#* dragonspeak / answer.

[altoskh]

username change for the first time in (checks notes) over ten years.

frostybite > altoskh !

[arisenreborn]

Going to start posting some of my pawn lovers guild qotd answers here for archival purposes (and to fondly look back on the Pain).

Todays question was... well, I think it was something about what music would play in a fight against them which turned into "Design a Boss Battle" 😂

Emrys Boss Battle

Okay so he’s a pain in the ass. He’s taken the form of the dragonsplague dragon evolution pretty much; similar features but a little more physicality to him, bigger than a drake (not as big as Grigori), very sexy and fucked up. More aerial a bit like a wyvern, he’s frustratingly fast and fights like an archer/thief: pelting you with briney arrows that leave corrupting puddles where they hit for a small period, or darting in close and lashing you with his tail or talons before dipping back out. He shouldn’t be able to move so fast for something so damn big. 

Poisons, fire breath, duh, but it has a cool briney effect to it and will have an acidic-like effect around it (similar mechanically to poison really). He’ll occasionally control one of your pawns. Higher chance of dragonsplague infection just fighting him in general.

I like to think he wanders the world and is kind of a “random” encounter. Gonna segue a second about the music: Lux Aeterna is the inspiration but definitely a twisted up version that ‘grows’ with every encounter; it starts out discordant and hard to pick up on the melody, with sort of Silent Hill-ish vibes woven through it. With each encounter (three MAIN encounters depending on how each fight goes) it grows in intensity, frenzy, and drama. It becomes more ‘clear’ but also more ‘violent’, the final version has an aspect of ‘anxiety/fear’ - a creature torn between fight or flight. 

Getting him in a ‘downed’ state in the first two fights is just him hovering feebly closer to the earth and making him an easier target.

Each encounter can be ‘failed’ or ‘succeeded’, failure is him flying away, success obviously when you defeat him results in him basically divebombing the ground which almost seems more like a kamikaze/escape…he crashes and bursty-melts into a plaguey, brine-like substance in the ground you shouldn’t touch until it gradually goes away -will have the same effect as genuine brine. You get exp but frustratingly no loot, alluding to the fact he’s not actually gone yet. Each success grows the difficulty (and music) of the next encounter. 

You probably get garbled dragonspeak also: mostly just cursing you as the Arisen, the second fight gives you a ‘you won’t take … from me…’ as he fades away. 

Third fight will be the most intense - and he’ll try to escape often. He’ll lose -some- of that physicality and be more of a dick to hit without magic/enchanted weapons. A lot more briney attacks, can control up to two pawns if you’re not quick about dealing with the first one. 

However once in his downed state he’ll actually slouch down on the ground on all fours, and his ‘heart’ will be revealed, a cavity in his chest leaking out what looks like a woman wrapped in black and red tendrils and fleshy sinews.

Yeah, it’s Olivia, though she looks a bit, yanno, like she’s become the pseudo-heart of a plaguedragon. So you’ve gotta attack her while he’s downed and you will hear him make… awful awful sounds when you do. He may even beg you to stop. 

But you won’t, of course, and once you’ve broken his heart sufficiently he’ll gradually crumble to mist and dust with the final words "Olivia... forgive-..." and leave you with all the gold and wyrmslife crystals you could have hoped for, you monster.

Also a ‘Corrupt Dragon’s Aegis’, idk what it’s stats are (probably not *super* different from the usual) but it’s probably neat. And depressing. Probably a description along the lines of ‘A shield once carried by the brave Arisen of another world…’ Finally, a wolf fang necklace… (it was a gift Emrys gave to Olivia. It can be given to an NPC for high +40 affection)

The description on the necklace is: "It seems to exude an aura of love, whoever once owned it treasured it dearly."

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 21: Grave

Every month or so, Esredes began his ritual. His brother was kind enough to be capable of supplying him with blue forget-me-nots for the journey. With a bouquet of them tightly wrapped together in his hands, he always started in the city, his path far optimized by now as to how to most quickly hit all the graveyards he needed to visit.

He always started with those his past life knew, and those lucky enough to be buried in the city he knew as he is now, leaving a few of the small, delicate blue flowers on each grave. They were usually fellow knights who perished in combat, even more now since he came back and learned more of who had died. As he stared at each headstone, he always contemplated to himself if they would hate the person he was now, or understand. If he were to guess, they all hated him now. Those who'd lived certainly did. But to him, it didn't matter. He'd decided long before it was good to mourn the person they could've been, or meant to be, if not for the Church. He tended to keep quiet about it to his fellow harriers, but he preferred to keep that hope they were good people at heart. Still, he'd likely never know the true answer. They were long gone, after all.

He spared them the Shiva prayers out of respect, defaulting to his old Halonic ones like a dusty garment being pulled from the back of the closet. He didn't need to break out the Shiva prayers in-city until he came to Ysabel de Vairemont's elegantly adorned gravestone. She'd been a spy and supplier to the very last until she perished while the towers were causing trouble, and so he had to be careful no one saw him laying flowers at her grave or chanting a prayer in Dragonspeak. Finally, he came to his last stop, approaching the graves of his late, former squire's father and knight. The one who took him in after Esredes left. To each he laid down the flowers, said his prayers, and then whispered an "I'm sorry," towards the knight's grave. And then it was off towards the Steps.

He made a stop on the bridge, for every harrier of his who died during the final battle, and even for the knights he witnessed dying. Blue flowers were scattered lightly over the bridge, the wind soon taking them. There was Alais, the Dragoon he brought to their side and always believed in the good in people. Or, since he never found where his grave was, he also had decided in more recent times to begin mourning one of the former Knight Captain he was under out here, where the man had been crushed to death by a dragon in front of him. Esredes had complicated feelings about the man- a once pleasant relationship in which he'd been one of the better Captains he was under turned sour when he attacked and captured him and left him to die even when he pleaded and begged and reasoned. But Esredes decided even he deserved the chance to become better, one that'd never be taken, now. A shame, he was among the more likely to change with the truth.

Esredes proceeded down the bridge. Now he was out to the Highlands for the rest of his mourning routine. It had even more stops out here- over the course of the war, many of their camps had been found and raided and massacred. Stop after stop, Esredes scattered a handful of flowers to decayed, run-down remains of camps with frozen, dried blood littering the ground. Snowcloak, Hemlock, Camp Riversmeet, Gorgane Mills, on and on and on in empty silence until he came to his final stop. Until then, he held a hand to his heart each time, his draconic rosary beads clutched in his hand, and chanted each time: Upon sacred ground Thy love scatters to wind And joins in her Embrace To guide all who are lost And rest in Serenity, eternal

The graveyard at his camp was the final stop. Some of the headstones actually had bodies, some of them were just monumental. Ysayle's was the biggest, of course, but there were so many in this little space it made it hard to navigate. And so the last of his flowers came down to each of these headstones, a chant for each following. And once he was done, he stood there at the entrance to the graveyard in silence, his only companion the wind blowing through his coat.

Esredes shut his eyes. Here at the end, some months he held on, others he did not. And it seemed today was one of those where he fell. The tears began to flow freely, the light sobs he couldn't choke back racking his body as he fell to his knees, hands in his lap clutching the rosary as he felt the weight of each life he could never have saved. It wasn't worth it, a dark part of his mind said to him at this time. You should have let Ishgard die. And then what? Mourn the smoking remains of Ishgard instead, mourn the Ala Mhigans who would continue to die to the Empire without Ishgard's help? Mourn all those in Ishgard who were now his friends, bringing him to this same place? Esredes was notoriously terrible with remembering names. And yet, each and every one of those he knew that perished, their names were burned into his memory, along with their faces and lives. He, most of all, was the living graveyard. And oh, he hated the burden of it. But it was one he'd gladly shelter again and again and again. The mourning turned to hate, hate for all those unworthy who survived, who continued to hurt his and continued to parasitically drain the world of every little drop of nutrient just to satiate their own insecurity. And kneeling among the fallen, Esredes continuously swore to himself, he would kill everyone he had to to prevent even one more gravestone from appearing. To let the rodents die so disease would not spread. There was no other way to prevent his trip from becoming longer, from the name list growing larger, from his own failure to protect and die for them becoming-

For a while, Esredes knelt there and his sobs grew steadily louder. He covered his face, his body shook, but this was something he did alone. Alone, until the chilling emptiness finally settled enough in his bones for him to find the strength to stand. Until he could manage to take steps away from the graveyard and back towards the quiet embrace of his camp, to face the rest of the day.

And next month, it would all happen all over again.

@bastardofvairemont

[e-dragoons]

Song fic meme - 8!

this is only like 2 months after you sent the ask in the first place

nidlehna au!! from my nidlehna playlist and does not make any sense so i'm sorry about that but i'm kind of exploring what aspects of canon lore would be different in an au where lehna consumed nidhogg's eyes instead of them getting acquired by elidibus

hail to the king - avenged sevenfold

Her power was not fleeting.

It was a dangerous wildfire threatening to lose control. But it was hers. And she was not about to let that happen. 

A snarl escaped her lips as she pointed her lance at Ilberd. It was then she decided to unleash her true power, the force of Nidhogg’s features blending with her own enough to knock her off her feet. You are nothing, she spat out in Dragonspeak. 

He was the reason Minfilia was dead. She would not forgive him, she would have her revenge, she would–

Lehna took a deep breath. “Your attempts are but a pale imitation of what a great wyrm’s power can do, Ilberd,” she said after a moment. It did not matter if they wished to use her to summon some primal or another–Lehna would not allow their rage to overcome her. 

And yet she felt herself weakening every moment–the dead’s prayers a grating whisper in her ears. They believed in this–they believed in their fury, in their revenge.

Rage Incarnate.

She clenched a fist, willing her emotions to settle. 

If I can’t be better than them, I’ll become something so much worse.

Lehna allowed the fury to wash over herself–but not of their hopes. She thought of Minfilia’s death, brought about by the Crystal Braves’ betrayal. She did not need a primal to answer her prayers; she had herself. Hail to the king.

[mirrordaltokki]

La Lapine et le Dragon

"You are very obliging," answered Beauty, "I own I am pleased with your kindness, and when I consider that, your deformity scarce appears." "Yes, yes," said the Beast, "my heart is good, but still I am a monster." - Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont

Once upon a time in a land far away- No, this isn't that kind of story.

This is an Eorzea where the Dragonsong War was resolved by other means, where Hydaelyn has blessed her few chosen children and city-states rally behind them as Saints and Blessed alike, where the Warrior of Light is called upon to Champion Her causes against immeasurable odds.

The dragon Nidstinien, heir to Nidhogg, lurks in the frozen Coerthas wastes. He has been left to his own devices to whither and die in the wake of the Dragonsong War, but a bargain struck and sworn will change the balance of power in Eorzea forever. _______ An AU erotic retelling of Beaumont's La Belle et la Bête with inspiration from the Epic of Gilgamesh. Featuring a Nidhogg possessed Estinien as the Beast and the Warrior of Light as Belle.

Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Monsterfucking, Teratophilia, Sex as Therapy, Vaginal Sex, Cock Warming, Voyeurism, Dom/sub Undertones, Breeding Kink, Eating Disorders, Enthusiastic Consent, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Background Poly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Eye Gouging, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Families of Choice, Nidhogg Possessing Estinien Wyrmblood, Dragon Estinien Wyrmblood, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragonspeak, Post-Dragonsong War (Final Fantasy XIV), Tags Contain Spoilers, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Canon-Typical Violence

Part One

The Dragonsong War began by man’s greed and ended by man’s ultimate sacrifice. Countless lives had been lost as the Holy See of Ishgard engaged in its holy war against dragonkind, generations irrevocably altered by the ceaseless war machine their proud nation had become. And all of it, every drop of blood spilled, done under the orders of a line of archbishops obsessed with attempting to become immortal gods.

Aymeric de Borel looked upon this legacy and determined that he would never allow his people to fall to such avarice again.

Small wonder, when his own father (and hadn’t that been a revelation in and of itself) had done the deed and Aymeric himself had been forced to put the man to sword for the good of all. Their nation’s sole Echo-blessed in generations had turned her back on the Holy See and joined the dragons’ cause, only recently persuaded to return and fight at Aymeric’s side in his bloody revolution by his dearest friend Haurchefant. The last Azure Dragoon had turned the tide and slain Nidhogg only to fall prey to the dragon sleeping in his blood.

Foundation was all but destroyed, only recently beginning reconstruction under the watchful guidance of the four High Houses and the Skysteel Manufactory.

It was this disaster that he inherited by right of blood and conquest both. Privately, Aymeric despaired that the council would try to make him wield his deceased father’s staff of office and take up his position as archbishop. But with Lady Iceheart returned to the heart of the Holy See and the temple of Hydaelyn no longer barring its doors to Ishgard’s battered souls, Aymeric had been a major proponent of the Temple Knights returning to their rightful place in service to Hydaelyn’s Chosen. He had no desire to become Thordan VIII when he was already the Lord Speaker, Lord Commander, and Viscount of House Borel.

Read more here.

[hopelesslyshippingthem]

To show how this rippled out, yesterday I went to work in the private health care sector in England. Bit of context; I work in a cellpath/histology lab where we get the bits of people from the NHS and from a few other places that need their post mortems processed. A normal day runs a bit chaotic, but doable. Get samples in, dissect, process, fix to slide, stain, send to pathologist or consultant, send back to client for patient to get results. Pretty simple? How could one little bug affect us, a private lab in the UK?

Well, it took down our computers. The thing we book our samples in on. The thing we record the details into. The thing we use to input the transcribed macros to the client can read what we did. What we use to scan the papers into. How we quality check, how we run our block and slide checks, how we see what levels are needed at microtomy. All of that was bricked into oblivion for a good several hours. IT, which all work from home on Fridays (which does not help us in the lab when something happens on Fridays, let me tell you), had to come in to try to get the lab to a functioning level.

Only the embedders that knew what in the hell they were looking at and what orientations should be needed were able to embed samples because like hell could you scan the block and pull up the details. Booking in? Impossible. You could only receipt samples, and some of these are URGENTS that we want to get moved. Microtomists were flying blind and again only those who could really understand what the slides needed could do it, but since we couldn't print labels we had to handwrite every slide. Needed additional cassettes because another margin needed to be taken? You gotta handwrite that too with a cellmark.

I think around like 10:30 we had the computers in some areas running again, but LIMS access was really spotty at times. Dragonspeak, our scribing software that auto dictates at dissection? Down. The whole day, it was unusable. Not even when my day ended was it working.

"But Hopeless, how does this affect you?"

I was scribing yesterday. So I listen to what's being done and copy it down. Normally this is mostly done on Dragonspeak because anyone who has ever had the soul-crushing task of dissecting/manual scribing for biopsies knows that trying to keep up with all that boring, quick, repetitive info is mind-numbingly difficult. Dragonspeak means I just need to focus on manually writing a few key details on the paper while checking for errors on the input box and getting all the important info recorded on the LIMS screen. But yesterday I was manually writing *everything*. Thankfully when I was on GI specimen (which are rather large and lengthy and by this time we could at least use LIMS to record block meta data onto cases), the dissector was an angel and let me me transcribe directly into the box as if she was using Dragonspeak. I was so good that several times other seniors thought she was using Dragon and apologised before they realised that little old me actually could keep up fairly well in place of the headset.

It took us hours to have all computers running. It will take a few days to manually enter in all those macros that weren't directly scribed into LIMS for speed, which is a lot of simples. It will take days to catch up from the delay from the computers being paperweights. We lost a lot of time, we lost so much time because of it, and we aren't critical care! Can you imagine hospitals? Those labs being down? If we, a small, understaffed lab next to a pub that is trying very hard, were rocked by it in a way that will affect us into next week, think of the labs in the NHS. Think of the panic as in the middle of something important like a surgery the computers bricked. We had no idea we relied on them that much until we all came in and were like, "But.... what can we do? How can we still work? These people need answers and we can't use our computers?" We had no idea one line of code could brick us back into the last decade or two. This crash absolutely killed people, and it rippled out into every single sector you can imagine somehow.

idk if people on tumblr know about this but a cybersecurity software called crowdstrike just did what is probably the single biggest fuck up in any sector in the past 10 years. it's monumentally bad. literally the most horror-inducing nightmare scenario for a tech company.

some info, crowdstrike is essentially an antivirus software for enterprises. which means normal laypeople cant really get it, they're for businesses and organisations and important stuff.

so, on a friday evening (it of course wasnt friday everywhere but it was friday evening in oceania which is where it first started causing damage due to europe and na being asleep), crowdstrike pushed out an update to their windows users that caused a bug.

before i get into what the bug is, know that friday evening is the worst possible time to do this because people are going home. the weekend is starting. offices dont have people in them. this is just one of many perfectly placed failures in the rube goldburg machine of crowdstrike. there's a reason friday is called 'dont push to live friday' or more to the point 'dont fuck it up friday'

so, at 3pm at friday, an update comes rolling into crowdstrike users which is automatically implemented. this update immediately causes the computer to blue screen of death. very very bad. but it's not simply a 'you need to restart' crash, because the computer then gets stuck into a boot loop.

this is the worst possible thing because, in a boot loop state, a computer is never really able to get to a point where it can do anything. like download a fix. so there is nothing crowdstrike can do to remedy this death update anymore. it is now left to the end users.

it was pretty quickly identified what the problem was. you had to boot it in safe mode, and a very small file needed to be deleted. or you could just rename crowdstrike to something else so windows never attempts to use it.

it's a fairly easy fix in the grand scheme of things, but the issue is that it is effecting enterprises. which can have a looooot of computers. in many different locations. so an IT person would need to manually fix hundreds of computers, sometimes in whole other cities and perhaps even other countries if theyre big enough.

another fuck up crowdstrike did was they did not stagger the update, so they could catch any mistakes before they wrecked havoc. (and also how how HOW do you not catch this before deploying it. this isn't a code oopsie this is a complete failure of quality ensurance that probably permeates the whole company to not realise their update was an instant kill). they rolled it out to everyone of their clients in the world at the same time.

and this seems pretty hilarious on the surface. i was havin a good chuckle as eftpos went down in the store i was working at, chaos was definitely ensuring lmao. im in aus, and banking was literally down nationwide.

but then you start hearing about the entire country's planes being grounded because the airport's computers are bricked. and hospitals having no computers anymore. emergency call centres crashing. and you realised that, wow. crowdstrike just killed people probably. this is literally the worst thing possible for a company like this to do.

crowdstrike was kinda on the come up too, they were starting to become a big name in the tech world as a new face. but that has definitely vanished now. to fuck up at this many places, is almost extremely impressive. its hard to even think of a comparable fuckup.

a friday evening simultaneous rollout boot loop is a phrase that haunts IT people in their darkest hours. it's the monster that drags people down into the swamp. it's the big bag in the horror movie. it's the end of the road. and for crowdstrike, that reaper of souls just knocked on their doorstep.

[bezzuba]

touch

nonverbal prompts / accepting.

         He is tired. Tired and hurt and shamed and relieved, and that is the only reason why he doesn’t object. That is the only only reason why he does nothing when Half Of Him is swarmed. That is the only only ONLY reason why he simply sags into the ground and watches as the not-monster humans take Half Of Him away. There is an instant urge to follow, of course — a fear of forgotten-left-behind that almost has him rising and trailing after them to keep Him close — but there is also a taste on his tongue that shouldn’t be there, blood in his maw that shouldn’t be there, and he lets his tired-hurt-shame-relief melt away his fear as it melts away his protests.

         They don’t take Him away too far. Just over to the edge where the sea touches the land. He doesn’t understand why they do that when all of their floating dead-bark things are burnt and sunken, then they suddenly bare their fangs and he doesn’t understand why they do that when the bad, most worst ever threat is already dead. Is there some other threat he can’t sense there? It’s all so very strange to see, especially when they start shouting nonsense and telling each other no, my fang is better! for what feels like ages and ages, but finally one of them wins ( why were they challenging each other in the first place?? ) and the defeated put their fangs away.

         Sun-Furred approaches him then and he asks her, Why did they do that? She doesn’t answer ( at least, not in the way he wants her to ) but she does sit beside him and rub her paws along his head. The cold of them feels so good on the heat of his scorched scales that he leans as much as he can into her and forgives her for not answering.

         They watch together as the other humans fuss over Half Of Him and do a lot more things he doesn’t understand why they do. They all seem to be worried-focused on His hindleg though, and Sun-Furred’s smell says “peace-sad-relief” instead of “panic-distress-fear”, so he thinks maybe all those things he doesn’t understand are for fixing what he didn’t-mean-to-but-did-anyway broke.

         There’s a pause where nothing happens. Where they all just look at what they’ve gathered and done. Until the human-king takes the fang he was burning out of the fire a gem-crowned helped them make and—

         Something about his heat must feel very good to Sun-Furred too because she all at once moves until she’s crouched over his head and stretches her forelegs across his eyes.

         Stop that, he snorts and tries to gently shake her off. It’s nice that she likes his heat so much but also not because now he can’t see what they’re going to do next. Off, let me—

         The yelps of several scared-upset-confused people cut through the air and he stills.

         Sun-Furred exhales from where she’s sprawled against him. She tries stroking calm-peace-quiet into his scales but it doesn’t work because she’s trembling and her scent is turning sour with hurt-grief-distress, and that’s all he can take before he’s leaping to aching paws and throwing her off.

         What is?! What is?! He searches the area for a threat, searching and searching and searching, except there is no threat: only grim-looking humans and horrified-sounding people and a still sleeping Half Of Him and the stench of too much blood— oh.

         No.

         No.

         No no NO NO!

         STOP! He roars and rushes towards the humans by the sea-edge, voice high with RAGE-PANIC-DISTRESS. Those very so much bad monster humans are hurting Half Of Him!! Why are they hurting Half Of Him?! STOP STOP STOP STOP!!

         He doesn’t get very far before too many monsters pounce on him and hold him down. He opens his jaws to shoot but then they hold those down, too. He can’t do anything but screech and cry and wail and moan, and he hears other people screech and cry and wail and moan back, but none of them are stopping the monster humans; why aren’t they stopping the monster humans?!

         He should’ve never let them take Him. He thought that they could maybe fix Him because He is a human and they are humans too, but he was so so so wrong; why did he let them take Him, why are they hurting Him when they should be healing Him, why why WHY WHY?!

         Sun-Furred approaches him again and he screams at her, WHY?! She doesn’t answer ( never in the way he wants her to ) but she does kneel beside him and brush shaking paws along his ear-flaps.

         The cold of them doesn’t feel so good anymore.

[lilbittymonster]

telling each other I'm here

The sky was dark with clouds the colour of steel. Kitali could smell the storm coming on the air as the wind grew fiercer and fiercer as it howled against the Holy See. She had stood from her post on the wooden stool next to the bed in favour of watching the weather, but still keeping half her attention on the sleeping man under the sheets.

Estinien lay exactly where he had for the past few days, hardly moving except for the occasional twitching of fingers or shifting expressions in his sleep. It was her second day of alieviating Alphinaud from his vigil, and there was scarely any change.

Until, that is, his breathing changed from the even shallow breaths with a sharp inhale and a soft grunt. Kitali turned immediately from the window to see him blinking blearily into the room. His gaze found hers, and weakly he stretched out a hand towards her.

"K-Kit.....ali," Estinien managed brokenly. "Kitali."

"Hey, I'm here," she soothed, taking his hand. "I'm right here."

His eyes searched her face intensely, an unspoken question lingering behind them.

"We did it. Nidhogg's gone," Kitali answered.

His brow furrowed further. She could see his throat working as he tried to form the words. "Y-you....?"

She caught his meaning anyways. "I'm fine."

The tension eased from his features almost instantly, the relief sweeping across his whole body. Estinien squeezed her hand, really more of a soft curl of his fingers, but it was reassurance all the same. Kitali could see he was fighting to keep his eyes open for even this long.

"You should rest," she said softly. "You need it. You look like shit."

Estinien, exhausted though he was, still managed to shoot her a half-hearted glare. Kitali just beamed innocently at him in return. His frown cracked at that, and he gave a silent huff of laughter. Once again, his eyes scanned over her searchingly.

In an uncharacteristic moment of unguarded emotion, Estinien hesitantly raised his hand to brush her cheek softly, his expression openly apologetic. Kitali was so taken aback at the show of what could only be called affection she subconsciously leaned into his touch.

"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me. Alphinaud's fussing over me plenty." She briefly covered his hand with her own. "Rest."

With a small nod, Estinien withdrew his hand and lay back against the pillow, breathing evening back out in seconds. It might have just been her imagination, but Kitali swore his expression was a touch softer as he slept.

---

Kitali woke with a gasping cry lodged in her throat. Out of pure habit she clamped down on a whimper, trying to make as little sound as possible. Vaguely she was aware of a presence at her back, of an arm slung across her torso, holding her in place.

"Hey, you alright?" came the sleep-roughened voice of Estinien from behind her.

Unable to answer, Kitali rolled in place in his arms and pressed herself into his chest. His arms immediately came up around in a protective embrace around her, gently stroking her hair as she tried to get her breathing under control. She tried to focus on the weight of his arm at her back, the sensation of fingers combing through her hair, the low rumble of his voice as he murmured the same few reassurances to her in halting dragonspeak. I'm here, you're safe, I've got you, I'm here.

The terror slowly faded away, the hammering in her chest gradually slowing down, and she was hit with another wave of exhaustion. Kitali pulled back slightly to rest her head on the pillow and took a deep breath.

"Nightmare?" Estinien asked gently, smoothing back the loose hair from her face.

"Just.....the memory of feeling helpless. Stuck in that-that other body," she stammered out. "I can't-I don't......" She trailed off with a shudder. "I'm sorry I woke you."

He gave her a gentle crooked smile. "There's naught to apologise for. I'd rather be awake than leave you to suffer your troubles alone."

Some small knot of tension uncoiled in Kitali's chest at his words. She wrapped her tail around his calf and snuggled close again, taking comfort in the familiarity.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," she confessed.

"Do you want to go get some fresh air?" he offered.

Kitali considered. The thought of the biting cold after having trudged through the same relentless cold in a body not her own mere hours ago did not appeal to her in the slightest.

"I don't think that would help, no."

Estinien made a noise at the back of his throat as he began rubbing small soothing patterns into her back. The tension bled out of her under his touch and despite her earlier protestations felt herself feeling drowsy.

Softly, as though he wasn't aware he was doing it, Estinien began to hum a simple melody under his breath, and the sound of it carried Kitali back into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

Thank you @mythandral for the prompt! This idea has been rotating for months and I finally had the energy to squeeze it out into words. I honestly don't remember if the prompt list this was from was supposed to be sweet or savoury but....y'know, wolstinien does what it does lol

[ofdragonsdeep]

14: Attrition

A lone adventurer stands against the Lord of the Inferno. He does not expect to live.

(Depictions of violence and injury including severe burns, though I've mostly glossed over the specifics for my own sanity)

The first thing he realised was that he was awake.

 Pain, discomfort, lack of movement - all of those came next. Then the memories, of their sting on the kidnappers, the betrayal, how quickly they had been overwhelmed. Then the heat.

He tried to groan, not that his throat would let him, and blinked the aether from his eyes. He had been thrown in with the rest of the soldiers, into a clearing with barely any shade from the baking Thanalan sun. Around them, grand metal towers capped with vicious fire stood vigil, and amalj’aan warriors paced between them, in case the intimidation was not enough.

It did not seem promising.

!The gall o’ the bastard, selling us out to the lizards,” one of the soldiers muttered. Their disdain for the Amalj’aa still bothered Ar’telan, but even if that moment had been the time to protest, he couldn’t speak without his hands.

“He’ll go down with us. Don’t you worry,” said the sergeant. “Poor comfort maybe, but it’s no less than he deserves.” 

Ar’telan bit his lip, shifting slightly to try and get into a sitting position. There was an air of grim inevitability around his fellow captives. Ar’telan supposed that one warm-blooded spoken was much the same as any other to the Tempered.

After all he had been through, all he had done, the idea that he might be Tempered was more terrifying than anything else. Bad enough that he might die away from home, his tribe never knowing what had become of him, but to lose his mind, his self… He shivered just imagining it.

“Not all that grand for a first outing, eh?” the sergeant said, seeing his discomfort. Unable to answer, Ar’telan simply hugged his knees.

–

Once every member of their company had roused from magically-induced slumber - some, especially Ungust, more noisily than others - the Amalj’aa forced all of them to their feet and led them at spearpoint deeper into the compound. Ar’telan walked with his eyes fixed on the floor, hearing the Amalj’aa that they passed expressing delight at so many fresh offerings for their god. Ungust tried to barter, offering them the money he had made selling his fellows to them if they would simply let him go, but they had no need for coin. Indeed, it seemed they had less need for fresh souls for the alter, either, given the prize they had just caught. There would be others, though. There were always others. Eikons were never satisfied.

Would he help them, he wondered, with his mind in the thrall of a god? Or would they be content to leave them to mutter fevered prayers to a deific image that was not even their own?

They were assembled in front of an amalj’aa who wore the garb of a priest, a staff in his hands with an effigy of flame atop it. Behind him, a grand circle had been cleared, the edges marked with char and cinder, and outside of it stood dozens of Amalj’aa. Waiting for the spectacle, he supposed.

There was a speech, of course. He and his fellow captives were offerings, a hideous concept to apply to the sentient. They would summon their god, prove their superiority, and all would bask in the Eikon’s light.

He had heard it before. When the lost dragons flew out of the wilds, they would scream of Bahamut’s glory in gutteral dragonspeak, or a Meracydian tongue so ancient it was barely understandable. But they never had this - never whole settlements devoted to an Eikon, every citizen down to a man enthralled. Never had he seen them in such numbers that they could successfully take so many, and the promise of rescue be so distant. How had it got this far? Did those in Ul’dah truly care so little about the lives of the Amalj’aa that they simply would not notice until it was too late?

He supposed there was little point in wondering about it now.

“Rejoice, heathens! For your wretched lives shall soon have meaning!” the priest declared, the Amalj’aa around him raising their voices in prayer. He lifted his staff to the sky, and their was a great gout of flame, so intense it seemed to blot out the sun. Ar’telan flinched away frm it, unable to cover his eyes, but even then he could hear it.

“Pitiful children of man. By my breath I claim you!”

There was a heat, so hot Ar’telan felt that he might catch fire just standing there. He heard those around him fall to their knees, heard the murmuring of the Tempered, and felt-

Nothing.

“Impossible! By what sorcery do you refuse my master’s will?” The Priest demanded, anger in every taut muscle. Uncertain, Ar’telan opened his eyes.

The creature they called Ifrit was a monstrosity made flesh. A skeleton halfway between man, dragon, and Amalj’aa all, with a crown of burning horns and wicked spikes. There was no muscle upon the frame save that which held it together, and it balanced upon claws which tore gouts into the earth. As Ar’telan met its eyes - hollow, burning points of fire, yet still somehow expressive - it hissed.

“Your soul is claimed by another-” the Priest began.

“I smell the taint of the Light upon thee,” Ifrit hissed, its words stopping the Priest in his tracks. “We were warned of thy abhorrent kind. Thou shalt not be suffered to live!”

Ar’telan was shoved bodily forwards by the Amalj’aa behind him, and he staggered into the circle, eyes wide in terror. He could smell naught but ash and cinder, and the smoke rose so high it seemed to blot out the sky.

“The Lord of the Inferno shall prove his might!” the Priest declared. A lance was brought down on the restraints at his feet, and he all but jumped away from them in fear. His arms were yet bound, and they made no move to release him, but at least they were at his chest rather than at his back.

As if it would make a difference.

“My flames shall consume thy flesh and soul both!” Ifrit hissed, and Ar’telan threw himself to the side as a gout of fire erupted from its jagged maw. The prayers of the Amalj’aa rose to a fever pitch at the sight of their Lord engaged in holy combat, as if it would make much difference that Ar’telan could run before he burned. Perhaps - perhaps if he could hold out long enough, there would be help. Perhaps Thancred would come, and- and somehow not burn with him. 

He cast his eyes about for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. The fire would do him no good against a creature wreathed in it, and the Amalj’aa were not like to give up their own weapons, but perhaps there would be something. He wondered if it might not be better to let the fire take him, so they would not lose more people trying to save the dead, but he couldn’t. He would not lie down and die for an Eikon. So help him, even if the ending was inevitable, he would not offer himself up unchallenged.

Claws dug into the ground, and fire leapt up at Ar’telan’s feet. He ran as the ground cracked beneath him, flames roaring up from the gaps, launching himself across the  edges of the circle to give himself more room to evade. Those lines of char had become a moat of embers in the wake of Ifrit’s summoning, so an escape seemed to be entirely impossible, but so long as he could avoid those teeth…

Ifrit hissed in anger at his lack of immediate supplication. Its tail swung through the air like a cudgel, and with a powerful jump it flung itself across their makeshift arena. Ar’telan yelped, flinging himself into the dirt and scurrying through the dust clouds, rolling to avoid taking the full brunt of Ifrit’s claws in his face. He could not crawl, not with his hands bound, but perhaps-

“Succumb to the Inferno!” Ifrit demanded. It opened its maw once more, and Ar’telan threw his hands up in front of his face.

The force of the blast sent him careening across the dirt of the altar, and he howled in pain as his skin blistered in the heat. He could see the char flaking from what was left of his sleeves, the restraints at his wrists now lines of fire and pain. But metal… and heat…

He gritted his teeth, and yanked his hands apart. Fresh pain erupted like a lance on his skin, and he all but screamed at the force of it, but the chains buckled and snapped. He scrambled to his feet, watching the hate in Ifrit’s eyes glow to a rising crescendo.

“The kitten has fight in him!” the Priest declared, disdain dripping from every syllable. “A pity that it cannot save you!”

His hands shook. There was so much pain it was difficult to pinpoint which specific pieces of him hurt. His ears were ringing from the blast, and he could smell his hair burning.

No. he would not give up. He would not.

Ifrit roared, and with the sound came yet more fire, snaking across the dirt towards him. Great pools of it seeped in from the burning edges, moved by the sheer force of the Eikon’s will, and Ar’telan stumbled between the gaps. With so much heat around him it was impossible to tell whether he felt the scorching price of failure, or simply the oppressive, burning air.

With a huff, he tore what was left of his left sleeve from his robe, tying it behind his head with quick motions as he ran. Not as deft as he would have been, had his hands not been burning, but it stayed in place all the same. He could not protect his eyes from the smoke, but perhaps he would eke out a few more precious seconds before his lungs succumbed to it. 

Ifrit paused.

With a great heft of sinew, it clambered like a stalking cat towards the centre of the arena. Ar’telan backed away, cautious of the embers at his back, but it seemed content to wait where it stood. It raised its hands to the sky, and the aether in the air itself seemed to ripple and warp at the Eikon’s will.

With a screech of displaced air, it buried a burning nail of hot coals into the ground, and locked eyes with Ar’telan.

“Surrender thyself to the fires of judgement!” it hissed, the words formed around it rather than issued from its twisted maw. Ar’telan could see the embers pulse within this new creation, a ticking time bomb of hatred and aether.

But it was something he could touch.

He hurled himself forwards. Ifrit swiped at him as he did so with those sharp, burning claws, and he tumbled beneath the Eikon, between those spindly legs, and scrambled away from its claws. Ifrit twisted, lashing its tail out as it turned, and Ar’telan ducked around it. Another pool of fire formed at his feet, and he careened out of it and back towards the centre.

“Fool,” Ifrit hissed, and Ar’telan put his hands upon the nail and pulled.

It hurt. It hurt even more than the fire he had been doused in, like holding fire in his hands. He shrieked as he tore it from the earth, and held on to it through force of will alone.

“You cannot hurt me with what is mine, mortal,” Ifrit said, its hissing cadence mocking Ar’telan’s pain. He gritted his teeth, feeling the dangling chains of his restraints tapping against the nail, and started to run.

 First map the arcanima’s outline.

Ifrit hissed at him, belching flames to stop his advance, and he ducked between pools of flickering flame and the Eikon’s more personal onslaught. Every time he reached new ground, he dragged the pulsing nail against the floor, leaving a searing line of ash and aether in his wake.

A circle. The pain in his hands had stopped, which was not a good sign at all.

Next, choose its purpose.

He stumbled and weaved between the edges and the centre. Ifrit’s claws hit home more than once, ripping his robe to shreds and leaving bloodied trails in their wake, but he bit back the pain with enough force to break the skin on his lips. Lines towards the centrepoint, bending around the points of aetheric confluence. He was not bookish, not truly, but he had devoted himself to this. He knew them by heart.

“Thy soul shall burn for all eternity!” Ifrit screeched. A swipe of its tail finally landed true, and Ar’telan went tumbling to the floor. The nail hissed and seared against the skin of his leg, and he choked back tears at the pain of it. He limped towards death. But he would not go easy.

The nail did not fall free from his hands only because it had fused to the skin.

With the aether thus primed, chain the power, that it does not bite you back.

Ar’telan would burn with the Eikon if he must.

And when you are sure of safety, close the circle.

He hauled himself to his feet as best he could. One leg did not entirely respond to him, so he lurched in place. The fire in the nail was vibrating to a fever pitch - it would not be long before his folly exploded in his face.

One line. Just one line more.

“Thy trickery will not save you, mortal,” Ifrit said. With shaking steps, Ar’telan walked forwards. Fire followed him, as it seemed so wont to do, and he stumbled into the epicentre. Ifrit’s rage became a snarl of imminent victory as the ground buckled to vent boiling air.

Ar’telan raised the nail and slammed it into the earth.

Aether rippled out in a wave, rushing along the lines with a white-hot fervour. Fire became raw energy in the arcane sigil, a shrieking sound as power strained against the earth. All of the aether that Ifrit had channeled into its weapon of choice exploded into the sigil with a force that threw Ar’telan from his feet, and as the circle closed, Ifrit howled. Ar’telan, flat on his back and dizzy from the force of it, felt the exhaustion of using so much aether, so much terror, and found he could not move. But there was no more noise from Ifrit, no more anger, no more defiance, no more certainty.

The Eikon was dead.

He heard the Amalj’aa raised their voices in anger as they realised what he had done, and as his vision dimmed he knew he would not survive their ire, even if he had evaded that of their lord. But it was enough. He would be no primal’s plaything, no subject to the whims of twisted miscreations. For his homeland - for Meracydia - he owed that much.

[enzelffxiv]

I imagined it would be tedious to teach 4 different VAs for the same character the conlang so yeahhh. That makes sense.

...it just occurred to me that I could have just checked Behind the Voice actors instead of trying to shuffle through a bunch of cutscenes. And it does look like the dragons that *only* speak in Dragonspeak have a single VA listed, wheras the others have multiple for different languages. So that answers that!

its wild to me that for as much as people rave about the voice acting in FFXIV (and rightfully so), i've literally never seen anyone talk about the performances for nidhogg and hraesvelgr???

like those VAs were having to deal with a conlang that looks like this:

and still managed to give really great performances with emotion befitting the content of each line

anyway this is an appreciation post for simon greenall (nidhogg) and steven hartley (hraesvelgr), absolute legends

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt #2 - A Father’s Blessing

<No spoilers, but Heavensward story content>

Aberrant - ‘departing from an accepted standard’

————————————————

It was still so terribly strange to be walking the paths of the Churning Mists, walking upright with the feet and toes of a girl rather than the claws. She still remembered the day she was struck down and sank beneath the waves of the Ruby Sea, the day her life forever changed. In the eyes of a human, it had been a millennium. For most dragons, it had only been yesterday.

To her…to Kadlin, it felt like eons.

The wind around her shifted, a strong gust bearing down on her from above and the light horned auri woman turned her gaze to the sky as the great, white feathered wyrm, Hreasvelgr, floated down to land in the clear beside her. She smiled softly and followed him, standing before him as he lowered his head to her.

“Kadlin, my daughter,” His rumbling voice soothed her as she embraced his snout, rubbing her cheek and scales against his fur, “I have missed you. It is good to see you well and safe.”

Kadlin nodded, looking up into his eyes with a sad smile, “I’ve missed you too, father.” She was glad the ancient tongue of her scaled ancestors had not left her just yet.

Hraesvelgr hummed, “Your eyes always remind me of your mother…And she would have been proud of you.”

“Perhaps not of everything, but hopefully most things she would have. I at least avenged her partly…in some way perhaps.”

The wyrm sighed in a low hiss, “Revenge was never Ratatoskr’s way. Her nature was far too kind and understanding…but yes, you have set that vengeful spirit free.”

Kadlin nodded, “I um…I’ve had a lot to think about lately and…” She stepped back from him and moved to settle herself on a rock behind her, pushing back the skirt of her red dress to not bunch up the fabric around her scaled tail, “And I think…I have an answer for that question finally.”

Hraesvelgr knelt down to lay in the grass, curling his tail and wings around her as he listened. She took a deep breath before looking him in the eye, “I…I wish to remain amongst the mortals. Amongst man and his world.”

“Thou wouldst still trade thy wings for legs?” He replied, “Even after so long of being without them and being so far from home?”

“Please, do not misunderstand, Father. Full glad am I to be able to come home again and you know not how happy I was to see you all again and to still be able to see you when I like…but I have also lived in another world. I have seen its joys, its sorrows, and I have felt them myself. There are experiences I would have never dreamed of having while clad in the scales of my youth.”

“You say as if you are not still young,” He chuckled, earning him a look from the little blonde form of his daughter.

“The point I mean to say is…I love my home here, but I also love my home there…and I wish not to have to choose between them…if I may. Meaning i wish to be able to choose freely between my wings and my flesh as a please…if possible.”

The white dragon pondered this for a moment before a question rang through the air, “You have already learned to call upon your scaled form again after your battle with Nidhogg’s shade, but I sense that is not the issue. What made you come to this decision?”

Kadlin smiled weakly and looked down at her hands, fiddling with the ring on her finger, “I don’t mean to answer your question with a question but…do you remember…what it was like when you first met Shiva?”

Hraesvelgr growled softly at the mention of the Elezen woman, his eyes turning to the clouds where the setting sun was streaming through them, “I shall never forget that day. The moment our gazes met, our hearts never parted, and never have to this day.”

Kadlin smiled up at him, “I never understood what you meant as a hatchling when you would say that. I thought it was such a crazy notion to think about, but…now I…”

“You have found your heart in another then?” Kadlin froze, listening for the anger in her voice or the disappointment, yet it was entirely unreadable, “And He is a mortal, isn’t he? A son of Thordan.”

Kadlin’s hand shook as she fiddled with the ring more, swallowing hard, trying to keep herself calm in the face of the powerful wyrm, “Are you angry with me?”

There was a silence that felt as if it lasted a century until saw his shadow shade her and felt him push his nose against her head with a soothing purr, “Never, child.”

Tears spilled over from Kadlin’s eyes as she nuzzled against him again, smiling gratefully as he continued, “I have learned thy heart enough now to never be angry with you for following your heart. As I said, your mother would have been proud.”

She wiped her tears as he drew back, confusion rewriting her features, “You knew? How?”

The great dragon laughed, pointing his nose to her ring that she was still fiddling with, “I may be an old wyrm, but I still know the customs of man.”

She scoffed lightly, “I never said you weren’t! But I am sorry if it seems I deceived you or hid something from you. It was not my intention.”

“I know this. Your intention is ever the purest one,” Hraesvelgr lowered his head until he was eye level with her and they gazed deeply into one another eyes, “I have spent centuries isolating myself from the world, pining for the loves I have lost. ‘Tis a fate I choose for myself in remembrance of those we have lost, but I would not wish it on anyone, especially not you, little one.” He touched his nose to her hand and said, “Kadlin, my daughter and daughter of Ratatoskr, first of the name ‘Sailehsdran’…of the dragons chosen by Hydaelyn, you are always welcome home, my child, and you have my blessing to follow the path your heart leads.”

Kadlin smiled brightly through her tears, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand again and again to be able to see him clearly, happily laughing at her inability to stop them, “Thank you, Father. Thank you so much.”

“But tell that son of Thordan that if he dares to harm thee, I will see to it that there will be ought left but ash.” He chuckled darkly.

“I highly doubt you will need to worry about that with Ser Aymeric, but I’ll be sure to let him know, just perhaps a bit more gently so as not to scare him away,” Kadlin laughed with him.

He hummed in response, “I expect to see you before you are given away to him. Both of you, of course.”

“Whatever do you mean? I wouldn’t think of anyone else giving me over to my husband to be but im father. ‘Tis how the tradition must go, after all.”

It was sure to be a wedding Ishgard would not soon forget.

((‘Sailehsdran’ is actually ‘Hydaelyn’s chosen dragon’ in Dragonspeak, hence why is it my Auri version of Katsum’s last name ^^))

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 4: Baleful

Content Warning: Animal Death and Somewhat Graphic Violence Snap. Down came the full force of the wyvern's jaws upon the antelope. The creature twitched a few times, but laid still after that. Esredes released it from his mouth and wasted no time pinning the flank section down between his hands and bearing his teeth on it, tearing out a few chunks and swallowing them quickly. Unfortunately for the wyvern, being a large wyvern yet an average Elezen underneath was the worst combination possible when it came to energy and consumption. Long flights back to camp from other areas of the world like this one often taxed his metabolism, but he would never have the appetite to match that of a true dragon. All it took was several bites, barely more than a small fraction of the creature's body, and he always found himself unable to eat anything more. The wyvern stood over the carcass with blood running down his chin, but the rest would have to be a first come first serve. In small moments like this, Esredes couldn't help but mourn a little for the potential waste, and only hope it would all go to other creatures desiring of it far more than him. However, this thought process was quickly interrupted by a shriek, followed by an armored body tumbling down a snowy incline not too far in front of him. Esredes raised his head and widened his eyes, taking a few steps back as his eyes made out the Temple Knight armor and Elezen form. The man scrambled to his feet quickly, and when he laid eyes upon the large wyvern in front of him, immediately went to unsheathe his polearm and point it at him with narrowed eyes and a 'shit...' muttered underneath his breath. Esredes only backed up a little more, focusing hard on the Temple Knight, and matched his level of narrowed eyes, lowly growling as the best warning sign he could think of without speaking. The man was just about seven feet, and built like he could easily snap Esredes' human form's neck without even thinking about it. Yet even still, if he was truly alone, it wasn't ethical or practical to simply kill him, and as his hands clutched the polearm so tightly he wasn't sure how it didn't snap, it was all too easy to make out the faint trembling coming from him. Why was he out here alone? A roar interrupted their stare down from behind the man, and Esredes looked up to see another wyvern perched on top of the cliff the man had fallen from, who was making eye contact with him. Esredes raised his tail up and maintained contact despite the much closer threat, scanning its eyes. A common Nidhogg wyvern, he assessed after a moment. No sentience and lost to the song, just pursuing something it could get a bite out of. The wyvern flew down towards the Temple Knight, who wasted no time diving away from its point of landing. The wyvern was now mere feet away from Esredes, and in the distance that was closed, it had a better sense of just how small it was compared to the unnatural form. Esredes took a step forward towards it, letting out a vicious hiss towards the other wyvern. "Leave now," he said in Dragonspeak. "This one is mine, not yours."The wyvern backed away a couple steps, though it hissed back. It seemed to be evaluating its options when the Temple Knight rushed at it and stuck his polearm through its jaw. It came out through its head and the wyvern screamed, rolling onto its side and flailing around there on the snow as its thrashes slowly got weaker. All Esredes could do is watch in horror. Once more, he backed away. Was that the fate about to await him if he stuck around? Oh, hells no. He was not about to find out if the knight was strong enough to repeat that feat of strength on a larger target. Esredes turned and leaned back on his haunches to push himself off into the air. "Wait." He turned his head back and the knight was pulling the bloodied spear out of the wyvern's head and dropping it to his side, slowly approaching him with a hand raised in front of himself. "Dragon... why do you not hurt me so? Why do you turn and flee in spite of your great size?" Esredes found himself staring and unable to process the question. Was this a declaration of the desire to communicate, or a trick to lure him close enough to finish the job? He could not tell, and did not wish to speak to find out. The knight seemed to catch him glancing between his figure and the polearm, though, and threw it off behind him. "Were you trying to ward off that other one? You are so large and yet you shy away as if you could not eat me in one go." He stopped just below Esredes' face. "Why do you not attack?" Esredes said nothing, blinking down at the knight. He knew this situation well by now. You do not speak and give away what you truly are. The questioning party wanted to see an animal of companionship, not a beast. And Esredes was nothing if not a practical actor by now. He sighed in his own head, and lowered said head down to be closer to the knight, his eyes open in their look and his giant mouth smiling ever so slightly. The knight flinched and stepped away, but recomposed himself after a moment and kept his ground. He reached a hand out that was shaking, slowly... and touched the side of Esredes' cheek. Esredes kept from flinching- he did not like being touched in these situations with a dangerous stranger, but it was part of the act, so instead he gave in to the touch and leaned a bit more into it, increasing his smile. The knight said nothing. He merely slowly began to pet Esredes' cheek, with such pauses and awkward gestures as to indicate he couldn't believe what he was doing. His eyes fixated hard on the red leathery texture of Esredes' skin, then found themselves directed up at his orange eyes for a very long moment. Esredes pulled away in order to turn around and face the knight fully, his tail raised up. He lowered his head once more and looked upon the knight with eager eyes. Esredes personally did not think a single inch of either version of him could be considered cute in any way- but the look in the knight's eyes said that it had worked. That a part of him was finding it cute. Oh, wait. He began to wag his tail like a dog. This got the knight to laugh a little, of all things. "Perhaps you have the answers I seek, strange dragon." He said. "How could I unlock what is hidden in those eyes, if you do not speak?" He walked over to Esredes' arm and touched it, running a gloved hand almost down the length of it. Once more, Esredes kept from tensing up, merely looking down on him as he did so. "I can't believe what I am doing..." They didn't usually. Esredes brought his tail around and pointed the end towards the knight. The knight stared at it for a long moment, then brought his hand to touch it as well, running the gloved hand down one edge of the diamond. Esredes just watched, for he lacked nerve endings in the diamond. "I saw something the other week," the knight began. "Something that could only be answered by one of your kind. If this is destiny, laying itself out for me to take... Then I am ready to hear what fate has to say." Esredes crouched down, bringing himself lower to the ground, and pointed to his back with his tail as he stared the knight down with anticipation."There?" He asked. Esredes nodded. The knight hesitated a few more moments longer... then climbed on to Esredes' back and gripped him tightly. Esredes took a few steps forward and picked up the bloody polearm in one hand, curling it around a few fingers before pushing off the ground and taking off into the misty sky. It always went the same way. The passenger gripped even more tightly to him, kept their head low to his back, but give it a minute or so to get used to the sensation, and they rose their head up. And so came the best part- the laughter, the shouts of glee when they realized how amazing the feeling of flight really was. Not wanting to ruin the moment, Esredes waited until the knight was completely and fully calmed down from the high before he finally spoke. "It's surprisingly nice of a feeling, isn't it?" While he couldn't see it, he could feel the knight's aback reaction from the weight shift. "You... you do talk? Out of your- in- you're not- where are we going?" "That depends," Esredes said. "How far are you willing to go for these mysterious answers you seek? There are a variety of places I can take you, but some are bigger secrets than others for you to keep. Is it the word of a real dragon you're looking for? Because that is something I can give you, if you're not wanting secondhand accounts." The knight was silent. "You can call me Red." Esredes continued on. "Ser Red, if you want to be technical. It's nice to make your acquaintance, and I thank you for not spearing me through." "You were a Temple Knight?" "Long ago." Esredes said, and left it at that. "You have several minutes before you have to make a decision on your destination, so take it easy. In the meantime, tell me what is on your mind. I am listening." "I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't seem like you were..." "No worries." Esredes said. "I know I'm intimidating, but I'm not here to hurt you. And I assure you no one has ever fallen off my back- I have a perfect record." Even so, the knight remained silent. Esredes sighed quietly to himself, and kept flying. Patience was key for those in this state of mind. He would get his answer soon enough, and yet another would come to join him.

[akumanoken]

"The Highborn tongue," he answered. "I figured it would be useful... though I wouldn't be opposed to Dragonspeak either... sometimes I feel perhaps Dragonspeak would have been an easier choice," he sighed gently. "When I first got here, pronouncing names had been quite a challenge... I should've known the full tongue would be as difficult."

He looked like a forlorn student then, cheeks puffing just a little. "We are required to use a few phrases exclusively in the shelter to get used to it. It is slow going, but we are all doing our very best."

"Lessons with the children?" The thought made him chuckle. He can very well picture this bright eyes princess looking little different from the children around him. Sakura was still so young, he often forgot.

"I will take that a good sign that the tutors are being well received then. Wonderful!" He wants nothing more then Ishgard's future to be well learned & prepared. "Have you taken to the lessons of the highborn tongue? Or perhaps Dragonspeak?"

[sawbonessagahl]

LFRP: Ghoa Sagahl

The Basics –––

Age: 33

Birthday: 10th Sun of the Sixth Umbral Moon

Race: Au Ra, Xaela

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Heterosexual, Monogamous

Marital Status: Single (Engaged to NPC as part of Plot)

Server: Crystal DC | Mateus

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Long and a deep Chestnut Brown, typically pulled back from her face in a half-down style

Eyes: Cerulean and lightly slanted

Height: 4′10′’

Build: Slim and petite

Distinguishing Marks: None to speak of

Common Accessories: A turquoise gemstone in the center of her forehead, an indicator of her Khatun status among the Sagahl

Personal –––

Profession: Healer and Linguist

Hobbies: Traveling, Learning, Reading, Drinking, Singing (Throat Singing)

Languages: Common, Xaelic, Doman/Hingashi, Huntspeak, Amaljic, Ixali, Sahaginspeak, Gobbiespeak, Dragonspeak, Dalmascan, Rudimentary Garlean, Allagan & High Sylphic

Residence: Yanxia/Azim Steppe

Birthplace: The Azim Steppe

Religion: Undefined

Patron Deity: Nhaama

Fears: Feeling Trapped (Metaphorically and Physically)

Relationships –––

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Delger & Borte Sagahl

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: None

Pets: None

Traits –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information –––

Smoking Habit: Never

Drugs: Never

Alcohol: Constantly

RP Hooks –––

WELL TRAVELED. Ghoa has traveled the world over and it’s natural that she would meet many new people along the way. Whatever walk of life your character may be from, Ghoa is non-judgmental and strives to be friends with most people she meets.

HEALER Is there a doctor in the house? Ghoa is well known for her healing poultices and remedies. Those with more serious maladies may have even been at the receiving end of her healing touch.

POLYGLOT. Perhaps your character helped her learn one of those many languages she speaks? Perhaps she seeks to learn a new one or your character needs a lesson or translator?

KHATUN OF THE SAGAHL Other Xaela may take note of the gem on her forehead. It is a well known tradition among the Sagahl that the Khan and Khatun wear the accessory to mark their higher status among their tribe.

OOC info  –––

I am based in the CST timezone and most available IG in the evening around 7 or 8pm CST until early morning. I am also fairly free on weekends

I live to plot. Creating new or past connections is one of my favorite things about RP

I am A-Okay with Discord RP in addition to IG RP.

Communication is important! I like to talk to the people I RP with and expect any partners to be able to communicate with me.

Contact Information  ––

My Discord is Hufflepug#5984 or you can message me IG or here!

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Harry Potter and the Best Summer ( 2 | Inheritance)

Summary: AU - canon divergence. Harry had barely been back at the Dursley’s for two weeks, when an unexpected visitor arrived at the door. He quickly finds himself spirited away back to the wizarding world and learns some secrets that have long been kept from him.

A sequel to Of Family and Unexpected Friendship. Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune.

- - - - - - - 

2 | Inheritance

Harry managed a few bites of fruit and most of a sandwich for lunch and then Andromeda gathered them all up in order to floo into Diagon Alley. Leona hurriedly whispered to him that it was yet another form of magical transportation – one which apparently involved traveling by fireplace and made Harry think of all of the stories about Santa Claus – and that he needed to enunciate properly as well as focus on where he was going.

Harry could easily picture the twisting cobblestone streets, the Quidditch Supply shop, and the gleaming white building of Gringotts. Diagon Alley had left a strong impression on him after only a single visit and he doubted he would ever forget the way it looked.

“Don't breathe in once you step into the fireplace or else you'll choke a little on the smoke. Breathe in first and then step in and speak,” Leona advised as she reached out and took a pinch of sparkling powder from the pot Andromeda was holding. She winked at Harry and tossed it into the flames, pointedly breathing in before stepping into the fireplace. “Diagon Alley.”

Andromeda held the pot out towards Harry. “Would you like to go next?”

Harry felt a little nervous as he pinched some of the powder between his fingers. He followed Leona's directions to the letter, breathing in before tossing the powder and stepping into the flames. “Diagon Alley!”

The flames flared green and then suddenly everything was spinning and Harry had to close his eyes to keep from getting sick. It didn't last for long and then he was being thrown out of a fireplace, landing hard on a wooden floor in front of Leona's feet. He groaned in mild pain.

“It gets easier after you've done it a few times. Lets get you out of the way so everyone else can come through,” she said, bending over to help him up.

Harry gratefully accepted her hand, letting her pull him back up to his feet and a short distance away from the fireplace, which flared green as Aquarius stumbled out. She didn't fall over like he did, as she quickly righted herself and smoothed out her skirt before hurrying to join Harry and Leona. The three of them didn't have to wait long as Remy came through next, followed shortly by Andromeda.

“We're all here,” Andromeda looked over the three children with a pleased expression. “Harry, you and I will go to the bank to get everything squared away and we'll meet back up with everyone once we are through.”

The thought of being left alone with Andromeda made Harry nervous. She'd been nothing but polite and kind to him, but she was still an intimidating woman who he'd only met an hour or so ago. “Leona's not coming?” he asked, hopeful that his friend would step in and agree to go along too.

Leona shook her head. “Sorry, Harry. I need to go get fitted for new robes and I want to look into replenishing some of my supplies before the school crowd hits.”

“I could go,” Aquarius said quietly, gray-green eyes flickering from Harry to her cousin. “I don't need anything right now and it would make me feel less nervous about getting my test done next year if I could see Harry go through his. If that's alright with you, Harry.”

Although Aquarius was equally a stranger to him, she was also Leona's little sister and he wanted to make an effort to get to know her better, especially considering that it looked like he'd be staying with them for the remainder of the summer. Maybe having someone near his age would help calm his nerves.

Harry nodded in agreement and Aquarius beamed at him.

Remy bent to kiss Aquarius on the cheek, making her promise to behave for Andy, to which Aquarius responded with a sweet smile before skipping over and taking Harry's hand; an act which made her mother fondly sigh and shake her head.

They didn't dawdle near the Floo, quickly splitting up and walking towards their destination. Aquarius held onto Harry's hand as they followed behind Andromeda, who explained a few things about proper etiquette around the goblins and answered questions that Harry never would have thought to ask.

It wasn't unlike what he practiced in order to apologize to Malfoy the year before.

Harry fought back a cringe at the memory. Apologizing to Malfoy was his least favorite thing that came from learning more about the magical world, but he had to admit it hadn't been completely awful. The look of surprise on Malfoy's face when he approached and properly introduced himself was one he would cherish for years to come, and it was nice to be able to walk through the halls without worrying about being hexed by his sort-of nemesis or any of his cronies.

Evidently one of the few differences between greeting a wizard and greeting a goblin was in the way he was meant to bow. With wizards, he would place one hand over his sternum in a lightly clenched fist, while with goblins he was meant to keep both hands open at his sides when he bowed. It was meant to show that he was unarmed and something about goblins and wands that Harry didn't fully understand.

At least it would be easy to remember. Not that it helped with his nerves at all.

Aquarius squeezed his hands. “Goblins are kind of grumpy no matter what, but as long as you're polite they won't hate you!”

Harry attempted a smile, but he was sure it came across as more of a grimace. He didn't say anything as they entered Gringotts and he tried to hold his head high even with the attention that fell on the three of them as they strode over to one of the tellers.

Andromeda stopped and bowed before addressing the goblin there. “We are here about Mr. Harry Potter's inheritance test and to see about the unsealing of the Wills' of James and Lily Potter.”

The goblin, whose nameplate read “Narok”, regarded her with steel in his eyes before nodding. “Ganrig has been assigned to your case. He is waiting for you in Testing Room Three.” He gestured towards the opposite side of the hall, where there were several solid stone doors. A goblin stood at attention at each one.

“Thank you,” Andromeda said before ushering the children across the hall, carefully stepping around other witches and wizards as they hurried to-and-fro. They all stopped in front of a door with a “three” carved into the surface and bowed in greeting to the goblin there, who then knocked on the door and stepped aside, allowing them to enter as the door opened.

The office was done in varying types of stone; white floors marbled with green and walls of a darker brown. The shelves were made of something similar to the floor and had bold geometric shapes carved into them. Books and parchment took up most of the space, though there were also chunks of glittering gems. A sturdy desk sat in the center of the room, the top cleared of items aside from a simple metal bin, a roll of parchment, and a jeweled dagger. All-in-all, it was a space that showcased the talents of goblin builders and Harry found himself properly awed.

They all bowed to Ganrig and then sat once they were told to, with Harry in the center.

“The process to determine inheritance is simple. You will offer three drops of blood to the parchment and once your family's magic has finished, it will unroll and you will have proof of your claim as Heir of House Potter,” Ganrig said. He waited for Harry to acknowledge his statement, his expression unchanging, and then gestured towards the blade. “A finger will do, Mr. Potter.”

Harry could feel his arm trembling as he leaned forward and took up the dagger. He held his left hand over the roll of parchment, braced himself for the pain, and then quickly guided the tip of the blade to his index finger. It pierced through easily and Harry quickly let three drops of blood fall before pulling his hand away and returning the dagger to the table. His finger warmed and when he looked at it, the cut had already healed.

The roll of parchment seemed to glow as it slowly unfurled, revealing Harry's full inheritance.

Ganrig looked it over first and his only reaction was a subtle raising of one eyebrow. He seemed to think everything was in order and turned it so Harry, Andromeda, and Aquarius could read it as well.

Harrison James Potter

Father - James Charlus Potter (deceased)

Mother - Lily Marie Potter (deceased)

Godfather - Sirius Orion Black

Godmother - Alice Guinevere Longbottom

Magical Guardian - Remus Jane Lupin-Black

Heir of House Emrys (chosen by Magic)

Heir of House Slytherin (conquest, approved by Magic)

Heir of House Peverell (paternal line)

Heir of House Potter (paternal line)

  Recessive Lines -

House Evans (maternal line - newblood)

House Larkspur (maternal line)

House Eerie (paternal line)

Magical Interference -

Magic Dampener (applied at 11 months by Lily Potter)

Core Damage (curse scar)

  Inheritance:

  Properties -

Scale Tower (6-story tower)

Slytherin Manor (heavily damaged - cursebreaker required)

1/4 share in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Peverell Estate (main family home)

Potter Manor (traditional family home)

Cottage at Godric’s Hollow (heavily damaged. Cursebreaker and Wardlayer recommended.)

Potter Bungalow (secondary family home in West Bengal, India)

  Abilities -

Dragonspeak (House Emrys)

Parseltongue (House Slytherin)

Dark Core

  Vaults -

Historic Vault of Emrys (locked until age of majority)

Emrys Family Vault (locked until age of majority)

Emrys Heir Trust Vault

Slytherin Family Vault (locked until age of majority)

1/4 Hogwarts School Vault (for use of funding for Hogwarts only)

Peverell Family Vault (locked until age of majority)

Peverell Family Historic Vault (locked until age of majority)

Peverell Heir Trust Vault

Potter Family Vault (locked until age of majority)

Potter Heir Trust Vault

While Aquarius gleefully latched onto the part where her mum was listed as Harry's magical guardian, Andromeda was more focused on a few of the troubling aspects that were revealed in Harry's inheritance.

“We will have to schedule a full cleansing,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the section labeled: Magical Interference. “The dampener never should have been allowed to remain on you for so long. Typically they're removed by the age of five. And now it's clear that no healer was able to examine your scar for any residual magic.” Andromeda pursed her lips. “Ganrig, what are the goblin means of determining who took it upon themselves to illegally act as Harry's magical guardian?”

“There are several options that I am aware of, but I would recommend an appointment with the Judiciary Task Force.”

Harry found he cared less about the interference part and more about the bit where he was evidently the Heir of Slytherin. And what did it mean that he was chosen by Magic? Was that something significant? Did it mean it he wasn't blood related to those lines? If that was the case, then how could he inherit those Houses?

He didn't remember reading anything about Magically chosen Houses.

“What's House Emrys?” Harry asked.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Andromeda collected herself and was able to respond. “House Emrys is among the oldest wizarding families in the United Kingdom and is considered a Royal House by our modern rankings. It sits alongside of House Pendragon, House le Fay, and House Caer Lleon. We will speak more about this once we return home.” She turned her attention back to Ganrig. “I would like to request a copy to take with us, charmed to be unreadable by anyone without Harry's permission.”

Ganrig promptly agreed and removed a second scroll from beneath his desk. While he cast the necessary spells to create a protected duplicate, Andromeda took the time to explain a few more things about the Houses he inherited.

“Your Primary Lines show which houses you directly inherit. You are the Heir of four different Houses and will need to take time to learn about each of them. Recessive Lines are those you carry in your blood but have not been named as Heir. You should still study them in case that changes when you take your second inheritance test when you turn seventeen,” Andromeda said. “As far as properties go, you will spend the summer meeting with the goblins in charge of each of your holdings and then you may go and visit the ones that do not require repairs.”

Harry wanted to ask about his magical abilities, but before he had the chance to do so, Ganrig finished making a copy of his test and was preparing to move on to unsealing the Potters' Will. He filed away the original test and cleared away the dagger before a hidden door opened to admit a younger-looking goblin. He placed an ornate box on the desk and then hurried on his way without saying a word.

“I ask Mr. Potter to place his hand on the box, which will use a sample of his magic to verify that he is the son of James and Lily Potter. The contents of their Will are charmed to speak in their voices and a pensieve will be required as proof to the ministry that it has been read and fulfilled,” Ganrig told them.

“As a neutral third party, I will provide the pensieve,” Andromeda volunteered.

With that settled, Harry leaned forward in order to reach the box and laid his hand over the lid. It rapidly warmed and then there was a clicking sound that he took to mean it was unlocked, so he withdrew and sat back, letting Ganrig open the box.

At once, the voices of his parents filled the room.

“I, James Charlus Potter.”

“And I, Lily Marie Potter.”

“Of sound mind and body, do declare this to be my Last Will and Testament,” they spoke together, their combined voices making a powerful statement.

Harry struggled to listen to what they were saying, but was so taken aback by hearing their voices for the first time in his memory that most of his attention was on trying not to break down and cry. Most of it seemed to be straightforward anyway.

He was listed as their sole heir and beneficiary. All of the Potter properties and vaults belonged to him, which was reflected in his inheritance test. There were a few other names listed who would receive either galleons or personal belongings; Leona was named specifically by Lily, who left her a series of childrens stories. (A reminder of just how long ago their Will was meant to be read.)

“We name Remus Jane Lupin-Black as the magical guardian of our son, fully aware of the condition she is afflicted with. In the event that neither she, nor Harry's godparents - Sirius Orion Black and Alice Guinevere Longbottom – are able to take Harry in, guardianship will be passed to another approved name on the list we have tied to our Will,” James said.

“Under no circumstances is Harry to be left in the care of my sister, Petunia Evans Dursley, nor any member of my family,” Lily spoke up, her sweet voice firm.

“Furthermore, we must address the matter of our passing. If you are hearing this Will, then that means we have been betrayed by one we have long considered family. The Fidelius Charm performed on our house is one that is only broken by the death of the Secret Keeper. Should the charm be unbroken, it means they willingly gave us up to the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort.”

“We name Peter Benjamin Pettigrew as our Secret Keeper and forewarn that he has an animagus form of a common brown rat. Further details are listed in a letter tied to our Will.”

Aquarius gasped in shock, her hands rising to cover her mouth. Even Andromeda looked pale and shaken by the news, though Harry could only begin to guess why.

“With Harry's permission,  I request a written copy of the Potters' Will to be sent to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and be placed directly in the hands of Madam Amelia Bones, along with a duplicate pensieve so she may view my memories as well,” Andromeda said, taking obvious care with her words.

Once Harry gave permission for the copy, Ganrig agreed to have it sent, though he had one more question for them before he could do so: “Which House Crest will be placed upon your message?”

“I believe Potter and Black will be enough to garner her immediate attention.”

While Andromeda handled things with the letter, Harry leaned over to talk to Aquarius, who appeared to be on the verge of openly sobbing into her hands. Heavy tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and onto her blue skirt.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asked her.

Aquarius shook her head. “W-we didn't know. Everyone thought... everyone thought someone else was their Secret Keeper. Everyone blamed him.”

Harry frowned, slowly piecing together why Andromeda was so intent on sending a copy of the Will. If everyone thought Peter Pettigrew was innocent, then that meant he was walking around freely. If everyone blamed someone else for betraying the location of James and Lily, then that meant there was an innocent person in jail.

“They can get him out, right?” Harry asked.

“I hope so.”

It only took Andromeda a few more minutes to get everything settled and then the three of them stood to thank Ganrig for his time and left his office. Aquarius and Harry had to nearly run in order to keep up with Andromeda's swift pace.

“Andy, what do we do now?” Aquarius asked.

“We go home and wait for news. I'll send a message to Remy and Leona from there,” Andromeda responded tersely. Her gaze flickered to Harry and she slowed down when she realized she was moving too quickly for them. “We have a great deal to talk about. There are things about our family we have deliberate kept quiet about and you need to know about them in order to understand the situation we are in now. Do not speak of anything that we have learned until we return to Oakstone, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry and Aquarius responded.

Andromeda nodded in satisfaction and the three of them silently walked through the streets and back to the building that held the Floo network.

Once there, Andromeda stopped for a moment to write a quick note. She tapped her wand to it and it folded itself up into the shape of a bird, which fluttered its wings as it took to the sky and went off in search of Remy and Leona.

They sent Aquarius through first and then Harry reluctantly tossed a pinch of floo powder into the flames and stepped through. He hoped Leona was right about getting used to traveling that way. It was very uncomfortable.

“Oakstone Manor,” he breathed out and was whisked away to his new home.

[ambroseffxiv]

LFRP - Ambrose

special thanks to @crimsonfluidessence for the edited lfrp!  NOTES: most of initially mentioned notes on how Ambrose’s ability ties to Arcanima/works (in a simple sense) can be found on his Carrd profile found under the cut.

Overview

- Report from The Supreme Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine -

The Metaxas creature is a violation of not only the laws of Her Holy See of Ishgard, Her word within the Enchiridion, as well as the laws of the recently reclaimed Stone Vigil, Darkhold, and outposts of Camp Dragonhead, Whitebrim Front, Rosehouse and others, but a violation of nature herself. We are to do whatever within our power under Halone’s guidance to bring this creature to justice for the Greater Good.

NAME: Ambrose Metaxas PRONUNCIATION: Am-Bro-S Meh-Tax-Us RACE: J Tribe Miqo'te/Plainsfolk Lalafell Mix GENDER: Male (Trans, fully transitioned) AGE: 19 BIRTHPLACE: Ala Ghiri, Gyr Abania, Tailfeather, Dravania CURRENT RESIDENCE: Ren Huang’s Goblet apartment or personal apartment in the Lavender Beds PLACES THEY FREQUENT: Ul’dah, Gridania, Dravania DISCIPLINE: WAR/SMN(/DNC?) OCCUPATION: Retainer: gathering specialty in botany, combat specialty in WAR, botanist (specialized in seedkin)

SERVER:  RP MAIN: Balmung (Crystal) and MOSTLY CONTENT: Jenova (Aether) Different Data Centers=Different Universes, so treated as different instances

Personality

AT A GLANCE: Prickly, like a cactuar. Ambrose isn’t that hard to open up, but you have to be a certain type of person. He’s known to be stoic, cold and barely reacts to small attempts to garner his attention. BELOW THE SURFACE: A child at heart, he collects toys and dolls, and enjoys being able to play when he can in-between work. He’s also bubbly and energetic once past his initial walls, happy to lend a hand if needed. MOST DEFINING TRAITS: Extremely loyal to a fault, and when you do gain his trust, Ambrose will trust that person equally to a fault, unless proven otherwise with strong evidence, and even then, unless they are against his personal morals, he may follow without question anyway.

Motivations and Beliefs–––-

Worshipper of Shiva 

Dislikes the Twelve, but knows there’s a distinction between what the Twelve teach to how people may interpret it.

Seeks some revenge everything that happened to him. Passionately hates the Ward and Ishgard for everything that was done to him and the people he loves for years, and Garleans for robbing him of what he had and putting him in a prison when he tried to escape.

Despite everything that’s happened to him, Ambrose maintains a relatively kind and cheerful demeanor towards people, and despite his want for vengeance, wants to help make the world a better place through kindness as well.

Backstory–––-

- Further documentation from The Supreme Sacred Tribunal of the Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine -

The Metaxas creature is said to originate from the Dravanian Forelands, though it’s appearance begs a different origin for it. [Further investigation under way.] No hunter of Tailfeather has been suspected of heresy, however, the Metaxas creature has been reported in both the Dravanian Forelands and the Coerthan Western Highlands.  Following the initial sightings of the Order of Black Lotus, the Metaxas creature was first witnessed from a scouting group from Falcon’s Nest, seen making a large explosion of fire in what is believed to be a summoning of Ifrit. Other sightings were by other creatures similar to the Metaxas one, such as the Macelle creature, Clefier creature, and Gealionne creature.  After the elimination of the Order of the Black Lotus, the Metaxas creature was sighted in the Brume of our fair city, likely feeding on the innocent children of the poor. He went missing shortly after, sighted only years later.. Halone knows where or what he was doing before sightings resumed.

more under the cut!

Significant Relationships–––-

Vacho Vesucho - Father

J’nhakso ??? - Mother

Liloki Loki - Older Sister

Moh Ehs - Teacher and old friend

Oohr Seih - Old friend

Balmung

Esredes Rosemond - Adoptive father Leader and boss

Ren Huang - Boyfriend (? still complicated but not as much)

Akai Ikigomi - Friend

Additional Trivia

PATRON DEITY: Nymeia, the Spinner HOBBIES: Gardening, organizing, collecting dolls and toys to play with. Also collects miniature porcelain chocobo statues. ABILITIES: The ability to summon primals and aspects of primals into himself at a heavy physical cost, a higher level of aether within himself to manipulate and use. LANGUAGES: Dragonspeak, Old Elezen/Ishgardian/Landlord, Eorzean/Common (spoken only) FEARS: Excessive amounts of fresh blood, red on snow, large fires, the smell of burnt flesh, people who have an affinity with flames, excessive amounts of blood and gore on the color white, various other things that he won’t name. SEXUALITY: Homosexual HEIGHT: 4′11″ BUILD: Ambrose is a muscular yet soft looking man, trained to be a warrior, and be able to protect his fellow test subjects if necessary. The latter was fruitless, but gave Ambrose a routine to follow, and with how intensive retainer work can be, he kept himself in shape for a long time to be able to keep up with all of his clients. Nowadays, he’s much more soft, but still easily able to do heavy lifting and fighting, but for much less time. Otherwise, he has soft curves and larger than average thighs, and an overall curvaceous figure for a young man of his age. He is not uncomfortable with himself at this point in his life. (Reference NSFW) (See: Deviations from ig model ref for SFW references) DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Stripes, massive fangs that don’t seem to fit his mouth, but cleanly fit behind his lips, tiger ears, paws on his legs, unnatural eyes. COMMON ACCESSORIES: Cactuar earring on right ear, two rainbow colored earrings on his right hand. DEVIATIONS FROM IN-GAME MODEL: The paw legs, ears, teeth and much of his stripes, his tail is also much longer. Pupils are also white, and are less like slits, and moreso akin to plainsfolk eyes. (Reference art by elizastarkart, Reference)

Things you should know about my character: I play him how I play him. He might be an absolute ass to you, and walk out on a scene. I am not responsible for the trouble he gets into icly. Additionally, if you want to interact with him but want nothing to do with his primal side, I have no intentions to push anyone to have to be involved with anything with his primal side. That being said, if i make you uncomfortable, that’s different. Please say something so that I can fix it! I like to think I’m very adaptive to what I’m given, so don’t feel like you’re bothering me. But if him walking out because your character pisses him off and you get pissed off with me oocly for it, I’m gonna bring this up. Gets along with: Anyone kind to him initially. He’s immediately fond of people who will be willing to be nice right off the bat, and tends to favor them most. Otherwise, if you respect him and his ways, he’s inclined to like you more. Could go either way with: Anyone who doesn’t follow either extreme. He’s had to deal with other people most of his life, and most initial reactions are him being relatively shy or at least closed off, refusing to answer anything personal, even vague.  Unlikely to get along with: People who have no sense of morality whatsoever, people who treat him like a child simply due to size and age, and, of course, those who are aware of who and what he is, and intend to act because of it. 

possible hooks –––-

In Need of a Retainer/Interest in his ASSets

The last part is a joke- But he does have a nice ass. Ambrose is a retainer, and has many clients all over Hydaelyn, so long as it isn’t Ishgard/Coerthas. Ambrose serves adventurers, nobles, anyone who’s up to having a retainer, though non-adventurers will need to pay his salary themselves. He does not take ventures for his services at least, and accepts meals in return for work. Currently trying to save up for a place of his own.

Primal Summoning

Ambrose is a summoner, his brand is.. Complicated, but something definitely interesting to anyone who is invested in primals, Allagan summoning with egis, or arcanima in general. To summarize Ambrose’s summoning briefly, he has various etchings in arcane ink on his arms and legs, stemming the flow of primal energy when he summons them into himself. His summoning is akin to how both Shiva and Tsukuyomi were summoned, and so long as Ambrose can form an idea of what they look like, has the will for it, and is at his full aetherical capacity, can summon any primals that do not need a catalyst (Zantetsuken, the three kojin artifacts, and Tsukuyomi’s mirror, are all catalysts.) This would mean that you would need to know that Ambrose is.. Who he is, however. This hook means a lot more talking about meeting.

Botany help

If neither of those are your cup of tea, Ambrose is a botanist trained under Fufucha, guildmaster of the Botanist’s guild in Gridania. He originally picked up gardening as a hobby through his love of flowers, something he didn’t see for a long time after the Calamity hit Coerthas. His love for flowers eventually manifested in him caring for many once he was attempting to sign onto being a retainer, and was accepted into the Botanist’s guild in the meantime. He still is connected to them, and does some jobs for them if they request it.

Veteran of the Dragonsong War?

This one is a little complicated, but a hook I’ve been meaning to add. Ambrose was deeply steeped in the Dragonsong War for as long as he was able to- At least 4-6 years, depending on how long you see ARR and HW taking. He was not anywhere near Ishgard during Stormblood, instead being held in a cell in Ala Mhigo. Ambrose, being a heretic of Shiva and frequently taking on his own missions, could be a familiar face to anyone who slayed dragons for years, or simply served their time in the Ishgardian military. A strange Miqo’te with unnatural eyes said to cannibalize those who drew too close, and rode on dragonback. Subsequently, if you have any heretic background, you may know him simply as Ambrose by word of mouth or through some of his more distinct features.

Mystery Man

If this wasn’t already a little clear, Ambrose is appealing in more way than one. If you feel your character would have an interest in Ambrose simply because of his looks, I am not going to stop you from using that as a hook! If you do, however, you would hear some rumors about a mysterious pony-tailed retainer coming out of nowhere to rescue people from thugs in alleyways, before disappearing into the night without a word. Considering Ambrose is muscular, he somewhat fits the description.. But he’s a bit short, isn’t he?

what I’m looking for ––––

I’m looking for long term stuff! And no, that doesn’t just mean ships. I really want Ambrose to have more friends and connections, ships are just a nice bonus if they come too.  When it comes to friendships, the only real requirement there is is an ability to break past Ambrose’s prickly exterior, or have a desire to. It is relatively easy if you have the right personality, but does take determination for others. Ambrose has a habit of stalking as well, and being okay with that ooc is important to me, and if you need me to stop, I will.  For ships, I’m not picky, but we have to at least RP once before I’ll consider it. I also am picky with ERP, so if you’re going to come into things with the intention of just becoming Ambrose’s fuckbuddy, I have bad news. On Balmung/Crystal he is now in a monogamous relationship in canon, and they’re in the courting phase of things. I am open for AU romance and side timelines, but main timeline Ambrose is not up for romance. I am not looking for any ooc romance, and will stop talking to you if you make clear intents for it.

oocly, I am ––––

I am a perpetually sleepy 20 yr old trans dude with a boyfriend and likes coffee and drawing thighs. I have terrible handwriting and equally terrible taste in music, and I draw a lot. Throwing ideas with me is an invitation for my art. I prefer being explained a character than reading (ironic i know) or learning about them through rp. I get very distracted very easily, and on discord will either spam you forever or be too shy to talk initially! Please be patient with me.

you can contact me via ––

Twitter: @miqosabotender Tumblr (Main): @senorsabotender Discord: satan#9018 carrd: eikon.carrd.co <-also contains full background, more hooks and other information worth knowing In-Game: Ambrose Metaxas