#(the small karakul)

[ahollowgrave]

-- Odette Hollows [B A S I C S]

B A S I C S

Name: Odette Hollows Nicknames: None commonly used. Yein calls her their ‘Moonlit Friend’ and Marlow refers to her by title; Sister. I don’t know if any of these are ‘nicknames.’ Age: Early Twenties Nameday: 9th Sun of the Fifth Umbral Moon Race: Mostly Hyur; technically Ashkin. Gender: CIS Female Orientation: Demi Lesbian Profession: Nun Errant, Psychopomp, Shepherd

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Strands of spun moonlight are cropped just past her jawline; styled with a few braids with occasional charms or ribbons woven throughout. Likely her most recognizable feature. In dark enough settings, it can shed low light.   Eyes: Like frozen pools; her right eye is a sharp blue, and her left is a clear lavender.  Skin: Ghostly pale, dotted with occasional beauty marks.  Tattoos/scars: Graced with stretch marks but beyond that no notable scars. 

F A M I L Y

Parents: Unknown to her, deceased. Perfectly nice people who, through no fault of their own, died. Siblings: N/A Grandparents: Unknown to her, deceased. Also perfectly nice people.  In-laws and Other: A great-many-times-over Aunt named Odile. A not-so-nice person.  Pets: Rou, a large Karakul who often travels with Odette. Three ewes: Pomme, Poire, and Peche.

S K I L L S

Abilities: - Odette is a beacon to lost souls, ghosts, and spirits. They flock to her and under the umbrella of her influence their forms are altered into that of moths. They cling to her, calling for aid which she lends as best she can. Odette is a psychopomp, she guides the dead without judgment. She can see, hear, and otherwise interact with these lost and stuck souls. She has a custom job fusion of WHM (Conjury)/PLD.

- A strong defensive fighter, Odette prefers her shield and conjurer’s cane to the sword that hangs at her side. She wields her shield well, trusting in it fully to keep herself and her loved ones safe. When she plants her cane, the river rises. 

- Kulning is an ancient form of herding calls used over long distances. Odette learned the skill in her youth and uses it still, calling in her small flock of Karakul at her home. Is this important enough to put here? Probably not, it’s just an additional fun fact! For you!

Hobbies: Reading, gardening, knitting (badly), and exploration. She also plays piano and harp.

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: The warmth of her personality, her willingness to meet and love people as they are and as they change. Her curiosity about the people around her.  Most Negative Trait: Her inability to trust herself, her eagerness to trust others above herself. People don’t care for the stealing, either.

L I K E S

Colors: Blues, Purples, Silver, and a pop of red.  Smells: Rich, damp soil; Cedar; sun-ripened peaches; sweet, warm vanilla. Textures: The warmth of hand-spun wool, wood worn smooth with use, the delicate touch of petals against skin. Drinks: Hot chocolate with marshmallows and butterscotch, lemonade infused with different fruits and flowers. 

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Not cigarettes. Drinks: No.  Drugs: Yes, pretty heavily. She cannot sleep so she takes drugs to sort of  ‘float’ in a resting state. It doesn’t work but it is better than nothing.  Mount Issuance: Odette is not insured to ride anything. She walks most places, or takes ferries and airships where she can. She owns a Chocobo, named Beauty, who was gifted to her by her friend None. Most of the time if she is riding, she rides Rou, her most loyal Karakul.  Been Arrested: No, but she should have been.

][ Tagged by: ][ @myreia @sealrock @thefreelanceangel @cindernet-explorer @paintedscales @hazelkjt ][ AHH! Thank you all SO much, I appreciate it! ] ][ Tagging: ][ @snotsloth @but-first--tea @the-sycophant @eorzeanflowers @abyssalmermaiden @tallbluelady @viiioca @the-white-snake @claire-ashe & You! ]

[dearestcherry]

Looking for connections! Introductory post…

Gay, trans man (he/him). Ishgardian (lowborn, Brume) Elezen. 6'10".

Cerise Cephinne is an apothecary of the Brume, stocking both beneficial and detrimental products. He was once part of a lowborn family that mistreated him to gain the appreciation of any noble that would look their way. One night, sick of the treatment, he slipped a vial of liquid into his parents’ coffee that had them perish as he fled, changing his identity along the way. The Brume became his home in the absence of one, and he quickly took an interest in brewing substances for various purposes. Eventually, he opened an apothecary business with a darker side focus, selling deadly products that allow the corrupt to be secretly picked off. Cerise enjoys other questionable activities, including document forging for his false identity and brewing his own hormones. He collects trinkets, sometimes for himself and other times to sell; his storefront displays an assortment of items he finds interesting. He isn’t picky in what fun he decides to have otherwise, and is used to low quality Brume goods. As for his personality, he frequently acts sweet, even when hired to pursue a target. Playful, doting, overbearing, what have you – Cerise loves to play on innocent appearances. He is very tall, towering above others with long Elezen proportions and a slightly soft figure. In a strong androgynous tone, his voice is projected with a distinct Brume accent.

His main hooks include…

Apothecary services, selling his products mostly to fellow lowborn Ishgardians. He enjoys helping others, and will accept unconventional payments or even give them out for free. Only the beneficial of his products are stocked upfront, and one needs to be knowledgeable enough in Ishgard's rumours to hear of a Brume apothecary with poisons behind his counter…

A dweller of the Brume, he frequents lower Ishgard, and often ventures out to Coerthas, typically in search of materials. It’s very possible for any Ishgardian or visitor to run into him. Occasionally, he visits other city-states depending on funds.

Carrd link! Lots of info has been taken from here, but it’s frequently being updated.

Nonbinary (they/them). Ishgardian (highborn, minor noble) Elezen. 6'8".

Dreisseaux de Drelejon is a minor noble hailing from a strict family loyal to House Dzemael. They attended Saint Endalim’s Scholasticate in their youth after being expelled from gladiator training, their house’s traditional class. Dreisseaux has always been adept with animals, spending time late at night around the chocobo stables of Ishgard to unwind and finding themself drawn to the karakuls in Ishgardian paddocks and Coertha’s snowy fields. Some time after their graduation, Dreisseaux obtained a small home away from their traditional life, in which they would have room to raise a small number of animals for themself and tend to various projects. Dreisseaux enjoys singing, reading, gardening, dancing, and cooking in their free time. They are easily pleased by tea and pastries, and often sing when they are alone. They spend a significant amount of time gardening and gathering all types of plants. A pet karakul named Guimauve tends to follow them around. They can be timid in certain situations due to their noble religious upbringing, and generally possess a gentle, polite demeanour, alongside expressing a devout belief in Halone. Their family’s traditional practices had them speaking Old Elezen at home, and they retain a thick accent when speaking in Common. They have a slender build, and plenty of pink freckles everywhere.

Their main hooks include...

Any mentioned hobbies and interests, in which they’re easy, passionate company to engage with.

Nobles and other similarities, such as Scholasticate alumni and Dzemael associates. Having grown up attending formal practices, church schooling, and gladiator training – alongside being related to many Dzemael knights – any Ishgardian could find some form of familiarity in Dreisseaux should they share a position.

Carrd link!

Out of character

Hello, I love to roleplay! Partners must be 18+ with 21+ preferred. Crystal data centre based. I’m looking for anybody who may envision potential interactions with my characters. I’m open to many kinds of scenes, including mature, dark, or otherwise. I prefer to roleplay in-game, though I'll use alternative platforms if needed. I’m very happy to talk about characters, roleplay, or anything else – for example, I really love the Scholasticate quests and have implemented a bit of that into my roleplay, but I'd also talk about the quests/characters for hours. Feel free to message me if anything catches your eye!

[lady-protector]

6. halcyon

Estinien sat on the edge of a bluff overlooking the ruins of a town, blackened timber poking out of snowdrifts, perfectly desolate and serene. He had been back here before, but not for years, and never with company.

The small, dark-haired xaela next to him pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them, arms loosely wrapped around her legs as she looked down. “This is it, then? Ferndale?”

“Aye. Or what’s left of it, at least.”

The ruin bore no resemblance to the home of his childhood, devoid of the rolling green hills where he’d wandered with his family’s flock, the ponds frozen solid, no scent of braised mutton on the wind. What Nidhogg had not taken, the Calamity had, and left naught but his own fading memories behind.

Without preamble, he raised a hand, pointing out landmarks. “There, and farther to the east, were the grazing fields. ‘Twas not so damnably cold then, but grass was still sparse, so we had to range far, even with the small handful of karakul we had. My father took me with him until I had seen seven summers, and after that, it was my duty alone. There is the river where we fished on warm summer days, and the pond in which I learned to swim. The market where my mother sold the clothes she made from the wool we sheared in the springtime, and the spare milk from our goats. The church, where we gathered on Iceday mornings, to hear the teachings of the Fury and learn our letters.” He let his hand fall, sighing. “I was far afield the day Nidhogg came, and did not arrive until he had gone.”

Weight settled against his arm as Marz leaned into him, a comforting reminder that he was not alone. He knew he need not explain what came after, not to her, who had seen his past through his own eyes. Who had lived through her own version of that hell, though her tormentors were garlean, not dravanian.

“What were your parents like?” she asked, her voice uncommonly quiet and gentle.

Estinien felt his mouth twitch into what might have been a small smile. “My mother was kind. She was a weaver, and a seamstress, and a damned good cook. She helped us make ends meet by doing whatever needed doing in the village – mending clothes, washing them, birthing lambs… I believed she could do anything, when I was young. And my father was… Gruff. Distant. Not given to idle chit chat.”

A snort shook through her whole body. “Sounds familiar.”

He grunted noncommitally in response, and she snickered at him so neatly proving her point.

They both lapsed into silence for a while, looking out over the landscape, until Marz spoke again. “What about your brother?”

Estinien’s jaw clenched and he breathed out slowly through his nose, riding the wave of grief that the mere mention caused, until he had steadied enough to speak again. For so much of his life, he had refused to speak of him at all – but this entire trip was meant to make it so someone else would know that his family had lived, so that when he died in battle, they would live on. He would not deny his brother that.

“Hamignant was… nothing like me. Quiet. Kind. Well-mannered. He misliked violence, even when it was necessary. He named every lamb, no matter if it was destined for the market, or the flock, or the cookpot. Read every book he could get his hands on. My mother wanted to send him to Ishgard someday, to the Scholasticate. He told me he wanted to join the priesthood, so he could come back to Ferndale and teach other children, more than one day a sennight.” Once he started, the words came tumbling out in an awkward rush, heedless of if he meant to speak them or not. Only narrowly did he bite back the words that would have followed – that it would have been better if Estinien himself had perished in Nidhogg’s flames, if it meant his little brother might have lived in his stead.

Such black thoughts spoken aloud would only serve to sour both their moods. Not that it was particularly good to begin with, but…

“Did you know that one time, my brother convinced me that one of our clan elders was a wavekin? He was so old, thin and bony and covered in scales, so that barely any skin could be seen. I believed him for two whole years. My mama was so angry when she found out, but my papa thought it was hysterical. He was always playing pranks on me, always acting as if I was so annoying, but he’d stop and help me with anything I asked. Taught me to dance, and how to braid my hair, so he wouldn’t have to anymore.” Bright green eyes blinked up at him, and her fingers laced through his. “I know what it’s like to have a good big brother. And I’m sure you were one.”

A reluctant smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “One time, Hami wanted to pick flowers for our mother. I thought myself too old for such things, so I spent the day lazing about, not minding what he was doing. That night, there was mysteriously a frog in my parents’ bed – they thought I did it. I ended up taking the blame for him, and he felt so bad that he snuck me extra sweets for days after.” Estinien sighed, but the weight in his chest – everpresent, even after so many years – felt a little easier to bear. “I have not thought of that in ages. I could not respond to the happy memories with anger, and I had no wish to fall to grief, so I simply… did not think of them. I have done my family a disservice in this, I think.”

Marz shook her head. “No one can judge you for what you have done to survive. And living is always harder than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“Aye. It is. But it is worth it, I think.”

He had not always. Had long counted his life as simply a delayed death, determined to take as many enemies with him as he could before he finally succumbed to the fate that should have awaited him that day in Ferndale. That man had died on the Steps of Faith – and given a second chance at life, he had taken it, even though he knew not what to do with it. Still did not, at times.

All he had known was that he wanted it, and Marzanna had been, alongside Alphinaud, the one to give it to him. It seemed only right he share it with her, past and present alike.

[eikonoklast]

Subvocalizations

The sun shone down on the grass as a cool breeze blew through the blades, causing them to billow and wave in patterns carved by the wind. The mountains stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see; their far-off peaks covered in a blanket of freshly fallen snow. But the sky was cloudless today, and crystal-clear water trickled softly from some source within the earth as it snaked down the hillside and into the Kha's camp. 

   Chiteni sat on a rock and watched the bustle in the village below him, tilting his head back for a moment and closing his eyes to feel the breeze. A karakul bumped into his knee, and he lazily peeked without moving to see the culprit. Of course it's you.

   The little black karakul was pretending to ram him. The creature had been incredibly feisty since it had begun watching the others headbutting one another, and it clearly wanted someone to practice on. The wooly critter stepped backwards - slightly clumsily - and prepared to take another charge at its target. Chiteni sighed, closing his eyes again. The breeze made the beads in his hair and on his crook jingle slightly; the sound bringing to mind the beaded collars on their watchwolves. But the sun warmed his skin in the shadow of the mountains. He felt as though there was something he should be doing, but out here in the grass and the light he wasn't even sure it mattered.

   Down in the Kha's camp Chiteni weaved through the bustle of people running around. They all wore loose-fitting robes adorned with beads and feathers from the Ixal they traded with, all dyed as many colors as they could get their hands on. The Kha were craftsmen and traders themselves, and they would often weave their art into their festivals - as today was. It was the last of the weeks before winter; and the karakul needed grazing, the wolves needed fattened up, and the grain needed harvesting. The tribes of Coerthas came together a few times a year to share their goods with one another in trade and compete with each other in sport, and the Kha were getting ready for the event.

   Lifting up his crook, Chiteni ducked into the flap of a nearby tent. His mother greeted him as she always did, her smile warm and blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Out dozing in the fields again?” she chuckled, pulling him down closer to her small frame and kissing his cheek. “Tell me you kept the little black one out of trouble.”

   “He thought I was his sparring partner,” Chiteni replied, walking over to the far wall to hang up the crook. He turned back towards her. “You don't suppose father will be back from hunting soon, do you? Eba's leg doesn't seem to be healing right, and I've had to keep more than a few wild wolves off of her.” 

   Surelun had wandered into the cooking area and was leafing through some of her herbs; their fragile, dried seeds and pollen gently raining down on the countertop as she pulled a few off their strings. Chiteni poked his head into the space as she kept working, never missing a beat. “Hmm. I don't have any more of her medicine…” she muttered, continuing to search. “If we can't get something at the festival we might have to take her out of the herd.” She stopped rummaging and placed a pensive hand on her chin. “Do you think you could go to the willow grove and get some bark for her? I would go myself, but I'm not as young as I used to be, and it's a steep trek.” She smiled up at him. “Plus that's what sons are for, anyway.”

   “Well, so long as he brings the dogs back,” Chiteni muttered. “Can I bring Eba into the tent just to keep her safe while I'm gone? I'll make up a spot for her.”

   “Of course.” His mother didn't stop hanging her herbs back up as she responded, quietly humming to herself. “I won't be able to dry the bark, so please bring back enough to tide her over until the festival, Chinua. It won't be as potent.” 

   Chiteni opened the tent to exit, but Surelun's voice stopped him. “I do not know why you are upset with your father, but you two had best make amends,” she said sternly. He could hear her sigh behind him. “Nobody lives forever.”

   The sun was red as fire, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples as it swiftly dipped behind the mountains with its usual wintry haste. Chiteni scraped the bark off an old willow tree, being careful not to cut too deeply into it with the knife as he collected the pieces in a small pouch. 

   “He's never around to even be upset with,” Chiteni snorted, continuing his task. 

   The sound of running water splashing nearby caught his attention. As it was getting dark, more predators might be out looking for an easy meal; and the willow grove provided ample places for large beasts to hide. Chiteni stilled, swiveling his ears towards the source of the noise. All was quiet save for the burble of the stream but…he thought he could faintly hear a strange beeping noise in his ears. It didn't seem to have a definite source. He shook his head to clear it, and the sound went away. 

   Curious, he approached the water, careful not to have the wind at his back. Behind the curtain of willow leaves the stream trickled serenely down the slope. It reflected the first rays of moonlight falling over the valley as the sun ducked away for the night and darkness overtook the land; its currents and eddies shimmering in the pale glow. Like a river made of starlight.

   There was a sharp, stabbing pain on the left side of his head and he closed his eyes tightly, covering it with his hands. It was as if - like the tree - some knife were scraping against the side of his skull. Suddenly he felt as though he were falling, plunged deep underwater. He hadn't had time to hold his breath - something heavy on his back weighing him down. It was strangely bright beneath the waves. He felt as though he were surrounded by the lights of bioluminescent creatures as he sank deeper, his limbs too heavy to claw their way to the surface. He tried to breathe but something grabbed his throat, constricting around it. He panicked, bubbles escaping his mouth.

   Gasping he sat up, his hands still cupping his head as he lay in the grass by the water. The willows whispered gently in the mountain breeze. He searched himself but there was no sign of any deep water or…that he was even wet at all. His heart pounding, he remembered there might be a predator about. Shake it off, he told himself, looking around wildly. Nothing. It's not real, you're just tired. 

   The sound of a steady beep resumed in his ears, and he felt as though he could still see colorful lights just outside his vision.

   “You seem distracted Chiteni, are you alright?” a young Xaela woman rested a hand on his arm as he tied the cords on some decorations they had made earlier that day. 

   “I- I'm fine,” he stammered unconvincingly, resuming his task. When did I…?

   “You're a really bad liar, you know,” a Xaela man approached the two of them. He was roughly the same age, his green eyes accusatory. 

   “I'm…I don't know, I'm just tired. It's really nothing, Kohlen.”

   Kohlen - the male au ra - crossed his arms. “Well I suppose if it was serious you'd tell us.” He gave a slight smile. “But you might tell us even if it isn't, perhaps.”

   “You don't need to be so pushy,” the young woman said tersely. “We're all working hard. And with Mazalai always being out, he's doing a lot more than most of us have to.” 

   “Yeah that's…probably it.” Chiteni stared forward, his hands seeming to move on their own. Everything seemed so…small.

   “I can do this by myself now that Kohlen is here,” the auri woman said gently. 

   “I suck at tying knots, Anza,” Kohlen grunted, his head turned away.

   “Anza, do you know what I was doing yesterday?” Chiteni asked hesitantly. 

   Anza's brown eyes narrowed. “You were avoiding your father. You went out in the field again to make sure the dogs were protecting the karakul. Taking an extra long time.” She sighed heavily. “I know things have been tough. You can talk to us anytime. We aren't kids anymore but…I wish we could speak the way we used to.”

   “I haven't spoken to you in years,” Chiteni murmured. Low enough that she wouldn't hear.

   The camp was on fire. Tents up in smoke. Temple Knights milling about shouting orders. Chiteni stared in horror. This isn't supposed to happen!

   He rushed for home, everything seeming huge around him. The tents towered high above as did the knights whose legs he darted between. The flames almost seemed to reach into the sky - blotting out the stars in the dark reddish-purple expanse. He had to get back to their tent. Before his mother-

   “What are you doing here?” A commanding voice cut through the flames and smoke and screams, the scene almost seeming to become muffled, events suddenly moving in slow motion. 

   He stopped running and turned around. Od Mazalai stood there amongst the fire, seemingly unbothered by the scene around him. 

   “It's mother!” Chiteni shouted. “She's going to die! We have to help her!”

   “You don't belong here. And you can't change what happens. You can only dream of what might have happened instead.”

   “Father, please! We have to save her!” he pleaded. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, wondering if there was enough time left before-

   “I am not my father.”

   He turned. A young miqo'te stood where the man had been, his eyes sad. There was a scar on the bridge of his nose that looked fresh, and blood trickled down his face. “I never can save her. I've tried.”

   “What?”

   “This is my memory,” the miqo'te boy glared with frustration. “Why are you here? Who are you!?” His mismatched eyes blazed with the flickering of the fire and his clothes looked burnt. His light grayish skin was covered with soot and ash. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd inhaled smoke.

   “I-...” Silver looked over himself, bewildered. He was as he ever had been: in his black oversized jacket and torn, patched-up jeans. He could feel the warmth of his regulator as the fire heated it up on the left side of his head. He brushed his fingers over its surface.

   “You need to get out of here. I'll show you the way. Come!” The miqo'te boy dashed off into the flames without waiting to see if Silver would follow.

   “Wait! You don't understand! I'm here to help you!” Silver dashed after him, remembering his reason for being here at last through the haze of memories and dreams not his own. Time began to move normally again; the sound of screams rending the air and the stench of burning flesh and smoke making it hard to breathe. Silver coughed, his eyes watering. “Chiteni, wait!” he cried, his voice raw. His throat burned and he doubled over, choking. Is this what it felt like?

   A knight spotted him wheezing and came over, their eyes glittering with malice through their visor. They grabbed him by the neck of his jacket and Silver squirmed, desperately trying to catch his breath. He was dizzy, a dark fog seeping into the edges of his vision. Sounds seemed to move far away. “Help,” he breathed, desperate, kicking as hard as he could, tail lashing. He grabbed for the knight's helm, and tried to knock it off, but he was torn away when the knight started dragging him. 

   “Halone's Halls, this place is crawling with dragonspawn,” they muttered in a voice tinged with madness. They cast a piteous glance down at Silver before looking forward again. “Better a dead bastard than a wyrm's slave.”

   Silver could barely keep his eyes open as the knight tightened his grip on the boy's collar. It was hard enough to breathe as it was - smoke and ash lined his lungs and he tasted blood in his mouth. He reached weakly towards his nose, feeling the scar that Chiteni had on his face in the same place. Why does this keep happening?

   The knight dragged him out of the tents and fire and into the cold night. Silver hadn't noticed snow was falling steadily until this moment - his feet hardly able to find purchase as he was hauled unceremoniously before a stone outside of the commotion. The knight tossed him towards it and Silver wheezed, trying to get back up. He felt as though he were trying to breathe lightning. It burned and spiked and jabbed at his throat as he desperately attempted to take in the cold night air. He heard the sound of metal sliding against metal and glimpsed the edge of a blade reflected in the distant firelight ilms from his face. 

   “Wa…wait,” he held up a hand, leaning back against the stone. He had so many questions. He didn't understand what was going on. Lost in this relentless tide of memory and dream that threatened to consume who he was.

   As the knight lifted the blade, Silver squeezed his eyes shut. What happens when you die in a dream?

   There was a gasp and the sound of bone and muscle cracking and tearing. Of a weight falling into the snow. And then silence. Only the distant sound of the fire crackling.

   “You are going to answer my questions.” 

   Silver looked up, the man who he thought must surely be the person he was here to find stood over the body of the knight, blood dripping from a massive greatsword in his hands. There was a strange light in his eyes and Silver leaned back, thinking of the fervent madness the knight had expressed as they had dragged him here. It was a fiery glow that came from within, even as the world blazed around them. Like burning embers.

   Chiteni reached out to him, helping him stand. The wild light was gone, replaced by a sort've disconnected melancholy. “I need to dream a better dream,” he muttered, as if to himself. He turned away.

   “What?”

   Chiteni sat by himself on a long wooden bench, Silver standing in an aisleway adjacent to him. Startled, he patted himself down. No trace of fire or ash or smoke, no horrifying smell of burning flesh. He felt his face - no scar.

   “What are you doing here?” Chiteni asked again, seeming annoyed. “Better answer quick before I think of something else, again. My attention span isn't really what it used to be,” he said the last part with a dry sense of humor, a smile almost escaping through his voice.

   Silver couldn't answer the question right away. His gaze wandered the room. Multicolored light from panels of some colorful glass-like substance framed the walls just-so, their filtered brilliance strategically peppering the floor with motifs of war and beasts and holy figures. A long central aisle was flanked on either side by exquisite wood and stone benches carved with beautiful patterns of leaves and nature. Down the aisle itself was a lush blue velvet carpet and a wooden stand adorned by a massive stone statue of a woman in armor, her face covered. She held a shield and a spear, her long flowing hair cascading behind her and framing her image in a graceful way. Candles dotted the altar around her, but the room seemed otherwise unoccupied.

   “Where are we?” Silver asked, awestruck. He immediately felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. As if he were here to mourn for someone.

   “Not my best memory.” 

   Silver looked over at him. Chiteni had changed again, now adorned in heavy red and black armor. 

   “The ‘where.’ My memories. Now, I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me understand who you are and what you're doing here. Because it's been difficult to control where you end up. And I really am not the biggest advocate for killing people with my mind - that's what the sword is for.” He gestured to the greatsword resting on the bench beside him, looking slightly annoyed. 

   “I'm here to…to get you out.” Silver wasn't sure what he'd been led to expect but it wasn't this.

   “Ah, you're doing a fine job,” Chiteni said dryly, frowning.

   “Your friends miss you,” Silver offered.

   “I'd miss them too if I were certainly capable. But I'm sure if you're here you understand how I ended up in this place?” 

   For a brief moment a brilliant light flashed through the glass, blinding Silver. He felt a strange sensation in his chest and he gasped, Chiteni swearing next to him.

   

   “Hey, are you alright?” Silver focused again, the sensation gone. Chiteni stood in front of the young man as if blocking him from something. Two great black wings stretched behind him and protectively curled around the two; Chiteni's eyes focused on Silver, a hand on his shoulder. He was wearing blue leather armor trimmed in gold. He looked slightly older.

   Silver nodded, exhaling. The tension left Chiteni's grip and he laughed quietly. “I really shouldn't think about that.”

      “This place is made up of your memories because it…is your memories,” Silver cautiously tried to piece things together. 

   Chiteni nodded. “You can only live my memories as me - sorry about that, by the way. I hope you're all there, still.”

   “Yeah, I- I think so.”

   “Well alright then. What's your name?”

   “Silver.”

   “Silver. I've got some bad news. I'm…just a memory. I cannot meaningfully influence anything. I'm just…thoughts with no outlet. I can't leave. I can hardly even keep you safe here.”

   “I…I can help. At least, I'm here to try.”

   “The only way you can do anything is if you can find the rest of me.” Chiteni sighed. “I got myself into this mess - do not ask me to think about it - I don't know if we'll end up elsewhere again. But I'm trapped here. Wherever here is.”

   Silver thought of the water he'd been plunged into. The lights. The beeping sound. “I think I know where you are. Like, physically. I have a guess, anyway.”

   Chiteni shook his head. “That doesn't matter. I have no agency. I can act the way I would but it isn't the same as being alive. Memory without soul.”

   “I think I can help you with that.”

   

   Chiteni stood quietly at the entrance to Everkeep, looking up as the spire rose high into the sky. Thunderclouds loomed overhead, roiling and crackling. He held a dark wing up over Silver as rain began to slowly patter around them on the electrope walkway. He looked at the younger miqo'te, that strange light in his eyes. “While I may not do anything that I wouldn't do with a soul, I need you to understand that if you have something that belongs to me…I am going to have to ask why you think I shouldn't keep you here.” His comforting gesture seemed to turn incredibly ominous as the rain rolled off his feathers. He wasn't much taller than Silver as a whole, but the threat made Silver's hackles rise. Whatever he was dealing with was at once capricious and without Chiteni's general morality.

   “I'm not happy about the situation, either,” Silver stared at him, pushing his wing away. The two stood in the rain as it hammered down around them, eyeing one another with sudden wariness. Chiteni's gaze looked hungry as he took a step forward. Silver stepped back. “We shouldn't fight. You don't know what might happen, and you don't want to ruin your chance to escape, right?”

   Chiteni's shoulders sagged and he hung his head. “I don't, you're right. I'm not myself, here. Not entirely.” He stood up straighter, flicking rain from an ear. “What's your plan?”

   Still wary, Silver pressed forward, “I told you, I'm here to get you out.”

   “How?”

   “I don't really know. I mean…I've never tried coercing a memory before.” 

   “Well, I can't get out without what you have. So what's the way to make it work? To get us to…commingle?” Chiteni explained, “If I have experience and skill and information you want, and you have the soul I want - how do you plan to blend those things?”

   “I don't…wait.” Silver reached up to his regulator, pulling it off. “This is how I got in here.”

   “You think it can get us both out?”

   “With a medium…maybe? Do you have a regulator?”

   Chiteni closed his eyes, clenching his fists. “Please say something else. Quickly.”

   Silver felt that spike of pain on the side of his head again, as if a knife were scraping the inside of his skull. That strange tugging sensation began to pull on his chest as well, the pain bringing him to his knees. He could barely see Chiteni standing nearby, breathing heavily. 

   “What- what is this? Why does this keep happening!?” Silver shouted over the rain. An incredibly loud, high-pitched whining sound droned in his ears. He felt like a hand was reaching into his chest, trying to rip something out.

   

   Silver gasped, suddenly alone and dry. Wherever he was it was too dark to see clearly. He felt a stone floor underneath his feet, and the space was enormous but temperate. The air still. Out of the darkness a pair of red eyes stared back at him, almost as if they were sizing him up. They moved with unnatural silence and swiftness all around him; whatever being they were tied to seeming almost weightless as it surveyed him. The air remained undisturbed.

   He slowly reached for his regulator, unsure if it would work here. But whatever this thing was, he could sense no danger from it. He couldn't sense anything was even there. 

   Chiteni was nowhere to be seen, and a voice trickled into Silver's mind. It dripped with an oily malevolence, seeping into his thoughts like sweet honey. 

   I can get you out. Both of you.

   “Where is Chiteni?” Silver stepped back, hand still by the side of his head. “You have to be one of his memories - so where is he?”

   Here.

   “You aren't even answering my questions.”

   I am here.

   “That's…that really doesn't help. I can tell you aren't him. Why lie?”

   You wish to remain as yourself. I can help you.

   Silver bit his lip, looking at the ground briefly. He clenched his fists, then relaxed. “I've…already made peace with that.”

   Have you, now?

   “What could you possibly want in return for all these promises? You aren't just asking out of the goodness of your heart. You won't even be honest with me,” Silver shot back. His voice wavered, but only slightly. The entity narrowed its eyes in the dark.

   I want to come with you. That is all.

   Silver thought quietly for a moment. A shred of hope began to burn in his chest like the embers of a cold fire stirred by metal. He looked at the strange shadow, thinking. Its red eyes glittered.

   “Come with me?”

   The eyes closed but he could tell it was nodding.

   “Are you trapped here, too?”

   For so long.

   “I don't even know how to get us out.”

   Suddenly Silver felt its presence for the first time. It was like that of a night breeze in summer, whispering through the trees. He could feel rather than see as it gestured to his regulator. 

   Just use this delightful trinket.

   Silver hesitated. The chance to be free - to escape his fate - it was so tantalizing it hurt. He thought about Chiteni and his friends; about how everything that had happened was his fault. That he knew that going into it. That Chiteni had wasted his freedom making the decisions that led him here. That maybe…he didn't deserve any of it.

   The red-eyed thing smiled.

Author's Note: Omg this one is SUPER LONG but it was so fun to write! It's a bit above my skill level to convey the...strangeness of a dream. But I really wanted to try! I had this idea and it was so cool...Maybe I'll get to rewrite this sometime with the experience I gather later on - get the weirdness across even better!

I wanted to sort've convey an...uneasiness at the start. And I figured having his mother in the story would be like alarm bells for anyone who knows anything about her. This place is memory, yes but we also fabricate things in our memories all the time. Especially surrounding things that left a great impact upon us. So we 'dream a better dream' as it were. And our dreams are memories, too. This...'memory' version of Chiteni is missing something vital to himself, and he acts a bit uncharacteristically. He's quick to switch from one emotion to the next - as if sort've pantomiming them but not really FEELING them. Kind've like a sociopath lol But I really hope you enjoyed the strangeness as much as I have!

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

May You Open Your Eyes Once More [A Francel Vignette or Stand-alone]

Rating: G

Category: Gen

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Characters: Francel de Haillenarte & an unnamed cat.

Summary: This was not the first time he had seen her, but it could very well be the last.

Tags and Notes: animal in distress, little bit of angst, current verse. [[I may be interested in a cooperative continuation of this.]]

This is NOT cross-posted to Ao3 and may not be.

Sneak peek:

To be borne of familiarity, this particular situation he will find himself in. Heels digging into a thin layer of ice, and snow, as it begins to sweep across the stone pathways, obscures the divots and crevices of inlaid masonry beneath. To create a fine dusting over pathways and stonework walls, flags of their nation begin to stiffen as the snow penetrates their fibers, and then freezes in the wind, steadily picking up. The brim of his hat, firm even as it was, will crease further in the wind, and he will have been tempted to pull it harder down upon the crown of his head, golden straw strands to peek from the upturned folds, and joyful yellow feather, ruffled and split under the pressure. Even pinned against his forehead, his hair will be sorely tested to remain in place, not long enough though in any regards, to cover his seeing eyes, expansive as the ocean, down-turned, where he has stopped, gazing at a pile of snow which is… not snow at all. 

How familiar, he will think again, this white coat, beneath that dusting of snow, curled up, and unmoving. He cannot see the blue eyes, or the pink nose. But then… he had not seen the cat in some time, having crossed paths briefly turns ago, turns and turns and turns ago. To have knelt down for it, and shared the meat from his stuffed bun. To have gently touched gloved fingers to a small forehead, and been graced with only the flick of tufted ears, a curl of a tail, and its chops licked clean of ground meat and carrot. In this instance, as he kneels once more, silent but for the whistle of wind around his long ears, he is not Francel de Haillenarte, but just another grieving soul, lamenting the loss of a life he may have known, which had touched him curiously. A mystery which would go unsolved, and a family which may never know what had happened. And in that moment, he may also feel the guilt, the guilt of having gone on, empty handed, of having not retraced his path, cat in toe, to provide for it, however briefly, to not have found its family. It had run off, and he had let it.

Francel will remove a glove, fingers bared to the biting cold, only to touch it upon its snow-dusted head, surprised then, in the way the curled body will jolt, rolling over disoriented in the snow. Francel shall exclaim aloud, there are none around to hear the way the cat pitifully mewls, and how Francel sucks in a breath. The walkway is barren of passerby, not that he shall have been concerned to stoop in any such persons presence. The urgency of thought, as his naked hand brushes snow from the struggling and renewed shivering little body. The fur, lengthy as it were, caked with packed snow, where heat could last only so long against it, melting it minutely, only for it to freeze again. There is only one thing, in that instance, of which he can do, and that is to slide from his shoulders the crested coat he wears, collar fur lined, and the inside padded and insulated warmly of leather, and perhaps karakul skin and wool. His body temperature lingers in it, the cold not able to sap the warmth from it so easily, as he gingerly folds it into his lap, and then will pick up that poor, distressed feline, wrapping it like the precious parcel it is into his coat. Before he covers its face with the hood, he will peer into it, minutiae as it is, pink nose, blue eyes unseeing, partially closed, whiskers nearly frozen off. How could he, how could he?

‘I shan’t feel sorry for myself. Not when… I might still hope.’

He shall think, and none too gently, as he folds the hood of his coat forward, so that only that pink nose is visible then, and cradles it to his chest. How exposed to the elements he shall feel then, the white wool of his undershirt all he has to protect him as he turns carefully on his heel to retrace his steps now, as he should have then, back towards the Last Vigil. The shirt sleeves do not quite reach his wrist, and his glove, the single one which remains on his hand, does not make that distance either, and so the chill shall creep up his arm, but this, this is nothing compared to what warmth as has left his little charge, and he can hardly feel it, compared to the pain the little cat must surely have endured. How spry she had seemed then, when first he spied her, in comparison to now… 

And behind he, as he paces with harried steps up the slopes from the Jeweled Crozier, that lone bowed glove shall remain, forgotten in the snow, to be retrieved by another, perhaps, or buried and shoveled away to the side when the snow ceases, and clearing the paths are not so futile. 

[snotsloth]

Orion D'Oschon

— B A S I C S

Name: Orion D'Oschon

Nicknames: Rion (mostly G'raha), Legs or Specs (mostly Kendra)

Age: 30ish

Nameday: 19th Sun of the 5th Astral Moon

Race: Xaela

Gender: Cis Male

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Warrior of Light, Aetherologist, part-time Historian, Botanist

— P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Burnt Umber (Very dark reddish brown), kept short except for a section of braids along his right temple. Orion's hair is very thick and dense, giving a matte or velvet effect in the light.

Eyes: Amber with golden limbal rings

Skin: Umber (a bit lighter than his hair but in the same color family)

Tattoos/scars: He's got a pretty big scar running down his left leg from the fight with Zenos in Rhalger's Reach, small surgical scars around his knees from where he had to have reconstructive work done after Endwalker, and a small Mol clan tattoo on his inner wrist.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Dolgoon Qestir (father) and Odsetseg Mol (mother). Both are alive and well and living in Ul'Dah. They also use the D'OSchon surname in Eorzea.

Siblings: None.

Grandparents: Temulun Mol

In-laws and Other: Cousin - Cirina Mol. Various other cousins, aunts, and uncles within the Mol tribe. No In-laws, Kendra doesn't have any living family.

Pets: Birdlegs (chocobo), Lily (Eos, she's not a pet, but she's important and I wanted to list her), Walpole (a very bitchy Carbuncle).

— S K I L L S

Abilities: SCH main (Scholar questline is canon for him), aetherology (he started his work with the Scions as Y'shtola's personal assistant), experienced and competent field medic, unique echo manifestation gives him the ability to see the flow of aether around him in a synesthesia-like effect.

Hobbies: Reading, astrology (learned from his mom), botany and gardening, botanical drawing, alchemy, helping Kendra in the kitchen, knitting, letter writing.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Orion has an inquisitive mind. His desire, not only to know but to fully understand phenomena has led him to several ground-breaking discoveries. And he does not hoard knowledge. He'll enthusiastically share his findings with anyone who cares to listen. He is also just as inquisitive and keen to understand in social situations, making him an empathetic and open-minded person in general.

Most Negative Trait: Orion has a deep-seated distrust of governments and other institutions of traditional authority. This is not without reason, or even some merit, but it can make him difficult to work with when it comes to large-scale endeavors. His words or actions have nearly cost the Scions a deal more than once.

— L I K E S

Colors: Blue, especially woad, ink, and rhotano blue / Green / White / Warm browns / Metalics, especially gold.

Smells: Sandalwood, cedar, oolong tea, jasmine (reminds him of Kendra's perfume), libraries and well-preserved old paper, and morning fog in the Dravanian highlands.

Textures: The downy fur of Kendra's ears / yarn spun from the karakul of the Azim Steppe / well-loved leather-bound books / smooth, expertly-blown alchemical glassware.

Drinks: Tea, especially oolong or pu-erh. If Orion does not have access to actual pu-erh, he will make an equivalent with the darkest Sharlayan-style tea blend he can find, a custom blend of additives he will not divulge, and karakul milk. Just tasting it once put Urianger in a sickbed for two days. / Botanical spirits such as gin and aperitifs. He's even made a few himself.

— O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Medicinally smokes whatever variety of moko grass gets you stoned. He will also occasionally smoke tobacco socially, especially cigars.

Drinks: An adventurous but moderate drinker. He'll try anything at least once. He can occasionally be cajoled into heavier indulgence but that's abated as he's gotten older.

Drugs: There have been a few controlled "experiments" over the years.

Mount Issuance: Birdlegs is his primary mount that travels with him almost everywhere. The dusky, gigantic chocobo has become a bit of a legend in her own right. However, he does also technically have a yol as well, but has entrusted Cirina with his care because there's just not enough room on any of his properties for a bird of that size.

Been Arrested: For a mild-mannered professor type, Orion has been arrested so many times.

Tagged by:@ardberts🤍 tyyyy! Tagging: @physicalvocalist@sarenraegalpaladin@janzoo@airis-ray@ae-fond-seeker@captainqster@koijikido@adina--astra@iron-sparrow Sorry if you've already done this or been tagged before! I tried to pick mutuals I hadn't seen this from yet.

[aerialsquid]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 24: Bar

The entity sat at the end of the bar, staring at the staff, who were gathered in a wary bundle at the other end. Its eyes were two black pits set in a pale, doughy face.

Shinto, the house chef, was cleaning glasses in a desperate bid to pretend the thing wasn't also making him nervous. "They say the auspice Senri was a wise cat that bestowed blessings on those that fed her, and grew fat as a karakul from the constant offerings the people gave her. She lived for 600 years and her begging bowl was never empty."

Archie the bartender flashed the symbol of Rhaglr, a closed fist in front of four upraised fingers. It was the third time he'd done in ten minutes. If the entity was bothered by the gesture, it didn't let on.  "That thing ain't no holy beast. I saw it eating one of the fish I left out for Florentel to prepare."

"A cat eating fish, that never happens," Shinto muttered.

"You didn't see the way it ate. Just opened its mouth and slid forward over it, engulfed it all in one single swallow. Like watching a biscuit sink into pudding."

"It came in with the boss's granddaughter, he probably just picked up some bizarre creature during his travels afar and brought it home to give as a pet."

The entity abruptly slumped to one side, showing off tiny wiggling feet that seemed far too small to carry its body around. The feet pawed the air for a few moments before it rolled back the other way, settling its gelatinous body upright with a shiver that rolled through its round body like waves across a shore.

"Or it's a cursed creature," Archie posited. "Maybe the spawn of some monster the boss slew in the far reaches of the world, hunting our boss's spawn in revenge."

"It's probably just a damn cat," said Wise Falcon, who'd come up from the izakaya downstairs to borrow more silverware and had gotten caught up in the gossip. "Sometimes a cat just looks weird. And round." Though he also was crowded at the back of the bar and refusing to go near the thing. 

"Not with eyes like the blackest pits of the void, they don't. Hasn't blinked the entire time I've been watching it, either."

"Cheese!" the granddaughter called from downstairs. "Cheese, we need to go! Come on, Cheese!"

"Prrt!" The cluster of men jerked as one as the entity twitched, letting out an excited chirp. It rolled off the counter, landing on the floor with a wet thud, and then scurried off towards the stairs. If its legs ever moved, it was too rotund for any of them to tell, but a 'pap-pap-pap' noise followed it out the door. Archie tracked it with the hand of Rhaglr as it left.

"Just a damn cat," Wise Falcon repeated, as if he believed it. If he spent the rest of the day muttering prayers against evil kami while sweeping just a little too enthusiastically to only be cleaning out dust and not evil spirits, nobody brought it up with him.

---------

Old Man Fishing Club staff and other OCs belong to @magitek-witch. Fat Cat minion and Fatter Cat mount description belonging to whatever unhinged people are writing the mount/minion descriptions.

Shinto Yumishi

Archembald "Archie" Wynne

Wise Falcon

Tina and her "cat" Cheese

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 14: Telling

The hunting party as a group stopped in their tracks not half a bell after they’d crossed the Gates of Judgment. The game here was less dangerous thanks to the increased military presence, and if somebody was badly hurt or lost in a snowstorm then Camp Dragonhead and Whitebrim were both close enough that aid could be sought and a rescue party summoned. Matthieu had planned to insist on this when his parish’s shooting club had invited him along, but to his relief he needn’t have concerned himself, as this was part of their usual route.

The club was a small one, the product of a few citizens in the parish coming into money thanks to Ishgard’s increased trade volume and deciding to put that coin to use acquiring some of Skysteel’s newest products. None of them were able to afford the aetherotransformer unit that turned the average rifle into a multi-faceted man-portable weapon of mass destruction, but having access to rifle and shot still made them feel like they were part of the new Coerthas and afforded them the chance to go out on hunts without years of training in spear or bow.

They’d insisted on Matthieu coming along at least once, and while he was generally well-liked by most of his constituents, he had to admit that he was most popular with the kind of people who got along with his aunt: older ladies who enjoyed their tea and gossip, found his willingness to help around the store to be charming, and lightly teased him about his relationship with Edda. That was enough of the parish to have gotten him elected, but he had to admit that getting others to like him more would help in the next election. In this case, that meant agreeing to attend one of the Crozier 4th’s Official Club of Jolly Fellows once-a-moon hunts.

The title was not of his choosing.

And so he’d agreed, gotten some assistance from his fellows in the Commons in selecting an easy-to-use carbine and how to load, point, and fire it without embarrassing himself, allowing for the knowledge that this was his first time out, and met up with a dozen of the Fellows at the Gates. The plan had been to traipse about the snows between the Gates and Whitebrim, take a few cloudkin or a wild karakul if the opportunity presented itself, then head back to help themselves to some beet stew and sort out who was the best and worst shot while their catches were prepared.

It was a cloudy morning, and while the cloudwatchers had suggested a mild chance of snow, visibility was still clear. The group had a clear view of the Nail interrupting the highlands in one large series of jagged peaks, and of what had stopped them: a single dragon, perched on one of the larger outcroppings, observing the comings and goings of the wildlife on the ground below.

“Fury, would you look at that.” Alort, the parish cobbler, made a quick sign of prayer to Halone, his tone of voice breathless. It wasn’t clear to Matthieu if he spoke in awe or fear.

“Never thought I’d see one of those without taking to my heels,” said Gaspardieux, the carpenter. “Still feels like I ought to.”

“That makes sense.” Matthieu kept his composure while he replied, simply raising a hand to the dragon in greeting. Events surrounding his election had given him more benign exposure to the Dravanian Horde than the average commoner, and he kept abreast of efforts to repatriate those who had turned into aevis and wished to return to the city. “I’m sure it’s just as wary.”

If the dragon had even seen Matthieu’s raised hand, it didn’t show it, simply lowering its head to rest it on its forelegs. “Mayhaps if we were knights or dragoons it’d be wary,” said Gaspardieux. “But I left my chainmail at home and haven’t perched on any high places of late.” The other Fellows chuckled, the tension easing.

“It’s a lovely color, isn’t it?” said Ophoix, the local gemcutter. “Like sapphires, but a little deeper.” He stepped forward, shielding his eyes from the clouds to get a better look. “I’d love to see it up close.”

“I don’t think you’ll be turning that into a stone fit for a brooch anytime soon, Ophie,” said Gaspardieux.

“I wouldn’t!” Ophoix stepped back, holding up his other hand in protest. “But surely, just a scale. Mayhaps we could ask.”

“No.” The statement was short, sharp, and firm, and came from Aubineaux, the parish tailor. The others took notice; while the Fellows had no official leader, it was Aubineaux who took the hunts most seriously, did most of the organizing, and led the other members in drills to improve their marksmanship. “Let it come to us if it likes, but otherwise we keep our distance.”

There was some grumbling from the Fellows, but Aubineaux stood firm, turning to face them from the head of the group. “No.” Grim-faced, with heavy eyebrows and a stocky build for an elezen, the tailor didn’t match up to the “Jolly” part of the club’s name. Matthieu suspected the title wasn’t of his choosing, either.

“Well, what’s it doing here, anyway?” The question came from Constant, one of the local tutors. Matthieu frowned; to his recollection, Constant had been one of the more reactionary voices in the community in Ishgard’s recent upheavals. Some had thought he was one of the True Brethren, in their brief existence, but he’d denied this ever since their disbandment. “It’s quite far from Dravania.” “I’m sure the knights are aware of it,” Matthieu replied. “If we’re going to be at peace, we have to have some free movement, and simply live with a little suspicion. Perhaps it’s simply enjoying time where it wouldn’t be otherwise.”

“I don’t know,” said Alort. “You wouldn’t catch me going past Falcon’s Nest, let alone Tailfeather, and certainly not out in their own lands simply because I could. It doesn’t mean I ought.”

“We don’t even catch you leaving even the parish, Alort,” said Gaspardieux. The cobbler puffed out his cheeks in annoyance.

“And we already have their dragonets in the Firmament,” said Matthieu. “And the returning aevis and so forth. I simply mean there’s a good reason for it, no doubt.”

“Good or ill, we’re wasting time.” Aubineaux gestured down the trail towards the Whitebrim Front. “And losing good bells when we could be catching karakul with no snow to cover their tracks.”

“What a catch it would be though, eh?” Constant mused on this, watching the dragon with a speculative expression. “In worse times, of course.” “Of course,” said Matthieu. “But only in worse times. Remember what happened to Flaurienne Mollet?”

The Fellows all collectively winced. Mollet, who had stood for another parish in the Crozier, was scandalized to have been involved in the poaching of dragon leather after the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, and had been forced to resign in disgrace.

Before any further debate could be had, Gaspardieux pointed upwards at the dragon. Following his arm, the group saw a pair of smaller figures flitting about the dragon. “Have a look, it’s just brought its children on a little outing, you see? Nothing wrong with that.” There was a long silence among the group as they watched the wyrmlings flit about the outcropping. The dragon briefly snapped its maw in the air, as if to chide them, and then settled down again. After a minute, Matthieu found he misliked it.

“We certainly shouldn’t get close if that’s the case. Aubineaux, could you lead us to some tracks, if you please?”

“Yes.” Despite his refusal, at this point even Aubineaux was watching the dragon. “Come along now.”

[pr1ncesspopstar]

Like Herding a Cat... - FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 1: Steer

(Ao3)

-

“Come on, ya blasted… sausage… roll!”

Halditar was thankful none were around to witness her current battle. The humiliation, she imagined, would have been immense and untended. The great Warrior of Light, struggling against, and bested by… a particularly fat cat.

The unruly beast growled (yes, growled! Halditar didn’t even know cats could growl before this!) as she tugged its ribbon reins forward again in some vain attempt to move it. But this fluffy, chubby monster remained firlmy seated onto terra firma. Its weight flattened any grass as she tugged it over, showing how far its new owner had been dragging for the past few hours. Which, in truth, wasn’t that far. Halditar heaved and panted, wiping sweat from her brow, feeling how her entire body was sticky from the sheer effort it took trying to bid this unruly beast to move. The ehat of the midday sun burned the back of her neck. They were overdue for a break at this point. All but collapsing into the grassy knoll, the soft green grass tickling and cooling her burning skin.

“Mmmrrrph?” A soft trill sounded through the air, followed by the jingling of bells.

The fatter cat, proving that it did indeed have legs capable of supporting its over-proofed loaf shaped form, pushed through the stalks of wild grass. Seeing her new master laying on the ground, she joined the roegadyn. Laying her heavy head onto her chest, purring gently. Halditar could only snort a single laugh at the insult to injury. But couldn’t resist bringing a hand up to pet behind the cat’s ear, amplifying its purrs to where the warrior could feel them reverberating against her bones.

“At least you don’t hold a grudge. I stepped on Moonlight’s tail feathers once by accident and she still throws a fit anytime I walk too close to where she’s nesting…” she said to no one in particular. Clearly not the cat, whose eyes were closed in utter bliss as Halditar’s fingers found that spot that sent the cat’s motor into overdrive, purring up a storm.

A cloud passed overhead, a puff as white and fluffy as a karakul’s fleece. Halditar couldn’t help closing her eyes, letting the wind cool her skin. The sound of grass rustling was a melody she never appreciated until it surrounded her. A song of the gentlest aether that chimed in her ears, constant and sweet. A perfect summer day, a (mostly) friendly pet—this was the stuff of lullabies and stories. Warmth she may know again, but she still should savor.

She had to crack her eyes open as a soft, warm paw poked at her cheek. No longer was the fatter cat content with pets alone, and Halditar knew why. Her own stomach was grumbled with hunger. She sat up and pulled her bag into her lap, having to use the back of her hand to push the curious cat’s face away from the entrance as she dug around for her tools.

“Back off, greedy. You’ll be getting your grub first, no crying.” She chided the cat to little effect, who pawed the ground with impatience. With the proper tools of a culinarian, she set to work.

Some of her colleagues would be aghast she was using her tools to make animal slop, but when one bought a persnickety kitty, or any animal in Halditar’s opinion, one had to treat it right. The best way to ensure that was making their food herself. And after seeing how both Gridanians and Ishgardians raised the best, fiercest, and most versatile birds in Eorzea by adding to their feed, she was inclined to follow their lead.

A couple of different meats, softened with broth. A cooked egg, couple of dried small fish, and a rabbit’s foot as the finishing touch and she had a meal fit for a cat king, she imagined. Her newest mount seemed to think so, drool dripping from her lower jaw as it mewled up at her with big, sparkling eyes. Halditar hadn’t even set the bowl on the ground before she attacked, purring with approval at the first mouthful. The only obstacle to the beast horking down the meal was the need to chew bigger chunks. Some insurance to see that she didn’t choke on her food from eating so quickly.

“What am I going to do with you…?” Halditar wiped her hands clean to pull out her own meal. A simple sandwich on focaccia, cheese, turkey, roasted tomato, olive oil with some fresh and dried spices.

Well, maybe not that simple for some. But this was one of her go-to favorites. It was light to carry in a small cloth wrap. The mix of zesty and mild, bright and acidic was a dance for the senses as she ate next to her ravenous companion, wondering ‘what next?’

She hadn’t even needed another mount. She had plenty under her care already, won from trials, earned from the strangest places and accomplishments, found in the luckiest moments. But when presented with this strange cat by the thaumaturge’s guild, unsure what black magicks had conjured it and unsure what to do other than send it back to the aetherial sea or find an owner… Her heart was just too soft towards animals, nowadays. Especially ones with such darling eyes and chubby cheeks.

But the intention of making a mount was proving less and less an option. It was obedient enough in all ways except moving. Even the behemoths she handled proved more affable to commands than this cat! It would thrive as a pet... but damn it, she wanted to ride it. She even got the most adorable saddle for it. Which it enjoyed wearing, and letting her sit on her back, but she refused to move. It was enough to make the roe feel a vein pop in frustration.

Halditar drowned her growing fury in her waterskin, filled with a strong tea, bordering barley-ish in taste, saved only by the sleeves of lemon she threw in before heading out. She was done with her meal long after the unnamed cat’s, who rolled and wandered around in the grass like a stout coeurl. It mimicked chirps and tried to hunt for small birds. Poorly, if it’s pathetic pounces after the smallest odd movement said anything. A hunter it was not.

“You won’t be much help on the island as a mouser, that’s certain enough.” She told the pudgy thing. With dewy eyes, it stared back at her before jingling towards her. She could feel her eyes staring, but not at her. Something else entranced the cat. Following the gaze, Halditar’s hand landed on her necklace. A long, shiny silver piece on a black leather thread. It glinted from the movement and the cat crouched, butt wiggling, intending to attack. A smile crept onto her lips, reaching back to undo her necklace.

“At least you’ve got plenty of energy, little- er… big one,” she lowered her necklace to the ground, shining in the grass like a little prize. As the cat dashed for it, Halditar pulled it out of the line of fire. The cat trampled more grass, scrambling to chase the bauble again. Only for her master to yank it out of grasp once more. The game of cat and mouse continued for minutes until Halditar relented and slowed her movements.

The cat purred as her paws caught the silver bauble, playing and biting it with eyes full of glee and pride. It seemed if she had a target, her newest pet wouldn’t relent until caught. A trait Halditar quite admired, even if her skills left much to be desired.

An idea popped into Halditar’s mind. A way, perhaps, she could get the stubborn cat to let her ride.

-

“Kitty! Big kitty-kitty!”

One of the few young children of Summerford Farms cooed as Halditar rode in atop the recently christened Kaiser (on account of her roll-like shape). The cat hardly cared for the weight atop her back, chasing the cat toy in front of her with nary an ounce of hesitation. Slowing to a stop only as Halditar pulled the toy from view. Kaiser instantly sat, legs disappearing underneath all that fur and weight. With a target to chase, she was much more open to direction. The warrior hoped with time, the toy wouldn’t even be needed.

As she threw her leg over and off the cat, the child from before ran toward them. Her own feline ears perked up in excitement and tail swishing. “Um, can I pet your cat, please, miss?” the child asked so politely. Halditar couldn’t help but laugh. Kaiser was becoming a big hit wherever she went, getting treats of fish and plenty of pets. Fittingly famous for a feline of her size.

“Of course! She’s friendly and likes it best if you pet behind her ears.” The child squealed and sat on the ground next to the cat, both hands sinking into Kaiser’s fur. The aforementioned cat’s purr rang out to proclaim how she appreciated such eager ear scratching. Letting her newest, most stubborn mount enjoy getting spoiled with attention, Halditar continued on with her delivery of seeds from the Botanist’s guild. Pondering if the spoiling would continue at their next stop.

[ahollowgrave]

Day 27: Snow

A small painting tucked into a worn album of similar paintings. The cover of the album is worn leather made shiny by many hands over the years.

All of the paintings are of the convent's errant daughter through the years. The most recent a sledding scene with her karakul companion and those moths.

Tucked at the back of the book is a bundle of letters. Each from Odette, each detailing one of the painted adventures.

[hazelkjt]

Janis Kha is a shepherd for the tribe, in charge of a sizeable portion of their flock of karakul. When not out on hunts, she is assisted by her partner Baato and their daughter Hazel in tending to the flock.

One such karakul was the runt of the flock, at first slated to be cast out. Hazel, however, took pity on the small animal and asked to become the karakul's caretaker. As the tribe had no reason to go against the demand she was allowed to keep the baby lamb.

This was about a year before Hazel was given the opportunity to journey to Eorzea. So when the time came for her to depart across the ocean the small karakul journeyed with her. During that year of caretaking the animal did not grow in size at all, remaining quite small and soft, like a ball of fluff. As such, Hazel named him Floof.

[meracydia-miqo]

FFXIVWrite 2024 - Day 28: Deleterious

pre-heavensward; spoilers for end of arr

———

Q’lhani sat outside, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared blankly into the snow. A few flakes landed on her bare skin, freezing to the touch, but she ignored it. If she were to become encased in ice much like that of Shiva, she wasn’t convinced she’d be missing out on much.

It was inevitable that the very city who’d once pretended to welcome her and celebrate her would turn on her as soon as she’s not doing exactly as she’s told. Forcing her to escape through the sewers, watch as everyone else who’d once welcomed her up and abandoned her down there, to ‘escape’ and ‘stay alive.’

The scions probably just wanted nothing to do with her. Like everybody else. So what would it matter if she froze to ice in the mountains of Coerthas?

She heard a small mheeeh as a karakul came over to her, soon followed by another. Its thin tail twitched as it looked at her, before turning around and running off somewhere. Not even the karakul like me, she thought bitterly.

But the first one remained. As if unconcerned, it walked up to her, reaching to try and grab a tiny, frost-bitten stem that clung to the rock, munching away at it.

Q��lhani only watched. Its soot black wool was close enough she could touch it, feel its warmth in the endless Coerthan winter, but such a thing was beyond anything she would deserve.

A few moments later, it turned around, satisfied, stepping around her as if looking for another shoot to snack on.

“There you are, my friend!”

The karakul looked up at the loud voice and quickly fled, prompting Q’lhani to glance up to see Haurchefant approaching, waving his hand from a few yalms down the slope. Q’lhani bit her lip to hold back an instinctive smile, quickly turning her head.

“You’ll catch cold if you stay out here too long! Pray, come back inside. I will have a warm jug of hot cocoa prepared for you post-haste.”

Why do you even care..? He was always like this. They barely even knew each other, but he was so insistent on helping, she didn’t know how to take it.

When Q’lhani neglected to do as much as lift her head, still staring off into the distance, trying to find where the karakul had ran off to, she heard the crunch of snow as Haurchefant approached. Without a word, he crouched down to sit beside her, and she only shrunk further into herself.

“Were you making friends with the karakuls? Delightful creatures, they are. I am always quite pleased to see them, prancing about outside Camp Dragonhead.”

Q’lhani looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but only frowned. “Why are you here?”

Haurchefant’s eyes widened. “To look for you, of course! What sort of person would I be if I left my friend out here alone to freeze in the cold?”

Everybody else did, she thought to herself. Why should he be any different? Her family didn’t care about her. Her captors had been even worse. All of Ul’dah, which previously celebrated her achievements and invited her to fancy gatherings had gone up in arms and framed her for murder. The scions had all left her behind. Nobody cared about her, so why should she care about herself?

“But why, though. Why do you care?” She asked, but then shivered, as a frigid breeze swept through the valley, bringing a new flurry of snowflakes to land on her. She clenched her eyes shut, hugging her legs closer to her body.

“You’re shivering! Come, let’s get you inside.” Haurchefant put a hand on her shoulder, trying to gently coax her back up to her feet. Q’lhani resisted, for a moment, trying to squirm away back into the snow that sought to envelop her. She leaned to one side, but it only prompted Haurchefant to reach around to catch her in his other arm. She frowned, and finding no other way to escape short of active harm, reluctantly climbed to her feet.

As if afraid of her escaping, or perhaps just to keep her warm from the cold, Haurchefant hugged her flush against the side of his body, one arm wrapped snuggly around her. Q’lhani suddenly felt tiny, pressed up against his much taller frame.

She could only stare at her feet as he slowly guided her back to the intercessory. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. Didn’t want to see the faces of people as they watched her being brought back like some cold, lost child.

Even if it was true.

Q’lhani silently thanked the Twelve, if any of them even cared, that nobody else was there when they made it back to the room. She didn’t say anything as Haurchefant pulled out a chair for her to sit in, and she felt even more like a child. Maybe it would convince him not to care, if she kept up this way. That she’s clearly not worth the time; find some other person to go solve your problems and leave her alone.

But Haurchefant stopped at nothing. She still didn’t say anything when he drooped a warm blanket around her, rubbing her arms gently from over the soft blanket, trying to warm her up. She only stared when he presented her with a boiling mug of the sweet, warm liquid he seemed to so love.

None of it made any sense to her. Even when she was with the scions, she hadn’t had this. It had always felt that little bit distant, professional, like work and not like the family some of them wanted it to be. It didn’t feel real. Shouldn’t be real. And yet Haurchefant wouldn’t even leave her side.

Why do you care so much..?

Q’lhani was afraid she would cry.

[vivichor]

i felt like writing some lore for my viera wols people in othard, just some ideas and doodles i have!! "Sfona, the northern skatay viera are a hardy people, stout, furry, and small-eared, they have adapted to the coldest clime in the Othard continent. Their access to karakul wool, leather and sempervirent plant fibre is essential to their survival in this part of the world, as it allows them access all year around to cold-resistant fabrics. This wool and fibre is often woven into coats and wraps, coloured with local organic dyes. Their unique designs and where they are worn differentiate tribes, families, status and personal stories. These coats are treasured by their families, and kept long after the wearers passage into the aetherial sea, woven into quilts that retold family histories before a time the Sfona had a system of writing. Their nomadic lifestyle means that they spend much of their summers in the northern mountain ranges, and seeking the warmer climates of the Golmore Jungle, Azim Steppe and Dalmasca during the winters. They are sometimes seen to have adopted outcast Hyur, Au ra, Miqo'te and Hrothgar in their travels. The expansion of the warmongering Garlean Empire has caused some of the more northwestern tribes to retreat into the more isolated Golmore, Historically the Sfona, related to Veena, have been people of pale skin, pale hair and dark eyes, though their widespread nature has made them a rather diverse people. A trading and crafting culture, their incredibly complex weaved textiles are often sought after all over Othard."

[coldshrugs]

okay okay! what is tired in thavnair for the wip round up?

okay, so i was trying to write the first time io and estinien get Intimate. these (because it's two things in the same doc) are attempts to find the start of this concept T^T and then saying "maybe i don't need to write this at all" (before trying two more times LMAO)

i still like parts of these so i saved them. here we go:

There is a sag to his usually confident gait, a sense of exhaustion she hasn't seen him wear in months. She doesn't have to wonder at the cause. She feels it acutely; the path they've stepped onto leads to more danger than they imagined, and memories of Meteion and her song of oblivion, her challenges issued in darkness at the edge of all things still shadow both their minds. Determined as he is to get to the bottom of this new threat and aid his friend, he is tired. They exit the great hall and Estinien sucks in a heavy breath. He looks to Io, then shakes his head. "You don't have to do this." He is quiet, but his calm is led by a delicate tether. He struggles to keep the edge from his voice. "You've barely had a moment to rest since–” “It’s been months.” She reaches for him, an instinct that no longer has to be suppressed. He catches her hand, fingers lacing effortlessly between hers, and squeezes. “I’m fine. I’m ready for this.” He nods but says nothing. His disapproval is plain, but he decides to trust her.

and trying to fast-forward them to somewhere with a bed T^T

There is a tall, gold-trimmed shelf against the room's back wall, ornately carved, richly lacquered, and perfectly in line with everything else in this grandiose chamber. It holds very few items, but each time Io finds herself here, something new has been added to the small collection. It began, she suspects, as a repository for avoided letters. A hasty stack sits on the middle shelf, next to unused ink and an undipped quill. Seals of Ishgard pushed into blue or yellow wax. Some are still unfolded, waiting to be read a second time, perhaps. She wonders at the contents but doesn’t disturb them. But there are other things she can touch. An orchestrion, accompanied by several well-used scrolls, a few books describing the local wildlife, and a rather proudly displayed charcoal sketch featuring the eight foremost members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. She grazes the edge of the thick paper as the determined smiles of her friends beam back at her. The brightly glazed vase holds a spray of flowers she brought nearly a week ago, lily and ginger collected from the jungle below. And in between all of these are little handmade trinkets from the city markets. She reaches for the newest one, a tiny ceramic karakul painted to look like a blooming shrub. Precious, that these are the things Estinien holds most dear. His silent attention prickles the back of her neck, armor clinking softly as he shuffles by the door. She turns to him, ready to tease, but he watches her with such a rapt tenderness that she can’t bring herself to do it. His joy is hers, and her smile spreads as unbidden as the well of affection in her chest. “This one is new.” She places the little sheep by her flowers. “I like it.” Estinien smirks, though he still looks as tired as she feels. He meanders behind a partition to change. “Aye, a find from the day before last. Seemed in need of a home.” “A good choice,” she says quietly, taking a seat at his dining table. From here, Io can hear Estinien remove his gauntlets. Though her armor is lighter than his, she longs to shed it all the same.

[dearestcherry]

how does your wol sleep? very light? very heavy? do they need a specific item to fall asleep? is it easy for them to fall asleep, or does it take them forever? where do they prefer sleeping?

thank you so much to those of you who sent me these prompts! i've been off the character/roleplay side of tumblr for long enough that i honestly didn't realise they could be sent to others! i thought they were good writing references for myself, but this is a lot more fun. a specific one gives me more motivation to write them (and then i can share). so once again, thank you, and i'll have to keep an eye out next time to send prompts to others as well!

this question makes me think of dreisseaux. they typically go to bed early, and can sleep easily. they have sensitive hearing, though, so if their surroundings are too loud for them, i envision that preventing them from falling asleep or getting a good rest. because of that, they're also a light sleeper, and it's not too hard to wake them up. good thing they fall asleep quickly! apart from that, they tend to sleep well, and wake up early. before falling asleep, they enjoy indulging in some self-care rituals before bed, and generally prefer a luxurious atmosphere. silk sheets, an eye mask, a nightgown, warm blankets, snippets of their noble upbringing that they continue to practice. despite that, they're not picky about where they sleep, but having grown up in ishgardian environs, they'd feel most comfortable in a cooler room and overheat quickly otherwise. when it comes to objects, they have a small plush karakul they've had since they were little. if they were parted with it, which has comforted them through the night and now resembles their baby karakul guimauve, they wouldn't get a wink of sleep. when they wake up, one of the first things they do is style their hair, almost always with a braid.

[lady-protector]

4. off the hook

(a follow-up to this fic, please mind the rating)

“Don’t you have literally anyone else to bother today, Kazarishi?”

Kaede flashed him a bright grin that was all teeth and no warmth. “Oh, come on, Estinien. You should have known there was no way I was going to let you off the hook that easily.”

The woman was like a wolf who had caught scent of an injured karakul – relentless and unshakeable. Usually an admirable trait to watch in practice, but Estinien didn’t particularly care for being the prey she was hunting.

He just stared her down, and she calmly held his gaze, eyes sparkling in the same obnoxious way that Aymeric’s would before he said something truly annoying. “You. Are in love. With Marz. I know it, you know it, and now, thanks to the Echo, she knows it. So the question stands: what in Hydaelyn’s name are you going to do about it?”

“None of your damned business.”

The fact that Estinien had been asking himself the same question for nigh on a week, and had still not come to any sort of a conclusion, was entirely beside the point.

As expected, the raen didn’t let the matter drop. “I could help you –”

“No.”

The word dropped flatly into the air between them, like a gauntlet thrown down, and Kaede’s cheerful wheedling melted away to reveal actual frustration. “Why the hells not?”

He wished he could say it was because he didn’t need it – but if the past was anything to go by, he needed all the help the gods could offer, even if they came in very small, obnoxious, know-it-all packages. No, if he was honest with himself, he still hadn’t made up his mind what he even wanted to do about any of it. The Fury only knew if his overtures would even be welcome, after the mess he’d made of things on the Steppe and after the Ghimlyt Dark.

As if privy to the private battle within his thoughts, Kaede looked away, the lines of her body relaxing as she let the frustration go. “Honestly. You’d be good for each other. And Halone only knows, you both deserve to be happy. I just don’t want to watch either of you let something good slip through your fingers because you were too scared to try and grasp it.”

The words sounded as if they came from a place of experience, aimed inward as much as outward, but Estinien didn’t press her about it. For all her interest in the matters of his heart, she could be as reticent as he was about her own.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When no other response seemed forthcoming, Kaede sighed and changed the topic, but he would have been mad to think this was the last he’d heard of the matter. “Would you like to come to dinner? I think we’re having okeanis and beet soup, if I remember right.”

Though his mouth fair watered at the prospect – Borel Manor’s chef was damned good at her job, and those were a few of his childhood favorites – Estinien shook his head. “And subject myself to both of you at once? I think not. I’ll try to come visit again soon enough, but until then, send Aymeric my regards.”

“I always do, even when you tell me not to.”