the soft option. The hard option is getting sawed into pieces by inescapable draconic fangs (apparently some of the rumours, and a small amount of Ajax’s blabbering had been true). Do as the madman says, escape, get on that ship to Thavnair which had been originally meant for the girl, and he might survive long enough to bring back the claim of heresy against the Losstarots. Ajax would probably still pay good money for this little tidbit, at least, once the blithering idiot got done with the inevitable temper tantrum over losing Rewelle. 

How exactly all that might be accomplished will have to be left to the future. Right now, Hourlinet’s concern is survival. Either Padiloux brother would have ripped out a second or third or even fourth knife if they were here, but Hourlinet had been in charge of talking for a reason. 

Besides, they aren’t here right now, and in his gut, Hourlinet knows they’re never going to provide their protection or backup ever again. All the more reason to leave as quickly as he can, while he still can. The Gaussain brat would just have to find someone else to shove around.

These mental calculations are completed in a matter of seconds. “I yield,” he wheezes. “Swear it: you’ll not see my face here again.”

The grey Elezen extends a gloved hand to Hourlinet; if he thinks Isillud is going to help him up he's sorely mistaken. "Your earring. You'll have no use for it once Ajax de Gaussain is informed of your incompetence." Even when he's threatening to lop an ear off his fingers look they're beckoning him over.

In spite of everything, including that blasted finger that utterly mocks him in its temptations, Hourlinet is sorely tempted to spit a choice swear at the nobleman. However, for once, he keeps his thoughts to himself. There’ll be other ways for him to get aboard the ship - word won’t reach his soon-to-be-previous-employer in time for him to be barred.

Hand shaking, he grabs the clasp from his ear and spitefully flings it at Isillud’s feet instead. 

Isillud steps on the clasp, throwing a pouch at Hourlinet’s stomach. Inside is a one-way airship ticket to Radz-at-han with 500 gil - enough for a snack during the trip.

"Never let it be said House Losstarot isn't gracious." The blade inches away from his neck yet remains close enough to strike should he get any funny ideas. "Now go before I change my mind," Isillud snarls.

~*~

"So we both agree dragonfire caused the thing?"

"Yes."

"Nidhogg's brood seeking revenge, blah blah blah, and all that."

"Yes."

"And we absolutely weren't doing distance versus potency testing, just gauging ambient aether for science."

"Yes, that's right."

"And you'll help me convince Aymeric it's safe to let me enter Ishgard?"

Joshua pinches the bridge of his nose, "I'll try, no guarantees but it should be doable."

"Cool, cool, cool. Glad we could come to an agreement. Better pack these up so nobody suspects anything." He packs his nouliths and apparatuses back into the padded case he brought along. "Thank you for your help."

"Gods, I can't imagine how Izzy could bring himself to sleep with you."

Escher nearly slams the suitcase on his fingers. "What?! No, no! We never slept together. Who the hells told you that?!"

Joshua is doubtful. He crosses his arms, "How did you meet then?"

"I paid him to pay someone for me."

"He said he met you at a pleasure house."

Escher is doubtful. "I think I would remember if I banged someone like him."

"Hard to say. You're quite the madman."

Escher gives the younger elezen two finger-guns. "You got that right."

A cold wind blows between the thick silence around them.

"...That wasn't a compliment, was it."

"No."

~*~

Back in Ishgard, within Aubemarle manor, the door to the Dowager Viscountess’ drawing room opens. The mid-morning sun streams in through a window, falling on the Dowager and Nisette sitting nearby.

“Milady,” says Marceaux, with an actual tremor in his words. “There are reports of major dragonfire at Black Iron Bridge. I was just told the Temple Knights are on their way to investigate.”

The Dowager, who had instantly looked up at the sound of her butler’s voice, frowns. “Dragons? There hasn’t been any sort of attack for months–” Then she sees how the colour has drained from Nisette’s face and the worry in Marceaux’s eyes. 

She has been very careful not to see all that goes on in her house ever since her request of the Losstarots. It isn't lying if she has no idea of what's going on. Besides, it's already enough to fib about getting their distant relatives involved - something the Viscount would never have agreed with. Considering how she’s due home this very evening, it's vital the Dowager keep up any kind of purposeful ignorance she can. 

In this instant though, she can't help knowing just who the butler and lady’s maid would be concerned about.

Her eyes narrow. “They're there then. All three of them.”

Marceaux and Nisette both nod, silently pleading with their mistress for… something. Anything. 

She thinks a moment, then speaks. “Send Cillien to the Nest; give him supplies and our crest for good measure. Make haste, but be cautious. Tell him to send word on the situation as soon as possible.”

Marceaux bows and almost runs out of the room. His training is the only thing that makes him shut the door quietly before he sprints for the stables. 

~*~

The thundering of Escher's handiwork is beginning to fade, replaced by the unmistakable sound of fast marching across the snow. It's coming from the direction of Ishgard, which means the Holy See is going to get involved in just a few minutes. There are shouts coming from the Bridge as well; people are coming from Falcon's Nest to see what's going on, since the explosions seem to have stopped.

Isillud, carrying Rewelle's body gingerly, has been watching a figure get progressively smaller in the distance. Hourlinet's knife and earring are already safely pocketed in his coat.

He draws in a deep, tired, icy breath. The day has only just begun.

~*~

Joshua slips out of the highlands with Escher (in a hood) in the midst of the chaos of both garrison and Temple Knights both rushing to the location. The Convictory will soon join the fray eager to earn their title, for surely only a large dragon or a horde enough for everyone can only inflict damage of such magnitude. He dares not inform anyone of his brother's impending arrival - not even the innkeep for if anyone knew they’d seen it, they would be questioned. 

When Isillud carries Rewelle in, there are no soldiers to question them - they have all gone to Black Iron Bridge. He keeps the story short: She paid him to escort her to her cousin's house when they are beset by an explosion, and another. The staff nod sympathetically; who hasn't lost kin to the horde? They take her away to be cleaned and treated, leaving him in another room.

It is only when the body knows there is respite that Isillud crumples. His ears ring from the explosion. His eyes water from the debris. He coughs like an old man from the dust choking his lungs as his vision darkens, curling into a fetal position, a spiral of limbs and torso, until sleep claims him.

To be continued

[humblemooncat]

I'll tell you when you get your soft, italicised, "Oh"

Tagged by @sae-mian! Thank you, friend! <3

Doing this for all of Ki'to's polycule, so buckle up for a long post

Ki'to & Aymeric

The Missed Opportunity

"this one comes with a pang. it is the wrinkled brow of something unpleasant sinking in. they've left to find some new adventure. or they've met someone else. and you have only just begun to understand their true importance to you. you watch them drift toward a future without you, and in that stark numbness of their absence, it hits you. Oh. oh, you want them close. you hopelessly, selfishly want them all to yourself. you'll support them no matter what, but you don't want them to want a future that doesn't involve you. you want them to read the near-invisible signs of your love and decide to take a chance on you. you never want to say that you *used* to know each other. so what are you going to do?"

In all honesty, he really didn't know just how in love with Aymeric he was until the trouble in Ishgard was at an end. He knew they were to move on to new troubles on the horizon, and it makes sense that he'd have seen that and decided he had to tell him now before it was too late. At that point he was done not saying how he felt right away, lest something happen...

Ki'to & G'raha

The Emergency

"something goes wrong. there's urgency. everything gets turned upside down, and you have to grab for the things that matter most-- Oh. suddenly, there's perspective, and at the worst possible moment, the moment when there is so much else going on, you realize that you have been breathless with want for so, so long. you want everyone to be safe, but please, please, you want *them* to be safe. you want everything to be okay so that you can have another chance to get things right. a chance to start over. and everything will be okay, of course, because you've made it through bad moments before, and that foundation of trust is there, even if you've never quite acknowledged it to its full potential. you trust them. you need them. *Oh.*"

YEAH THAT ABOUT SUMS IT UP

Listen, I know I've said it a million times already, but as SOON as G'raha/The Exarch turned completely to crystal Ki'to was on his knees openly sobbing because he finally knew just how deeply he loved him. Couple that with the tentative nature of the soul crystal resonating with him on the Source, and the fact that he's had someone he's loved that deeply sacrifice themselves before he could say something before? Ki'to was a M E S S. Thankfully he was able to tell him later.

Ki'to & Estinien

The Missed Opportunity

"this one comes with a pang. it is the wrinkled brow of something unpleasant sinking in. they've left to find some new adventure. or they've met someone else. and you have only just begun to understand their true importance to you. you watch them drift toward a future without you, and in that stark numbness of their absence, it hits you. Oh. oh, you want them close. you hopelessly, selfishly want them all to yourself. you'll support them no matter what, but you don't want them to want a future that doesn't involve you. you want them to read the near-invisible signs of your love and decide to take a chance on you. you never want to say that you *used* to know each other. so what are you going to do?"

After doing my thinking on when he had that "Oh" moment, this is actually perfect. After Thancred, Estinien was the first to go in Ultima Thule. I can't remember exactly what was said, I'd have to go back to the dialogue, but I remember Ki'to thinking it extremely profound. But when all was said and done, Alphinaud was not the only one with tears in his eyes. Thus, post-EW, when he's rested up after everything, he confesses.

Whew, we really got a whole bunch of realizations under stress, huh?

Not sure who has been tagged already, so if you have not and would like to, I tag you! Tell me 'bout your ships. :3c

[unbreakable-oaths]

Au Ra August Day 24- Mystery

Or, one retainer’s journey to find his charge after the Bloody Banquet.

Khutulun was missing. The Scions had promised him that she would be safe with them while he answered the khatun’s call home because they needed more warriors to fight in the Naadam. The injuries he sustained in the battle had delayed him and now she was missing, and the Scions were all missing or presumed dead. The blue coated warriors once led by a teenager turned out to be snakes, and one attempted to take his head when he returned to the Rising Stones looking for her upon his return.

Rumours swirled around if you knew where to listen, and Jaghatai knew how to listen. Some said she had gone into hiding after assassinating the sultana. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Khutulun was too consumed by her forge to ever bother involving herself in politics, especially the convoluted cesspool that was Ul’dahn politics. And no Dotharli warrior would ever lower themselves to assassination. There was no honour in that and Khutulun was an honorable warrior. Other rumours said it was she who was nearly assassinated and had fled for her life. Perhaps likely, but unlike her to not meet a threat head-on. Official channels had been unhelpful in parsing out the truth, and so he was left listening to the underworld. Reliable information eventually made its way to him. She had gone north- to Coerthas, a neutral state that owed her a great debt. And so, he made his way to Camp Dragonhead.

It was cold here. Not as cold as a steppe winter, but far colder than anywhere else he had visited in Eorzea and he was not dressed for the weather. No matter, a Dotharli warrior carried on and he was a Dotharli warrior with a mission.

“Where’s your commander?” he gruffly asked a guard at the gate, “I have important business with him that cannot wait.”

The guard directed him towards one of the large buildings surrounding the aetheryte and he stalked inside.

“Where is she?!” his thickly accented voice rang out through the hall, “where have you hidden her?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, my friend,” the blue-haired elf behind the desk said placidly, “I haven’t the faintest who you’re talking about.”

Jaghatai closed the gap between him and desk, and drew himself up to his full height, “Khutulun Dotharl, the Warrior of Light, Defender of the Steps of Faith, or whatever other idiotic title you have since saddled her with. I know she came to you. So- Where. Is. She?”

Haurchefant stood to meet the irate xaela, “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea who you’re talking about,” and his smile became something sharp, “are you sure you’ve come to the right place?”

Jaghatai growled and reached for his axe only to be stopped by the sound of drawn steel behind him. Several knights had moved to flank him, and he dropped his arm back down.

“Now my friend,” Haurchefant continued, “there’s no reason to lose our civility. However, unless you had other business to attend to, I would suggest you leave my camp posthaste.”

The xaela glared at the man before turning around and walking out the door, several knights behind him to make sure he left Camp Dragonhead. Once well outside the walls, he sank down behind a tree in a break from the wind.

“Sadu-khatun is going to kill me,” he mumbled as the khatun’s charge to him rang in his horns.

“By all means let her soul burn bright in the blacksmith’s forge,” the khatun had intoned, “But, if she were to fall in battle, you will bring her bones back to us or you will die trying. The Steppe and the Dotharl will not lose the Warrior-of-10,000-Horses to another nation’s war.”

“Khutulun, where could you be?” Jaghatai rose and set off towards the Shroud- determined to find some warmer clothes before continuing the search for his wayward charge.

Meanwhile, in Camp Dragonhead, Haurchefant let out a relieved sigh. “Well done men,” he said, “Full glad am I that we have finally gotten the Warrior of Light safely ensconced in Ishgard proper. To think, the Crystal Braves are resorting to hiring far eastern mercenaries to track her down. I would hate to see what would happen if they could afford to hire more fellows like him. Just as Khutulun once kept us safe, we now owe it to her to keep her safe from men like him. Let her whereabouts continue to remain a mystery to those who would do her harm.”

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23 - Day 30

Amity - Emperor AU

“You don’t have to do this if you think it’ll be hard on you.” Varis had been fussing over Hero the whole airship ride. There weren’t any proper places that he could meet with the Alliance on equal terms, ser Aymeric had offered to host both parties but Hero knew it’d come at a heavy cost to Ishgard’s relations with the other alliance members. So they chose a location away from both nations. The city of Kugane, trade hub of Hingashi and neutral ground for everyone.

“I want to see them again, I don’t want to be their enemy.” Hero couldn’t keep himself from fidgeting though; tugging at his short black hair, stray corners of his formal armor, the collar of his shirt, tapping his foot just to hear the click of his heels. He wasn’t even able to mask his anxiety and it showed. “I thought we were friends.”

Varis sighed softly, “first rule of politics, you don’t have friends. Just people whose goals align with yours. You used to be a tool they could use to solve their problems, pliant and suggestible.”

“What part of that’s changed again?” He couldn’t help but stare right into Varis’ golden eyes with a little smirk on his lips.

The older man sighed softly, “you are technically their equal now instead of a subordinate. You only answer to those you wish to answer to.”

“Right, responsibility. Disgusting.” His nerves were settling at least, “who’s brilliant idea was it to put me in charge again? I should have them shot.”

“Please don’t say that around anyone but those who know the truth, your Radiance. No one else would find it even remotely funny.”

“What if I say you’re the one who gets to shoot him?”

“Do not tempt me, Hero.” Varis finally cracked a smile of his own, “but between you and me? I’d shoot him for fun, even if you didn’t ask me to.”

Hero couldn’t help but clap his hands together and cackle, doubling over as he tried to muffle his laughter in his hands. “That’s the spirit! Okay, I needed that laugh!” He pulled himself back upright and rolled his shoulders before smiling at Varis. “Okay, let’s go to this meeting. Fingers crossed, we can find common ground once again. Once we’re no longer at war, we can really focus on repairing our provinces and trying to help the entire empire prosper.”

“You already have common ground with them, each of them if I recall. You know better than most what the Eorzean Alliance needs and we already have a list of approved concessions you can make. Remember, let them ask first and then barter down if possible. Try not to be too eager to give them what they want, just because you want peace. With luck, they want peace as well.”

“I mean, if I mention I’ve been training to fight alongside my army I’m pretty sure they’ll cave quickly. I’m an army on my own, much less backed by actual soldiers. I’d rather not meet them in battle- but I know they’d do anything to avoid trying to fight me. Apparently I’m terrifying when I stop holding back.”

“Who gave you that idea, couldn’t have been my son.”

“Asahi watched one of our duals recently. Zenos and I were using actual weapons- not the training weapons.” He paused as the dawning realization passed over Varis’ face.

“Is that why we need to replace a wall in the training room?”

“No! Kinda! Sorta- okay listen Zenos got a new sword from Yotsuyu that’s heavily levin and fire aspected and one thing led to another and we broke a wall. Well, a wall, two benches, and I’m pretty sure the guard survived the concussion. I was really quick on administering aid. He got three weeks of paid vacation for his trouble!”

Varis took a deep breath, looking skyward as his nostrils flared for a moment. “You had the captain of the guard hide this from me, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, more an accusal.

“You know, a lot of people are way more pliant when you are both their leader and also actively bribing them with fresh baked muffins.”

“You bribed your own guard captain to keep this from me. Hero if we weren’t about to go into a meeting where I need to pretend like we are of one mind, I would be chewing you out for your behavior-”

“I’m not your son! You don’t get to dad me!”

“You are desperately trying to be my son in-law, and it seems like you only listen when I choose to behave like a disappointed father.”

“That’s not fair! I also listen when you tell me something I want to hear.”

“This conversation isn’t over, I can’t ground you, but I can certainly use the tone of voice that makes you wither and sulk until you get it into your head that you need to be more careful-” A sudden knock at the door startled the pair of them. Varis pulled himself back into his imposing stiff-backed stance while Hero smacked both his cheeks to school himself into a more neutral look. “Enter!”

One of the regional ambassadors entered, saluting the pair dutifully. “Your Radiance, High Legatus, the Alliance Members have arrived and are waiting for you in conference room Two.”

“Thank you, ambassador. We’ll be on our way in just a moment. Would you mind doing me a favor? Can you have someone bring tea and sweets? I know that our guests all have a sweet tooth or two. I want to be a good host.” Hero smiled as kindly as he could, hoping it reached his eyes as well.

“Ah- yes- of course your Radiance!” The ambassador left and Hero deflated slightly.

“Fuck, okay, I guess it’s showtime.”

“I haven’t forgotten Hero, we will continue this conversation after the parlay.” Varis grumped slightly before opening the door for Hero.

As they walked, Hero gave a soft quiet prayer to the Twelve, hoping that his friends would still be fond of him by the end of the afternoon. With luck, the goodwill he’d built with them would survive the change in circumstances. Of course, insurance wouldn’t hurt either, and he had his little black book on hand just in case.

[ievaxol]

there are ten thousand roads to run away

"Little helper, is it?" Seike feels a smile pull on her mouth as the girl runs off with her new coat clutched to her chest and Aymeric ducks his head with a quiet huff.

"As a citizen of Starlight's birthplace, I felt compelled to volunteer my services in some way, however small — and thus I seem to have become a little helper indeed." He looks her over, affectionate warmth plain in his gaze.

"While 'twas an audience with the Elder Seedseer that called me here initially... I am glad for the oppurtunity to bear witness to the bright smiles of Gridania's children. Equally glad am I to meet you here, my friend."

"It's been too long," Seike agrees.

She shifts her weight uneasily.

Laurenssen's presence shackles their conversation — it's easy to tell in the rigid way Aymeric holds himself, the stilted formality present in everything but his eyes.

"I will be right back," she says brusquely to Laurenssen who looks between the two with a gaze a little too calculating for Seike's taste; but he says nothing and Aymeric bows to the man before following her lead.

They don't walk far, just enough to be out of sight of most. As soon as Seike makes it behind one of the large hedges close by the Botanist's Guild she feels her shoulders drop, tension bleeding out of her.

"I know exactly how you feel," Aymeric muses. "'Tis an exhausting thing to uphold a title, let alone several."

"It's for a good cause," she says quietly and Aymeric nods in understanding. "I met Emmanellain as well."

"Ah, yes. I heard him." It's said with a grimace — no wonder, considering Emmanellain was loud enough that half of Gridania must been alerted to his presence, not only Aymeric.

Quiet settles between them, easy and familiar, a moment to take a breath for the both of them. After some time Seike nudges Aymeric's elbow and he smiles, only for the smile to turn strained.

"I must —"

"Go," Seike finishes for him. "I understand. Happy Starlight, Aymeric."

He hesitates before he bends down to rummage in the sack he uses to carry the presents in. After a little while he seems to find what he's looking for, emerging with a bundle of deep blue.

"If I may?" He asks, and although Seike isn't entirely sure what he's asking of her, she nods.

Aymeric unwraps the bundle to reveal a beautifully knitted scarf that he wastes no time in winding around Seike's neck, standing so she's hidden from the sight of any passerby's. When his fingers brush against the skin on her throat she shudders and that makes him lean in, makes him tug the scarf a little tighter.

It's cloying and intimate, a welcome touch — she's been separated from anyone who knows her for far too long, doing odd jobs and tying up loose ends.

"It would not do for you to catch cold when I have the means to prevent it," Aymeric murmurs. "I only wish I had a color that matched your tastes better."

"This is," she has to clear her throat, overcome with that dizziness that always exists between her and Aymeric, the electrical current neither would dare put a name to. "This is fine."

"Next year, won't you celebrate Starlight proper with us? In Ishgard?"

Seike feels a pang of pain, of guilt — she has been avoiding them and this is Aymeric's kind way of letting her know he's noticed.

"I would like to." It's the closest thing to the truth she can give and he doesn't press the issue, stepping back after a final adjustment of the scarf.

"Well, hopefully we will meet before then. Happy Starlight, Seike."

Aymeric bows and she bows in return, watching him go.

She feels warmer already.

[yzeltia]

Handed Down from Stone

Chapter 15: Etched in Peridot Characters: Y'zel Tia, Leonnioux Ouraux Rating: T for Tunes Notes: Credits to Raymond B. Egan and Gus Kahn for "Ain't We Got Fun", Frank Churchill and Larry Morey for "Someday My Prince Will Come," and "Fix You" by Coldplay

Ishgard - 1565-

"Ave Halone, gratia furorem

Halone, gratia furorem

Halone, gratia furorem

Ave, Ave, Halone

Halone tecum

Benedicta tu in duodecim, et benedictus

Et benedictus impetus hasta

Cum, Fury

Ave Halone"

Y'zel folded his ears after he finished his lines, teacher clapping loudly while the mess of Elezen around him starred, offering disjointed syncopated claps.

"Marvelous Y'zel, simply marvelous! You hit your 'r's a bit hard dear, but I suppose that cannot be helped. Can anyone tell me what Y'zel did there?"

"Didn't turn into a dragon. Guess you're not a full heretic yet, showoff" a voice hissed from behind.

Y'zel whimpered a bit, clutching his robes as someone answered. He didn't know himself and was too busy doing his best to tune out the jeering to hear 

"Cut it out," huffed Leon's voice, followed by the shifting sounds of fabric as he made to nudge his friend, "Y'zel can't help who his father is."

The Miqo’te turned to face the boy, who in turn gave him a nod as if he had something profoundly in defense of him. His fists tightened under his choir sleeves. Whipping his attention back forward, he glowered at the floor, hating that he was stuck up front due to his height, hating that he was told to be good and not defend his dad, and hating his smug peers around him, Leon the most.

-The Final Pillar - Present

“The is a house in La Noseca They call the Rising Sun

And it’s been, the ruin of many a poor boy

And me, oh Llymlaen, for one

Then fill the glasses to the brim

Let the drinks go merrily around

And we'll drink to the health of a rounder poor boy

Who goes from town to town”

Y’zel hummed the rest, washing bar glasses then drying them with his tail, unaware Leonnioux slipped in to listen in. Once sure the glasses were safely out of the Miqo’te’s grasp, Leon cleared his throat and then took a seat on a stool, tilting a bit as he struggled to get comfortable on the wrong side of the bar. “I hate hearing you do that?”

The Miqo’te jumped as he was addressed, quick to wrap his wet tail around his waist to ensure he wouldn’t knock over anything. “What,” he wheezed softly.

“Sing such sad songs.”

“It’s free music…”

Leon shook his head and sighed, “I didn’t mean that didn’t like it. Your voice is beautiful, but the songs you sing…they’re all so melancholy.”

Y’zel looked to the other, ears perking as his partner gingerly slid his finger about the top of a wine glass, letting it ring out. “Do I? I guess I like the way they sound.”

‘Is it because of me…”

The Miqo’te huffed, crossing his arms, “Last time I checked, you were not the Spinner orchestrating every weave of misfortune in my life. And by the Fury if you say you’re Ishgardian I will leave and let my tail fly free on the way out!”

Leon looked up shocked, then softened into a smile, reaching out to take Y’zel by the wrist, “I apologize if my low mood frustrates you. I feel this development is rather delicate.”

Y’zel leaned in then kissed the other’s cheek, “Only you are making it so. I have enjoyed our reunion and what’s come of it. If you really must feel assured, perhaps you should make a more permanent installation in my quarters rather than sequestering yourself behind the bar room?”

“Cohabitation? That’s rather fast. As much as I’d like to go forward like that, it’s premature. I’ve scare spent time with your other paramour.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping here much anymore, and when I do stay here, you tend to join me. I only mean to suggest making your own place in there, so that you might have a bit more space…at least more space than the storeroom.”

“I was assured space would be made available should I desire it so- Though, if you insist, I would.”

“I am insisting you oaf,” Y’zel sighed, pressing his finger into the other’s forehead before returning to the glasses.

“Fine then….Now, perhaps a different tune?”

Nodding, Y’zel hummed then started to sing again,

“Ev’ry morning, ev’ry evening

Ain’t we got fun?

Not much money, Oh, but honey

Ain’t we got fun?” “You’re mocking me aren’t you,” Leon laughed, getting up to wander around the counter, “Another?”

“Amazing Halone, how sweet the fury Who rezzed, a wretch, like me.”

“Don’t be blasphemous,” Leon cooed, kissing the other’s ear as he cleaned.

“Mmm, you’re awfully picky for free entertainment and dishwashing.”

“I am.”

“Mmm.”

Y’zel pursed his lips, closing his eyes thinking for a moment, whipping his tail around the other’s waist to pull him close.

“Someday my prince will come

Someday we'll meet again

And away to his castle, we'll go

To be happy forever, I know,”

“Mmm…and who exactly is your prince? Me? The scientist? Or I loathe to think the rogue.”

“Leon, I am not an orchestration. This is silly.”

“No, No, I apologize. One more, I promise I’ll just enjoy.”

Y’zel narrowed his eyes then thought for a moment.

“When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep…

Stuck in reverse…” Letting it sit, for a moment, Y’zel twitched his ear, hearing Leon inhale then start himself, “And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?”

Y’zel flushed, then turned around in the limited space, looking up to the Elezen as he sank down to steal a kiss. Foreheads pressed together, they smiled softly then continued together.

“Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you”

The Miqo’te flushed then leaned up on his toes to kiss Leon, letting the Elezen lift him onto the edge of the sink, their voices silenced as Leon moved to conduct their own melody. 

[cidnangarlond]

thinking about what would have happened if foulques had lived. would you be bade to go to the lancer's guild in the level 80 quest and be told how he's doing, or sent to go find him, akin to the dark knight level 80 quest. and when you found him what would have happened. what would time have done to him. if it was a situation wherein he fell during your final fight but managed to survive the fall, and fight his way back, would he curse you for putting him in that situation or thank you for making him stronger. would foulques have realized his mistakes and in turn the lancer's guild would have fully apologized for how they treated him, exonerated him, and welcomed him back, because you, a kindly adventurer, convinced him to be better? to abandon his hate? and you would go, you remind me of my friend estinien. he was like you once, full of hate and rage at the hand he had been dealt, and tried to prove himself worthy in a misguided attempt. and foulques would ask what he wanted to prove himself worthy of. and you would tell him about the dragoon, why he stole the eye, how you yourself became a dragoon and now you and estinien are friends. foulques would ask you if you thought you proved yourself worthy, to become a dragoon, to wield the lance in the first place. and you would ask foulques, do you? does he think he proved himself worthy, after all this time? you went to save another world, so he has had plenty of time to think on this. he of course would ask you to explain this other world business and you tell him, and foulques is so baffled he doesn't know what to say. but he would say that even if, in your worst moments, you do not think yourself worthy, he thinks you are, and that estinien guy seems to think you are too, because you wouldn't be friends otherwise, but foulques concedes that he does sound a lot like estinien, and hey, even if after stealing the eye, becoming nidhogg for a bit, causing terror and being a menace, estinien is still welcomed by ishgard and you, the adventurer, then maybe there's hope for him, too. I like to think time would have been kind to foulques. that there was some hope for him yet, if he didn't go plummetting off the ledge and end up a spectre in the palace of the dead. I think he and estinien could have been friends. why am I crying

[haurchefaymeric]

- A very Ishgardian trip to Limsa -

(My first photo story! Hope you like it 🥰✨)

Effy and Emmanellain had just finished their final patrol of the Ishgardian border for that day when suddenly, through the blistering snow of Coerthas, they were approached by a shadowed figure riding a mount. Unable to make out who was approaching them, they drew their weapons, prepared for a fight.

"There you two are, I've been looking everywhere!" A voice cried out.

“Aymeric!?" Effy questioned, only able to recognise his voice.

"Aye. Tis I, pray follow me, our presence has been requested at the docks of Limsa at once. Emmanellain, you can come too, since you're related to Haurchefant."

Aymeric gestured as he unmounted and began to set up a teleport.

"Wait wait, Haurchefant? Is he alright?! What's happened?!" Effy asked, now worried due to the fact that Aymeric would never usually come this far outside of Ishgard alone unless there was an emergency.

"I don't know any more except we got an urgent request from Merlwyb to attend immediately and that Haurchefant may require assistance, so we must go at once!” He replied.

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Effy replied, now going out of her mind with worry.

Emmanellain drew his sword, "I shall SLAY DOWN any that may try to stand in our way! I will continue to clear the path of any man or monster that-"

"Manny! We gotta go, now or never!" Effy yelled as her and Aymeric were waiting by the teleport for him, looking quizzical but not surprised and gestured for him to hurry.

"Oh, sorry, I'm coming! Don't go without me!" Emmanellain scurried over to them as Aymeric rolled his eyes and scoffed, they all teleported to Limsa Lominsa's main Aetheryte.

"Get your Lala dust here, lord Commander.." a grunty voice whispered out from Aymeric's left.

"Teehee! I can show you a good time if you want, lord commander!" a tiny Lalafell approached him and tried to grab his hand.

"UWU! Lord commander! Can I choose your gwam for today? OWO!" A cat girl squealed into his face as she grabbed his armour.

Aymeric in a panic turned to Effy and Emmanellain who were in absolute hysterics by this point "What is this place?!"

Effy walked up and shoe'd everyone "Clear out everyone, we're here on official business!"

"Okay, here we are, lord knows what your problematic husband is up to." Aymeric began walking up to the docks.

"He's not problematic, he just wants to help every single person he meets, you are his best friend and you his brother, you both know what he is like! He's just...kind..." Effy trailed off as they approached the docks and were greeted with Haurchefant, hanging by a single foot from a rope, off of a mast on the side of the boat.

"Effy! Thank the twelve you're here! I was just trying to offer my advice to those men on the boat, about how they should be maintaining a better level of personal hygiene and how that might help them garner more business and before I knew it, they had ambushed me and-"

"YOU TOLD, PIRATES, ACTUAL SEA PIRATES!? THEY STINK?! HOTCHEF, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS!?" Effy yelled up to him in utter disbelief.

"p-p-PIRATES?” Haurchefant had a moment of realisation. "Oh...I uh see." he smiled weakly at her.

Effy stared at him, eyes wide, shaking her head until Emmanellain burst into a fit of Laughter.

Aymeric turned to him sharply "This is no laughing matter! Look how high up he is! How is he supposed to represent Ishgard in this position?"

Emmanellain began laughing even harder, Effy was still just staring at Haurchefant when she began to giggle, though seeing how angry Aymeric was about this situation, she tried desperately to hide that she was, by covering her mouth, to no avail.

"Really Effy? Really?" Aymeric whispered to her.

"I'm sorry, it's because of Manny! He's making me-" Effy was cut off by Haurchefant yelling loudly.

"AH!" The rope around his leg began to unravel, "Guys!?"

Effy immediately snapped into action "Haurchefa-" she didn't even have enough time to finish her sentence before the rope snapped completely and before she knew it, Haurchefant was falling through the air before them.

Effy looked over at Emmanellain, who was covering his eyes with his hand, then she turned to Aymeric who appeared to be frozen in place, with a shocked look plastered onto his face.

"Okay Warrior of light, this is on you…as per usual." She thought to herself.

She dived forward in 1 second flat, put her arms out and caught Haurchefant in a bridal pose.

He looked up at them, being pat on the head by Emmanellain and making direct eye contact with his smirking wife "Heh….. it's supposed to be the other way around, darling! Heh..”

Effy raised her eyebrow as Aymeric began scolding him "Don't you EVER do something like this again, do you know-" he began rambling as the two love birds smirked at each other.

“All’s well that ends well!” Haurchefant smiled widely, still in the arms of Effy.

“I will drop you.” Effy whispered softly into his ear.

Haurchefant chuckled to himself nervously.

[nhaamazu]

FFXIV Writes 2022 - Day 4 - (Free/Open Prompt) Mother

Elodie had made many bad decisions in her time. Yet only one left her with regret that would cling to her like a stain on her aether, haunting her no matter how the decades passed.

You see, she was young and pretty once. And as young, pretty things are wont to do, she fell for a man of status, one many years older than herself, with hair the colour of earth-aspected crystal and eyes as blue as the summer sky. Oh, how her friends had seethed when she had spoke of their dalliances. She had known that it would not be forever, that he had designs on no less than the Archbishop’s seat, but she had cherished their days together all the same. Perhaps too much, for soon her dresses grew tight about the waist and her dashing man grew distant.

Her parents had been furious. Their name was barely worth a gil as it was - for their only daughter to have a child out of wedlock was a scandal they could not afford. It mattered not that she carried their grandchild, nor that she had nowhere to go. Suddenly, she was alone and hungry, and the young and the beautiful seemed not to matter any more.

There were kindly folk in the Brume, but their gil and their hospitality only stretched too far. Soon, she found herself considering the unthinkable. Anything to stay warm at night. The father did not answer her, not through letters or visitations, and in her desperation she grew vindictive. For her family were not the only ones to fear scandal, nor to have something so fragile to lose. The letter she penned was unkind to the last word, threatening to reveal the truth of her child’s parentage to the deacons and the bishops of the church, to lay ruin to the future he had so carefully planned.

‘And think not about silencing me, Haumoix - should aught happen to me or our child, I have seen to it that the whole of Ishgard shall know your part in it.’

She did not sleep that night, so ashamed was she of her ungentle words. But as she cradled her ever-swelling belly, she knew that it mattered not how she tarnished her own soul, so long as her child survived.

Some days later, he came to her, with fury in his eyes, but she saw beyond that, to the cold chill of fear.

“Give up the child,” he demanded. “Never speak of them or of me again, and I shall see to it that they are placed with a wealthy, loving family. I will even spare enough coin for you to start a life elsewhere. Those are my terms.”

Anything. She would do anything for the life growing inside of her. So, she agreed, though it killed her in that moment to do so.

And so the weeks passed, and she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. By the grace of the Fury, it was love at first sight. How could she part with him? He had his father’s eyes, but he also possessed a head of the thickest black hair - just like her. The moment she pressed him to her bosom, she knew that he would take a piece of her with him if he left. But she remembered the deal she had made, and the future that lay ahead of him. Were she selfish, he would grow up yet another forgotten child of the Brume. This way was better. It had to be. Even if he never knew how much she loved him, or how she died a sure, swift death that day, when she allowed the nursemaid to take him. Yet she would not allow him to depart without a name. No doubt his new parents would furnish him with a new one, but she had to have this much, that maybe the Fury would recognise this final gift and see fit to reunite them in her halls.

A name for a new life.

Aymeric.

“May it carry you to greatness, little one. And may you know, whatever happens, that you are loved.”

[tinypurpleparrot]

WoLmeric Week Day 1: First Meeting

Katsael didn’t really know why they agreed to accompany Alphinaud to this meeting in the miserable cold of Coerthas. Though they supposed that it would also count as a favor towards him and Haurchefant. He was a lot more amenable than the rest of the Elezen folk they’d met. The Gridanians were aloof and unsure of what they even were (the 'beastman' remarks got old after an hour), and the Coerthans were both war-weary, suspicious of them, and downright hostile if they were to accidentally catch one unawares. Which they did frequently, as they were a hunter and naturally moved silently. Maybe Haurchefant was more world-traveled and knew better. Or maybe he was just star-struck like every other fool that had heard of their antics.

But now they were thinking about if they could afford a nice coat when they got back to Gridania, hoping that their metal horn plates wouldn't freeze solid and damage them, and wishing they could pour Haurchefant’s delicious hot cocoa into their boots. Evidently Coerthas didn’t used to be like this, and the horrible weather was just more devastation from five years ago. Poor Alphinaud was even worse off. His strange choice of clothing was clearly hurting him here, but he refused to show it. ‘Undignified’, probably. He was the little spoiled highborn sort. And yet being a Scion didn’t afford him more than one change of clothing.

Katsael sighed and went to warm themself by the fireplace on the far side of the room while they waited for this emissary from Ishgard. They admittedly knew nothing about Gridania’s northern neighbor, other than it seemed to be another Elezen territory. They were still barely learning about the other three Eorzean powers. They still got lost in Limsa Lominsa (or ‘LimLom’ as they truncated it), and didn’t bother with the back alleys and side streets of Ul’dah. And now they were being shown off and brought along to important meetings as if they were some kind of diplomat.

Just as they and Alphinaud had finally managed to thaw out, Haurchefant returned to the intercessory with two others in tow.

“Thank you for waiting, my friends. And have faith; you need only state your case with confidence and clarity,” he cordially got their attention. “May I present , Ser Aymeric, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.”

The Warrior of Light wasn’t sure what to expect, except maybe another stuffy Elezen much like the one beside them. Then their mouth clamped shut to ensure nothing unseemly came out upon seeing the very stately, very blue, and very… uhh… no. They were not going to devolve into such a simple, shallow, fool just for seeing a man’s face.

Perfect as it was.

‘Hmm.’ The clamped mouth devolved into grit teeth. Surely a set jaw wouldn’t be too telling. Thankfully, their dark skin and bright scales definitely couldn’t tell on them. Their swishing tail, might. Damn it all…

“Commander Leveilleur. It is a pleasure to meet you,” Aymeric nodded.

“Your reputation precedes you, Ser Aymeric. I think we will find that we have much in common,” Alphinaud started in first.

“And Katsael Sen. The Warrior of Light.” Aymeric bowed slightly and smiled specifically in Katsael’s direction. “I must say, your reputation towers over us all, does it not?”

Said Warrior of Light couldn’t help but be confused how quickly all attention had been turned on them. Aymeric’s attendant or second-in-command, was better able to hide her emotions. “Indeed it does, Lord Commander,” the Hyur woman replied plainly.

Alphinaud had less of a poker-face and rolled his eyes while gently nudging Katsael’s side to goad them into replying.

“You honor me, Ser,” Katsael bowed back. They could somewhat fake having even rudimentary manners; living in the backwoods for several months hadn’t completely ruined them.

“I’m not too proud to admit that I have followed your activities with an interest, bordering on fascination,” Aymeric was beaming now. “Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us.”

Katsael could only blink. Were primals truly that horrify— oh. Right. Just a week before, they had leveled an entire Garlean castrum into a smoking crater, reduced their invasion force to ashes, blasted apart their secret weapon that tore through and effortlessly absorbed three primals, and exorcised an ancient, immortal monster of immeasurable power out of their comrade’s possessed body, all in about three hours. Fair enough. Not fair that that one sentence was entirely too smooth… and there it was. The forked tongue of a charismatic politician. That helped them regain some semblance of control.

Bless haughty little Alphinaud for dragging this back on track. He smirked as if Katsael were the bigger bargaining chip, and gestured to a chair beside them. “I’m sure they could entertain us with their heroic deeds later, Lord Commander. But as for now, we would thank you for hearing out our request.”

Katsael set their golden bow and quiver set with purple lilies on a hook at the back of their chair, then removed their wide-brimmed, feathered chapeau and placed it on the large table separating them. They sat across from the blonde, stone-faced, Hyur woman, while the two negotiators sat across from each other. She would not look directly at Katsael, and something felt vaguely wrong about it. Despite the Lord Commander’s suave and calm voice, they had already tuned out the boring negotiations.

Thankfully, not a lot of dancing around the subject of an alliance with the sequestered nation, but it was still enough that Alphinaud found himself getting frustrated. So much for getting along well. Him raising his voice woke Katsael up, somewhat.

“Then why did you agree to this meeting?!” The commander of the Scions slammed his hands on the table.

Ser Aymeric tilted his head slightly, then glanced at the Warrior of Light for their reaction. The Au Ra had a positively bored and annoyed expression, though from the sidelong glance, it was more towards his much younger companion.

“Alphie—…naud,” Katsael mumbled from behind their hand covering their mouth. They really didn’t want to get involved, but if it would speed things along… “Hmm. …You missed a step.”

“What?” He almost snapped at Katsael, but then thought better at seeing the strange, deep red glare. It was something that withered his insides. He’d never met an Au Ra before them, but it left him wondering if they were all naturally… frightening.

They leaned over and whispered into his ear. “You marched in and started making a bunch of appeals and demands. Negotiations go both ways. Though where I’m from, we would have already taken this outside with teeth and claws and possibly weapons in flesh—” A thought occurred right on top of that which, funny enough, the small war advisor beside him would’ve been far too young to understand. Their eyes drifted across the table and Katsael simply sat up and clammed up again.

Alphinaud blushed slightly at his mistake, though it looked as though Aymeric approved of Katsael’s handling of the misstep and went with a more leading approach. Young Commander Leveilleur still had a few things to learn. And Katsael was now settling back into their silent and distant observation, though now fidgeting with their black and silver braid as if the small interaction had wound them up, somehow. He would have to find another opportunity to meet with them, preferably in a less restrictive environment.

Katsael instead decided to focus on their next steps. They knew full well whatever came out of this meeting, it'd be their responsibility to see it done. Their first impression of the Lord Commander would improve if there wasn’t a deadly mission about to happen. But they supposed it wasn't up to them. How did everything get so out of control, that a month ago they were a simple hunter plying their trade in the woods, and now they were a living weapon of mass destruction. The perks weren’t even that great. Unless somehow they could study the curious Elezen across from them to see what he was truly up to. A face that pretty (’damn it’) was hiding something…

[lexenharte]

Introducing my WoL (plural)

This will be a long one. To begin with, a little context. While I do not roleplay my characters, I enjoy exploring their stories. My characters are pretty much my babies and I am awfully fond of them all. Back when I first started playing XIV, like any seasoned altoholic, I spent hours in character creator before I emerged from it with several new characters of different races and backgrounds.

After a few days of running around as miqo and elezen, I settled on a female roegadyn by the name of Fair Rowan. In my head I imagined her to be an orphan raised by a mercenary company. Although I was tempted to violently retire the mercenaries and make her a sole survivor (in the spirit of the main character of another game), I figured that was too much trauma for my very first adventurer in the world of Eorzea (I KNEW NOTHING, OK). And so the mercenaries retired "peacefully" due to old age and the last fledgling of theirs was left to fend for herself. My lady roe was strong, beautiful, full of life. Her voice boisterous, her grip strength smashing... I digress. In some ways she was my emotional support during a rather difficult time in life, where I myself also needed to be strong, both physically and emotionally. Her adventure lasted all the way to SHB, during which I had to take a break for about half a year due to irl commitments.

Upon my return, for the first time in years I felt that it was time to make some changes. After many hours of agonising and staring at the fantasia potion, I finally convinced myself with "worst case I'll be buying another fantasia" and soon my main was reborn as Remi, a gorgeous elezen lady with a charming smile. I imagined her to be well-read, skilled both in magics and martial arts, and stalwart in her convictions. While I originally intended for one to pick up the adventuring and all that Warrior of Light business after the other, I did not have the heart to retire Rowan permanently and settled on pretending each of them existed in their own version of this universe. A promptly created alt with her appearance softened the blow.

For Remi, the backstory was a little more elaborate. Having completed HW, enamoured with Ishgard and its many characters, I liked the idea of Remi coming from a minor destitute Ishgardian house, which she would have fled from with her parents and older brother prior to the events of ARR. After a terrible accident at sea, Remi was then picked up by a Limsan pirate ship and brought to the marine city-state. Suffering partial amnesia, separated from her brother (who ends up in the Shroud but that's a story for another day), and not even fully aware that their parents are already dead - she drifts around until she becomes entangled with the Scions.

What I loved about Remi's character the most was that my headcanon was slowly beginning to overlap with the characterisation of the WoL in SHB/EW, in particular during the MSQ cutscenes. I remember feeling amazed by how well animated and alive the WoL seemed during the latter part of the SHB cutscenes. The facial expressions where like nothing we've seen before! And with each cutscene the animation was getting better. It fit so well - as she progressed through the story, Remi was beginning to piece together her memories - rediscovering herself, becoming whole again. The roller-coaster of EW that followed took her to places and people she wouldn't dare to forget. It was truly a beautiful journey, full of regret and longing. And at the end there, right after the cutscene in Revenant's Toll, I had a faint feeling that Remi, too, was getting ready to retire.

I loved her so much! How could I even entertain the notion of retiring her? After nearly a month of agonising and listening to a friend who kept encouraging me with something along the lines of "go bun, you'll love it" I finally caved in. Honestly, viera weren't even on my radar at first. They were pretty, for sure, but somehow did not strike me as particularly interesting. Until one night when I sat down to seriously think about what kind of character my WoL would become this time. I didn't want to simply use fantasia and call it a day - I wanted to know their background and purpose first. The result of this mental exertion was Soren, a mild-mannered quiet viera male who smiles mysteriously and laughs under his breath a lot.

He's gone through a few updates as far as the colour scheme goes, but in terms of story he came out pretty solid right off the bat. While the painfully limited viera lore left a lot of room for interpretation, I wanted to give him a lore-appropriate background but also a valid reason to be outside the Skatay Range. I also wanted to incorporate the fact that I myself am no longer a novice player into his backstory. I have about a thousand words written expanding on his background, which I will share another time. Soren came to Aldenard after spending ten years living in seclusion as a Wood-warder. Although it wasn't a decision that he made lightly, he left his birthplace in search of his exiled mother, hoping to fulfil his father's promise to her in his stead. This search eventually leads him to her last known place of residence, the city-state of Limsa Lominsa, where he later learns that she died during the Battle of Carteneau. Now, this is a very brief summary and it may seem like pretty standard fare, but the extended version contains more details, in particular with regards to his parents and their motivations. I'm hoping to expand on his story through a series of short memory recollections. Sort of, him looking back at the journey so far. A chapter on his youth, a chapter of his time spend in solitude, another on his journey to find his mother's whereabouts and several more during the ARR-EW timeline. I'm planning to go through new game+ just to relive those with him as the protagonist.

It's pretty obvious by now who the favourite child is. While I've only known him for about nine months, Soren grew on me so much that I am even considering throwing out all those unwearable hats that are taking up so much space with my retainers. No, I haven't gone mad. Don't look at me like that. This will be the first time I'm sharing anything about my characters outside a small circle of friends. I keep wondering, will I have the courage to share the stories when they are ready? Or will I keep stashing them away into folders with dubious names in some forgotten corner of my hard drive as usual? Would anyone even be interested in reading this? As much as I like to write because I enjoy the process, some vain part of me wants to share the results hoping someone would find them curious or entertaining. So if anyone manages to get through this post, do let me know your thoughts on the matter.

[elizabethrobertajones]

FFXIV Write: Day 14, Attrition

Takes place during the cutscenes after the "Heavensward" titled quest. Frog is not happe :<

Frog x Hilda, alcohol as a coping mechanism cw.

“What’s this, the Warrior of Light skulking in the belly of the Forgotten Knight?”

Frog looked up from her drink of the bottom shelf… liquid… that she’d been sipping in a desperate act of trying not to flinch or grimace but to show that hardy Hellsguard spirit. Damned if she wasn’t going to be the first roegadyn most of these people saw in a generation and also give the impression they had weak constitutions.

Hilda was leaning on the bar, watching her with the sort of curiosity which may well have been simply to evaluate if this was about to be a problem. She couldn’t have been there long, whether she was low-key patrolling the Brume or simply on a break of her own. Frog wasn’t exactly feeling lost in this drink yet.

“Do you want to join me?” she asked flat out.

Hilda looked up the stairs and then out the door. Looked to the barman, and nodded to him. She pushed herself off the bar and in a fluid movement sat herself at the rickety table beside the guttering fireplace. “Ain’t in the mood to go join all the celebrations up there?” she asked.

“No. I’ve won nothing. And lost too much.”

Hilda’s poise melted just a little, enough that she reached out and placed a hand on Frog’s forearm, squeezed gently, and withdrew kindly after a long moment. “Is this ‘bout your Lord Haurchefant, then?”

“Yes… And no. We lost Estinien and he’s –” She lowered her voice drastically. “Nidhogg is still out there. I was just becoming fond of Ysayle and hoping a brighter future was coming her way and she’s gone. And for all the others you never met… I don’t know what happened to all the other Scions. To Thancred. And if they were out there – if they were alright they’d have reached out even before the Scions were vindicated. Urianger would have known, he’d have told us and we had to drag Y’shtola out of the lifestream and it had nearly killed her so gods know what happened to the rest of them. Only a few weeks before I lost all of them, I watched a new friend sacrifice himself for a stupid magic tower. And now everything is all wrapped up politically. Papered over on the surface and. I’ve got nothing. Same as I was before I came to Ishgard except I’ve lost more people.” She took in a long shuddering breath, and realised that she was crying and had ranted for over a minute at poor Hilda.

To her credit, she had, at some point, taken both of Frog’s hands in hers, and was listening earnestly. “I’m so sorry, my friend,” she said.

“Don’t make me fond of you. Something terrible will happen to you next,” Frog hiccupped, pulling a hand away to scrub the tears from her face. She couldn’t look at Hilda, too embarrassed at this outburst.

“Sweetie, I have more important things to do than sacrifice m’self for some greater good. I’m going to be down here in the Brume until they throw my dead body over the side.”

“Is that what they do with you when you die here?!” Frog asked, distracted into pure alarm.

Hilda burst out laughing. “No, but like as not when I’m old and a slower shot as I am right now, maybe someone will finally get one over on me and that brawl’ll be the last of me. But right now, you needn’t worry ‘bout me.”

“Thank you. Truly. I’m sorry I spewed my heart out all over you.”

Hilda chuckled again, and picked up the neglected pewter tankard Frog had been clutching, sniffed it, and hastily put it down again. “Better than if you’d drunk all that. C’mon, they don’t know their moonshine up here. Lower floors of the Forgotten Knight are still fancier than what some can afford. There’s better places to get a bad drink than here, if you want to follow me.” She stood up and offered her hand.

Frog sniffed, and wiped her face once more. “You know, I think I would like that.” She took Hilda’s hand and let the much smaller woman pull her effortlessly to her feet. She made no attempt to let go of her hand as Hilda led her out of the building and down the stairs.