#Dragon King Thordan

[liminalitycarb]

Dragons and death everywhere!  But WE'RE MAKING PROGRESS! Highlights from Week 23 of Dragonsong's Reprise Ultimate with the No Crits Allowed group are live now! 

Hopefully we’ll get more than 1 iteration of Dragon King done next week!

[naldthal-thetraders]

Various doodles I made for a friend in the static! 

The headshot was a commission, n the bottom 2 were lil gifts when they cleared DSR.

[jewish-anime]

Portrait of the Lord and Lady Greystone, c. 7th Astral Era, Ishgard. Artist unknown.

One of few surviving portraits from this era, and the only portrait of the Warrior of Light painted during her lifetime. It is believed that the Greystones sat for this painting sometime after their victory against Dragon-King Thordan, though records of the Eighth Umbral Calamity beginning shortly afterward cast doubts on the veracity of this claim.

____

i drew this like a year ago around when the seigneur outfit came out and only just now got around to coloring it lmao....... (the caption is a reference to my fic the paths not walked, wherein DSR is canon in the doomed timeline that the exarch came from)

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 17: Sally

three times rielle has cried. rielle POV & character study. appearances by rielle's father, ystride de caulignont, sidurgu, and fray. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: teen 2200 words. ao3 link content warning: mentions & brief descriptions of child abuse.

The girl raises the doll high in the air, her little round fingers holding it suspended by its arms on either side.

A pastel green dress, like hers. Buttons for eyes. Yarn for hair. An endlessly toothy smile.

She smiles back and giggles. The doll’s head flops to the side, staring at her with the same joy she had when she unwrapped her only moments before. But time goes quickly for a child this young, and there is a difference between then and now. Before and after.

Before, she was perched on the windowsill of her bedroom, having pulled herself up onto the place Mama forbid her to go. She knows she could get in trouble for it—already she flinches inside just thinking about it, imagining Mama’s tall shadow on the wall, the way her face twists when she yells, how cold her fingers are when she grabs her and puts her back in her place—but some days she doesn’t care. No matter how many times Mama has said the windowsill is dangerous, that she could fall and hurt herself, the girl still climbs on it when no one is looking.

There is a world outside, a world far more interesting than the wooden toy blocks on her floor or the pages of a little book of King Thordan and his knights twelve with their glittering armour and golden lances. A world of wide green fields and clear blue skies and little pink and yellow blossoms that float in the wind. Sometimes she thinks she can see dragons dancing round the mountaintops, magical and bright. She pointed to them once, and Mama batted her hand away, telling her she should not look for such things. Dragons are a omen of the evil that lurks in near their home.

But Papa doesn’t mind. He lets her look out the window all she wants. Sometimes he sits on the sill and holds her in his lap, letting her scrunch up her face and press it to the glass. He tells her stories of dragons and Elezen long ago, before there was such a thing as war. Before there was such a thing as the evil in the woods and the secret things that go bump in the night.

That’s where she was when Papa came to visit. He sat with her by the windowsill, a sad look on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. Why did he look so sad? She can’t remember the last time she heard Papa laugh, save for these small moments when he comes to visit. He’s gone most of the time. He has a duty to Halone and to House Caulignont, you see.

“Rielle,” he said. “Sweetheart. Come away from the window.”

It’s different when he says it.

She did as he asked and waited patiently, sitting on a little stool by the hearth with her hands clasped in her lap. That’s when he gave her the box. Small, simple, wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes lit up and she could not hold back her gasp. Mama has given her gifts before—a pretty dress whose hem is now ruined (her fault, she stained it with mud), a locket with flowers engraved upon it (lost in the snow when its chain broke), a book of devotional prayers (Mama doesn’t know she moves the bookmark every day)—but not like this. She tore through the wrapping eagerly and found the doll within, smiling that joyful smile up at her.

Which brings her to now. After.

The girl swings her legs back and forth as she holds the doll, taking in her beautiful hair and her beautiful eyes and her beautiful smile. A friend, perhaps—a perfect friend for a lonely girl has little else than the warmth of her father’s fairy tales and dreams, and the cold of her mother’s pious devotion.

“What are you going to call her?” Count Caulignont asks, resting his forearms against his knees as he watches his treasured daughter with a distant smile. “All little girls need names.”

“I’m not a little girl!”

He chuckles at her fierceness. “Very well, I stand corrected. Not little. But your friend there still needs a name.”

She stares up at her father with wide, shining eyes, and grins. The name comes to her immediately and she declares it loud and proud, hugging the doll tight.

There is no more windowsill to get her in trouble. No more glass to press her face against. No more mountains or clear skies or green fields or dragons.  

And no more Papa.

That all disappeared after the sky bled red and the moon came tumbling down and an everlasting snow swept over Coerthas.

Some days she lies on her cot and bundles her blanket together and hugs it. She’s cold and shivering without it, goosepimples breaking out all over beneath her threadbare dress, but at least she can pretend there is someone else here with her. At least she can pretend she still has a friend.

The doll isn’t here anymore. Mama took it from her, a punishment for not reading her prayerbook. She finally saw through the trick with the bookmark after all these years, even though the girl has read it out of want for something to do. But it doesn’t matter how many hymns to Halone she can recite or how well she can retell the tale of King Thordan and his knights, no amount of prayer can burn a heretic’s blood from her veins. Mama was so angry that day. The doll was tucked between the girl’s arms. She seized it and pulled, expecting it to come freely, but the girl could not let go.

Her friend’s head tore clean off, stuffing falling limply to the cold stone floor in puffs like snow.

The girl wailed in the aftermath, eyes shining with tears.

“Look what you’ve done, Rielle,” Mama said, her lip curling with disgust. “Don’t cry. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just given it to me. Now who’s going to put it back together? It’s ruined.”

But the girl could only cry.

And Ystride de Caulignont sighed, exhausted by her little girl, and walked away, heels treading across the doll’s ruined remains. She slammed the door behind her and left without another word, her voice later echoing down the long stairwell to the cells as she complained to a guard about the weeping child.

The remains are still here. Bits of cloth and stuffing stuck between the flagstones, unravelled yarn twisted around her bedpost, broken buttons rolled int the corners of the cell. Sometimes the rats pick away at it, stealing another bit to carry back to their nests. She’s seen it before, at night, their yellow eyes glowing in the dark when she jolts awake. They stare at her, as if surprised they are caught in the act, then squeak squeak squeak as they scutter away across the floor.  

She knows what happened to her only friend.

She can only wonder what happened to her father. She understands more as she gets older, from conversations between the guards when they think she can’t hear her. Heretics and dragons and something in her blood. Something in her father’s blood. Some days she finds herself praying—not to Halone, but to whatever else is out there—that it will awaken and she will burst forth from this tower and tear it down.

Papa wouldn’t like that. He didn’t like violence, he didn’t like fighting. His face was too kind for that. He was a knight and he performed his duties well, right up until the day he never came back.

Was it the sky that killed him? That awful, awful day of the moon? Or did Ystride kill him, too? Pop his head clean off and leave him for the rats? She hates that she can imagine it so well, blood and all.

It’s the nightmare that haunts her when she’s asleep and shivering, when she should be dreaming of those pink and yellow blossoms she never got to see up close.

“Godsdammit, Fray, where do you think we’re going to get the gil for this?”

“A problem for later. This is a problem for now.”

“It’s only a problem because you’ve developed a frivolous streak. What happened to frugal living?”

“Call it living a little. Besides, frugality is something only Temple Knights care about, Sid. I never thought you’d be one to pick up their habits.”

“Bloody hells—”

Fray laughs and adjusts his helmet, striding faster down the street. Sidurgu curses again and stomps after him, his hulking form cutting a swath through the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd here. The village is small, nestled on the border between Coerthas and the Dravanian Forelands, far enough down the slope to escape the snows. She’s not sure if it even has a name. Fray and Sidurgu stand out among the locals, but no one pays attention to her. She fades into the background, unnoticed. She can pick the pink and yellow flowers from the terracotta planters without anyone yelling at her. Steal an apple from a vendor’s table. Nick a bracelet from a merchant.

“…say what you want, but she needs something.”

“She doesn’t need a doll, she’s too old for things like that.”

“How would you know what she needs? Have you ever been a little girl, Sidurgu? No? Thought not. You’re far too spikey for that. Besides, I have it on good authority that it’s not only little girls. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we all carried a stuffed animal or two well into our adult lives.”

She makes a face. I’m not little, she wants to say, but when do adults ever listen to her.

Sidurgu, meanwhile, grumbles under his breath and reaches around his horns to scratch the back of his neck. Strange to think that she was afraid of him at first. She had never seen an Au Ra before. But no matter what some Ishgardians think, he isn’t the one who is part dragon.

She’s not so sure about herself some days.

“…gods bloody well dammit—”

“Must you swear so much? Children have ears, you know.”

“And children are smarter than you think, Fray, little cursing won’t hurt her.” He sighs and shakes his head, passing a hand across his face. “Let’s split up. We’re getting nowhere.”

The girl watches as her guardians part ways, disappearing through the crowd, each assuming that she is following the other without checking. She would call them dunderheads if she could get away with it, but for now she errs on the side of caution. As nice as they have been—swearing and all—she doesn’t know them and they don’t know her. She’s simply a girl in a tower, imprisoned by monsters and rescued by knights.

Papa told her a fairy tale like that long ago.

For now, she perches on the edge of a bridge, swinging her feet back and forth as she watches the river rush below. The sun beats down, warming her neck, and the warm air is pleasant on her face. She clasps the bracelet around her wrist and dumps the flowers in her lap, poking through them as she takes a big bite out of the stolen apple. It’s sweet and juicy, far better than anything she has tasted in a long time.

“Rielle!”

She finishes her apple and tosses it away, watching it plunk into the rippling water.

“Rielle!”  

She swings her legs and plucks at a flower, pulling it apart. She scatters the blossoms into the air and watches them soar.

“RIELLE!”

The girl startles, looking up as Sidurgu runs down the bridge, armour clanking frightfully with every step. He’s gasping by the time he reaches her, either with relief or panting for breath or both.

“Bloody hells,” he rasps. “Please say something before you disappear like that.”

She blinks and rises to her feet, brushing down the front of her dress. “I thought it was all right,” she says. “You and Fray weren’t far.”

“I know, but…” He trails off, an anxious look crossing his face. “Tell us next time. Please.”  

She nods. She can do that. “What’s that behind your back?” she asks, pointing.

“I, uh…” He pauses. “It was Fray’s idea… well, mine, too. But…”

“What?”

He exhales a breath and kneels down, lowering his towering height so they can see each other eye to eye. “We thought you might like something,” he says gruffly. “A friend to keep you company on the road, wherever we might find ourselves.”

She nods again.

“I, uh… Here.” He removes the object from behind his back and presses it into her hands. Not wrapped this time. The eyes are different. The hair, too. But the smile is the same. “The woman told me its name is Sally, but I suppose you can call it whatever you like—”

The familiar name hits her like a lightning strike. With a sob, Rielle takes the doll and crushes it to her chest, hugging it as if she will never let go.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Knight-Dragoon timeline (as pulled from Encyclopedia Eorzea)

Hee :D

So it occurred to me today that the possible Knight-Dragoon timeline (condensed) isn't really like...established anywhere so you know what? LORE BE UPON YE

------

360: Elezen settlers move into the Sea of Clouds, and start building what will later become Saint Thordan's Basilica on a mountainside. Small villages to support this endeavor spring up nearby, laying the groundwork for what will eventually become the city-state of Ishgard.

350: As part of the overall migration waves, hyuran tribes--along with a band of displaced elezen from Central Aldenard--come to settle in Coerthas.

370: Hraesveglr and Shiva commit consensual vore and entwine their souls together. This triggers an era of peace between man and dragon. (This is probably when a proto-Knight Dragoon order formed or at the very least, the beginnings of one)

550: King Thordan and his knights twelve launch an unprovoked attack on Ratotoskr, killing her and consuming her eyes to gain power. Nidhogg kills the king and half his knights, but is defeated and summarily robbed of his eyes by Haldrath, Thordan's son. Haldrath renounces his rights as king to become a dragon hunter. Nidhogg gains an eye from Hraesveglr and swears vengeance. He invokes the power of the First Brood to blood-curse the remaining knights twelve and their future progeny. (If there was a proto-Knight Dragoon order, this event would have KO'd it)

565: Exhausted from hunting dragons and fighting Nidhogg's influence, Haldrath passes on his mantle to Berteline Cordillelot. Subsequently he is then given a mercy kill by Berteline and her father as Nidhogg threatens to overwhelm his will. (At this point the Church is possibly brought into the loop regarding Nidhogg's eyes. Haldrath's Eye-embedded corpse is interred and probably magically sealed away, while Nidhogg's other eye is used by Berteline.)

interlude: This is probably the point where the foundation is laid for what becomes the Knight-Dragoon order we see and encounter in ARR/HW.

761: The Azure Dragoon Valeonyant repels an attack by Nidhogg, who has been asleep for several decades.

787: The Azure Dragoon Valeonyant leaves Ishgard to defend a small village from the Dravanian Horde, but is killed in battle protecting a group of shepherds (personal note: I fucked up on this one a while back in a previous post, I listed Valenoyant's death year as 763. ^^;)

817: 30 years after his death, Valeoryant is canonized by the Holy See.

1058: An unnamed Azure subdues a massive dragon in the western highlands of Coerthas, laying the groundwork for the dragon's corpse to become the floating isle known as the Dreaming Dragon.

1146: The Lady Dragoon Reinette avenges her lover by slaying the dragons that killed him. She then gives up her Gae Bolg and takes holy orders, becoming a nun for the rest of her life.

1189: Lady Reinette, former Azure Dragoon, dies in a nunnery at age 66.

1289: In an attempt to distract the public from corruption in the Church, the Holy See canonizes Lady Reinette as a saint. It fails as a distraction.

1380: Ursulie the Meek creates the Dragonlancer's Armor and Brionac. Following the rejection of her creations and smithing techniques by the Holy See, she leaves Ishgard.

1557: Azure Dragoon Alberic Bale forces Nidhogg to flee after his destruction of Ferndale. He then resigns as Azure, seeing to raise the only survivor of the attack--Estinien Varlienau.

-----

(more personal musings on the dates to come later)

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 25 - Perpetuity

Rael had seen many impressive and fantastical thing already in their short life, from the deepest corners of the Golmore Jungle and throughout all the lands they had traveled. But never had they seen something that was so terrifying and beautiful at the same time as one of the great wyrms.

On white feathery wings the dragon Hraesvelgr had descended from the sky and his presence alone radiated such an ancient powerful energy that it made Rael’s skin crawl in awe. They could hear him speak aloud, a deep voice in a strange tongue, that sounded foreign and familiar alike. But at the same time it felt like his words echoed in their mind and in their soul and Rael, as well as the others, seemed to understand Hraesvelgr perfectly well.

He didn’t seem aggressive but neither was he particularly friendly. Instead he bluntly told Ysaile what he thought about her fantasy of being Shiva reborn.

“The spirit thou hast summoned belongeth not to Shiva, 'tis but a shade conjured by thine own fancy. In an age long past, mine own kin were guilty of like folly. Beguiled by the dark ones' lies, they attempted to resurrect a king amongst wyrms, who thou hath slain — yet the divinity they called forth merely borrowed the semblance of my fallen brood-brother. Such gods are not summoned, but created. Phantoms spun from the threads of misplaced faith. The spirit you summoned was but thy dream of Shiva. Thy souls hath been corrupted by a deity of thine own making, child.”

Ysaile was visibly shocked by this revelation and the others seemed quite speecheless to. But as horrible as this news was, it had not been what they came here for. So before the dragon would see their conversation as over and rise back into the sky, Rael called out to him.

“Be that as it may, Lord Hraesvelgr, Ysayle's desire to heal the rift between man and dragon is real, and it has borne us this far. We would spare both our kind and yours the ravages of this senseless war! Please join your voice to ours in a call for peace and forgiveness!”

But Hraesvelgr only angrily turned his head towards Rael and made a deep growling sound.

“The tale of thy kind is one of avarice, treachery, and death ─ and thou wouldst speak to me of peace, dragonslayer? The blood of mine brothers and sisters is on thine hands. Old and new blood, thine souls reek of it. Hark thee, mortal, to the naked truth...then tell me thou deservest forgiveness!”

Then the great dragon revealed some truths to them against which the real nature of Shiva paled in comparison.

A thousand years ago, he claimed, the first King Thordan, craving the strength of the dragons eyes, had murdered Ratatoskr — one of the first brood and therefore sister to both Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg. They ate her eyes, to gain the dragons power, and so condemned their descendants to Nidhoggs vengeance and a never-ending war.

Rael could feel that every single of Hraesvelgr’s words was true, no matter how bitterly Estinien argued against it.

And while this truth did nothing to better the ongoing slaughter of innocents, the wrath of the dragons was undeniably justified.

In Rael’s opinion the fact that each of the murderer’s descendants, which likely was almost all of Ishgard, still carried a piece of Ratatoskr‘s essence in them, was pure irony.

All these highly faithful people, the kind as well as the arrogant ones, the so-called heretics and those holy men judging them, were in reality almost dragons themself — only a small drop of blood away from transforming into the very thing they had been taught to hate.

The dragons had been the first victims of this war, and they would never forgive and make peace. This became very clear as Hraesvelgr mourned his sister and explained to them the dragon’s nature of perception and memory.

“The betrayal that yet haunts mine every waking moment is no less than the truth to my kind. Fain would I strike the image from my mind, yet still the scene doth linger ─ of my brood-sister's tattered corpse, defiled by her Elezen allies. Thou thinkest in mortal terms. Our perception of time is too broad for thee to grasp. For a wyrm such as Nidhogg, however, that history is yet part of his present, as fresh as the blood that did gush from Ratatoskr's wounds. How could he not be driven mad?”

Rael realised that he was right and that Nidhogg would never be appeased by apologies or compensation. For as long as he felt the pain and rage over his sister’s death, which was forever, he would return again and again to let Ishgard feel his vengeance.

But if their mission of peace was destined to fail, what other option remained. Estinien would certainly suggest slaying Nidhogg, but neither did Rael wish death upon the dragon nor did they think his kin would not want to avenge him and wage war against Isgard even more furiously. They would have to slaughter each and every single one of Nidhogg‘s kin to end this conflict, a thought that made Rael nauseous.

While the Viera still tried to desperately find another solution, A‘viloh did something entirety unexpected. Unexpected and reckless.

In fear Rael held their breath as the small Miqo’te slowly stepped forward, closer and closer to the giant dragon. Soothingly A‘viloh raised his arms as Hraesvelgr turned his head towards him with a threatening growl, his sharp teeth bared.

But the Miqo’te didn’t flinch away.

Instead he looked at the dragon and rested a hand on one of his curved horns. Slowly his arms reached around it, as far as he could, in the closest thing to an embrace he could offer. Then he rested one side of his head against the dragons horn and closed his eyes.

„I am so sorry.“, he said, while everything else was deadly silent.

None of them had even thought of offering apologies or condolences to Hraesvelgr, guilty or not. His tale a cruel one, shocking even, but still so distant to them. Little could they understand his pain. Only A'viloh had found the compassion and bravery to at least try to comfort the giant dragon.

For a moment no one dared to speak or move. Then the great wyrm huffed deeply, which made the Miqo’te loosen their grip and look up, while his long red hair was whirled around by the dragons breath. Rael could already imagine Hraesvelgr razor-sharp claws and teeth tearing poor, silly A‘viloh to shreds.

Instead the great wyrm slowly raised his head again and spoke a little more calmly than before.

„Thine words are meant well, mortal, but they could never soothe my pain or my wrath. It is only by the calming embrace of Shiva‘s soul that mine own fury hath not consumed me. But let us speak no more of what is done. My faith in your kind is spent, and I would be alone.“

Then without another sound he unfurled his wings and rose to the sky. Stunned they watched him vanish between the clouds. Only then Rael dared to breathe again.

[crossroadsdimension]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 18

Prompt -- Hackneyed

(FFXIVWrite 2024 Masterpost)

(spoilers for 5.3 ShB are mentioned, as well as the "plot" in the Dragonsong War's Reprise Ultimate and mentions of a certain Rising cutscene we get every year. Nothing beyond that!)

“Isn’t it a little hackneyed that there’s all these worlds out there that have a Warrior of Light saving them from the end of the world?”

“Snrk”

“…what. It’s an honest question.”

“No, no, it’s not — I didn’t imagine you to be someone who used the word hackneyed. I would’ve expected something else, considering your vocabulary.”

“Hrm.”

“…it is a good question, though. I never imagined I would meet those from another star who were familiar with the title, much less knew those who had carried it. Perhaps…perhaps all of creation calls for heroes, and the thought of bringing light and peace to their stars is consistent enough for the title to manifest?”

“Maybe. I still think it’s more than a coincidence, though. There’s gotta be something bigger pulling the strings from somewhere to make the title that common.”

“Someone other than the Ascians? I seem to recall Elidibus called for Warriors of Light from the other shards before he transformed.”

“Someone way bigger. Palamecia isn’t a shard.”

“Hm. And you aren’t about to volunteer a name from your own experience there, I assume.”

“Nah. Vox was just focused on Palamecia. He wasn’t big enough to cover the entire universe. I would’ve noticed him messing with things here if he was.”

“Fair point. …are you asking this question because you are concerned someone like Vox is doing this and has somehow avoided showing themselves to us?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. If there is someone like that out there, I’d like to figure out why they let Palamecia get as bad as it did. Maybe they could’ve done something to…I dunno, change the narrative? Keep Vox from letting the planet deteriorate as much as it did?”

“I know that desire well, but it is more of a question for myself and my knowledge, looking back. I do not have the experience you do, with narrators and cycles. Most of my questions are whether or not I would have known what was going to happen before it did. If I missed or ignored the signs, or what might happen if I changed events. I asked Yoshi-san that, once. If two companions could be saved.”

“Who?”

“The wandering minstrel. He told me to call him Yoshi-san.”

“Oh, that guy. Didn’t know that was his name.”

“He made it sound more like it was a preferred name than his actual name.”

“Hm. So? What’d he do?”

“…he constructed a ballad where I saved Haurchefant from his death at the hands of one of the Knights. Yoshi-san implied that the act would have allowed the archbishop to transform into King Thordan without our knowledge, and while we would have still fought Nidhogg whilst he possessed Estinien, we would have also been forced to fight Hraesvelgr on the Steps of Faith.”

“So he thought Hraesvelgr would’ve left Zenith and made it that harder, huh.”

“Very much so. The fighting would not have ended there, either — he thought King Thordan would arrive in the midst of that fight, after we rescued Estinien from Nidhogg’s control. The primal would have taken both dragons into himself, enthralled the dragons of both their broods, and forced us to fight him and them all at once. We would have lost an ally in that fight, by ending Thordan and sending Hraesvelgr to the aetherial sea. Escaping Omega’s collapsing Interdimensional Rift would have been made impossible without him.”

“…yeah. It would’ve. ...I think the wandering minstrel’s got something to do with all the string-pulling.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Some of the things I’ve heard him say, I guess. He gets really weird around the Rising.”

“The visions, you mean?”

“You get them too, huh?”

“Yes. The strange hyur who looks like Yoshi-san certainly acts as though he knows me, and what lies on the horizon. He does not seem as…controlling, as what I have heard of your Vox, though.”

“Maybe not to you, but I heard him say a couple things about putting together the next adventure and it gets me on edge. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s causing Warriors of Light to pop up in other places, too.”

“Is that such a bad thing, though?”

“Hrm.”

“I understand where you are coming from, do not get me wrong — what I have heard of Palamecia and your experiences are not events I would see repeated on other worlds — but…there are always myths of heroes, on the Source and the shards. People need someone to bring the light back to them, in a manner of speaking. To give them the strength to carry on to see tomorrow. Whether we be Warriors of Light — or Darkness — matters less in the title and more in our actions. There could be stars out in creation that have people who do the same as we, but under a different name.”

“…maybe. Still not sure how I feel about that.”

“I don’t expect you to change your mind immediately, considering your experience. But I like to think that those who become strong warriors for their people do so more from their own volition than by the will of another. You, after all, did your best to save a star despite the systems set in place, then returned and saved your star under a different title.”

“….”

“I doubt that, if any powerful being was watching closely, they would have let you change your title to what you were more comfortable with. Considering that Warriors of Light manifest on more than one star, according to you.”

“…sigh. Might have a point there. Doesn’t mean I like it, though.”

“Mm. Understandable. …I think you are preparing to awaken.”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, looks like.”

“Would you be willing to do something like this again?”

“What, beat a monster in seconds for the heck of it?”

“Well, that but — this. Talking. I don’t get the chance to communicate with others like us very often. They never linger long enough, unless we’re all fighting the same simulation multiple times over.”

“…sure. Why not. Not every day it’s an alternate-dimension thing instead of a time loop.”

“Heh. Yeah. Rest well.”

“You too, Cross. Don’t let other me drive you nuts.”

“Ha! It will take more than that — I have spent time with Hildibrand, and we both know how maddening events can become with him.”

“Gods, yeah….Yeah, you’re gonna be fine. See you around.”

[jefarawol]

You know this bit. You witnessed it all, the Warrior of Light descending into Ishgard upon the back of the Father of all Dragons. A sight I will not forget even on my deathbed.

Even as I saw the happy faces around me, I could not find my words or bring myself to smile in the wake of my victory. My heart ached, and my failures weighed my shoulders down.

I daresay you are the first soul in Ishgardian history to arrive in our city upon dragonback. This scene shall be remembered for a thousand years to come.

As we had feared, the archbishop summoned the soul of King Thordan unto himself and thence became a primal.

But he and his knights are no more, thanks to the Warrior of Light.

Your struggles are not yet over, mortals.

Whom do I have the pleasure...?

I am Midgardsormr. I have journeyed with Hydaelyn's champion and observed her deeds in the conflict between man and dragon.

[irisopranta]

The Flowers of Fate - Part 1: The Wheel Turns

There be Heavensward spoilers ahead. tw: Death

The sun glowed a vibrant orange as it was setting. Iris was tired from her fight with Ser Charibert. However there wasn’t any time to waste. They needed to stop Thordan with any means possible.

“Fall back!” Ser Zephirin called out to his comrade. Despite his injuries, Ser Charibert limped away as quickly as he could. With the help of Alphinaud and Hauchefant, Iris was able to get back on her feet. The three gave chase to the two knights. They made it through the spire. Only to be greeted by an air dock. And there he was waiting for the airship overhead. 

This all seemed familiar to Iris but she couldn’t place her finger on it. It felt like those  heroic tales you would have read as a child. Where the hero makes it to the big bad guy for their final conflict. Is this truly how it all ends? A voice called from behind her, breaking her thoughts. “Father,Please.” it was Ser Aymeric, limbing, surely from the torture that Thordan and the Heavensward gave him. 

Estinien and Lucia were not too far behind. “For a mercy, we were not too late.” the gruff voice of Estinien directed his words to Iris. 

She nodded at him. “And for that, we shall be thankful.”

“Why must you do this, Father?! Nidhogg is Fallen! There is no need for further deception! Now is the time to renounce the lies which led us down this path–to start anew!” Aymeric shouted at Thordan, hoping that his words could get through to him. 

“And tear down the very pillars of society–our history, our values–everything we have built over a thousand years?” Thordan sighed  “A fool to the last.” He continued onward the airship. Knowing that if they didn’t act then he would get what he wanted. Hauchefant knew what Iris was thinking. The two sprang into action.

Hauchefant took off first with her following him. They were focused on Thordan. They didn’t notice there was a knight up upon the spires behind them. The knight produced a spear of light. It flew through the sky. At the blink of an eye it pierced Iris through the chest. She collapsed to the floor, blood spilling out.

Her sight was dimming. She was barely making out what the others were saying. She felt a bit of warmth. Perhaps Alphinaud was trying to heal the wound. She knows that it won’t do anything. She knows that she isn’t long for this world. 

Iris tried looking for Hauchefant. It was faint, but she felt something holding her hand. She looked over. Her breaths were getting heavier. She was able to make out his expression of horror. “I’m sorry Hauchefant, I couldn’t be the hero that everyone needed.” Her hand goes limp in his. She closed her eyes once more, never to open them again as she drew her final breath. Her soul had returned to the aether sea. 

The others would join her not too long after her. Ysayle was first. The group continued to pursue Thordan and the knights twelve. While they were giving chase, the Empire also were following them. She gave them enough time to get into Azys Lla by sacrificing herself as Shiva. Then it was Hauchefant, who fell when confronting King Thordan and the Knights of the Round. With his death no one could stop what Thordan was going to do to the dragons. 

With all that happened, Aymeric and Lucia were charged with treason against them and sentenced to death in the court of Ishgard. It was made public to warn the rest of Ishgard what would happen if the citizenry opposed their new king. 

Estinien, though he tried his best to resist, turned to Nidhogg from the influence of the eye. It was his desire for revenge after Hauchefant’s death that transformed him. His end was similar to the end of all dragon-kind in Dravania. As for Alphinaud, the last that any of them knew was in hiding from the king of Ishgard.

[tcmpestes]

WARRIOR / LIGHT.

hear. feel. think.

details events of final fantasy 14 up to stormblood

those are the first three words that you remember. next thing you know, you're on some boat sailing into limsa lominsa. as you get your bearings in the drowning wench, you find comfort in crumbly sweet pastry. you're affectionately called vanillabean scone, due to how many you ate in your first days in the city. the name sticks, because you like how people laugh when they hear it, when they say it aloud.

it's not like you really remember an alternative.

the arcanist's guild becomes your favorite place to frequent, aside from the kitchens of the bismarck. you adore the carbuncles jumping around, find the thought of having a magical companion quite charming. when your summon yours for the first time, you're ecstatic. for the time being, you call them carbuncle, waiting until they tell you what their name is. they follow you everywhere.

your group of friends grows. a rosy hrothgar gives you a well-worn survival hat that you hardly ever take off. as you help more and more people, you stumble into another miqo'te named y'shtola. you learn about eorzea, and the troubles it faces. you become a scion of the seventh dawn, get strong enough to fight entire gods -- something you could never have expected for yourself.

you were most curious, however, about hydaelin and the echo. did this being, whose name you heard in that first moment, know something about you that you didn't? surely she did -- she believes in you, after all, and that faith is not misplaced. alongside everyone else, you defeat the black wolf, the ultima weapon, the ascian piloting your dear friend's body.

the warrior of light. the champion of eorzea. it had a nice ring to it.

it feels...nice, being a hero. helping where you can. being loved for it, and even hated for it. for hate brings conflict, and conflict brings skirmishes. and you love how your blood sings when you fight. you love how alive the adrenaline makes you feel.

when the spirit of midgardsormr takes away your connection to hydaelin, you feel everything numb. and then you're invited to a banquet in ul'dah, and your life as you know it is stripped away from you.

in the shock, you manage to put on a brave face only for alphinaud. you try to get yourself to cry when he falls asleep, when cid asks you how you're really feeling, but you feel as frozen as the elezen woman you fought in coerthas. you cut your hair soon after you are taken in by haurchefant, and you enter ishgard with an unfamiliar coldness.

over time, you can feel yourself thawing out. slowly your old friends return, and you even make new ones through the help you offer. ( you don't really feel like helping, initially, but you think you might turn into a frozen statue if you don't do anything. ) you learn about a century long war between man and dragon, and do your best to help tend to a hundred year old wound. it's messy, and not fixed in an instance of course...but you can at least help stop the bleeding for a spell. if you're honest you don't know how long things will stay this way.

but your friends have returned, mostly. in one way or another. they have stories to tell, wear new clothes, and -- most importantly -- are happy to see you. as you mend your relationship with the great nations of eorzea, you can feel your connection to hydaelin returning. you thank the twelve silently, and hope for it to be a sign for things to return to normal.

there is...something normal, you suppose, in defeating king thordan. there is even something normal in slaying the returned nidhogg, and saving the body of estinein from the dragon's clutches. once again, you throw yourself into the face of danger and save the world. everything is as it should be.

as always, however, when one bridge is mended, another must crumble. just when you've found your footing, you hear word of another war being poked and prodded. the reclamation of ala mhigo from the garlean empire. another primal is summoned, the last act of a vigilante who hungered for home. another skirmish to fling yourself headfirst into.

it's not particularly difficult to do. as yda reveals herself to be lyse to you, you find yourself endeared even more to her. she, too, had been pretending to be someone that she wasn't. as she follows her own path, you support her in every way that you can -- all while doing what you do best. you ignore the soft twinge of something straining within you, the want for something...different perhaps.

but there's no time for wishful thinking such as that. you meet your next adversary in rhalgr's reach, a katana-wielding prince, and he makes your blood boil. he taunts both you and lyse, urging you to continue fighting, and you keep his words in mind as you travel to doma. the politics of revolution and accruing allies go over your head, admittedly, but there is nothing you wouldn't do for lyse. you run yourself ragged stoking fires, and you revel in the burn in your body. it feels good to ache.

things come to a head in ala mhigo, where your rematch with zenos awaits. the fight is exhilarating as you fight yet another primal -- one that he's artificially bound to himself. your blood is still pounding as you hear the citizens of ala mhigo singing from within their city once more.

you pass out for a full 24 hours after that. you dream of nothing.

when you awake, there is still more to be done. the peace between doma and the empire is short lived as conflict is rekindled through a loophole. peace talks with the emperor spiral fruitlessly. all the while, your friends are dropping again like flies. you do your best to stay calm, and you do a damn good job of it. even when you're left all alone.

a lead brings you back to the crystal tower, where a dear friend was sealed in until a solution could be found. something sparkles in the debris. when you pick it up, you hear that...voice again. you pass out in the rubble.

>continue? >quit

[starres-stuff]

Day 24: Bar FFXIV Write 2024

Bar: a long rod or rigid piece of wood, metal, or similar material, typically used as an obstruction, fastening, or weapon.

“Everything on the second level seems to be open, but there is one door in the west wing with a metal rod across it and I feel some form of enchanted lock on it.” 

Dimitri's voice pulled Viviane from her thoughts, she had finally dared to bring Dimitri to Ishgard to show him their ancestral home in the posh part of the City. The dwelling itself was old, and rumored to be one of the earlier Houses on record with the clerk's office. 

“That was our Grandparent's room. Mother always kept that room locked, she would tell me that their ghosts lived there. We should find a breaker, I do not trust any spell she cast. It can be riddled with void magic and I do not want to invite that to live here by mistake.” It took a great deal for the vivacious redhead to be behind these walls, even now she could see the ghosts of her childhood running along the faded carpets in the hallways. 

“So the House symbol is the Raven and the colors are wine, gold, and black.” Dimitri had been wandering around for the most part and jotting down notes about spiritual activity or ritual magic that he found. So far he has found at least five hotshots, two ritual rooms, and the barred door. 

“That is correct on both parts. You will find the Raven in every mosaic and tapestry you will find here. There are no passages in the books that we do have that explain why our ancestors chose the Raven or why it is always depicted with a red rose in its claw.” A chill wind whipped past Vi then and she yelped loudly, she had not been able to spend even a day in this house since their Mother passed on to the Sea. She could feel the ghosts that lingered here in her mind and right before her the entire time. If she had not had a duty to teach him of the family she likely would have burned the place down by now. It was that much of a hopeless place in her life that she wished to purify it in white-hot flame. 

“The one thing I do not understand is how our family came to be here. The tapestries make it seem like we had always been here.” Where his Sister was disgusted by their afternoon of history, Dimitri was thrilled by just breathing the musty-smelling air. 

“It is said that all the Elezen of Ishgard are descended from the Knights Twelve,. They served under King Thordan, the first of his name.” Pausing for a moment, Vi took out her smoking case and lit one of her clove-scented Cigarettes before she continued. 

“It has never been truly understood what motivated King Thordan to start the war he did, but the slaying of the Dragon, Ratatoskr, left two hundred years of peace in shambles and cursed the blood of the descendants of the Twelve for their heinous acts all in the name of power.” Tilting her head back then, lazy smoke rings drifted from her lips, often linking together as they drifted towards the aged ceiling. 

“If we are given dragon blood, we could change, so you are aware. We do not have Gelmorran or Gridania roots. Our ancestry extends back to Mhach on both sides. The Elezen were once a Nomadic People making it harder to fully pinpoint anything beyond Mhach, but Mother did note in her studies that many of us have had both increased eyesight and hearing. The eyesight is generally found in the Wildwood and the hearing in the Duskwight, but you are highly unlikely to find an Ishgardian that identifies with either. We are simply Ishgardian or Corethan in my experiences of meeting others, nothing more.

Dimitri had hung on nearly every word, it was rare to hear her speak of history these days, as she was comfortable in her life of being a performer. It warmed his heart to know under that front of hers the drive for knowledge still existed in his twin's heart, but there was business to attend to during this visit still. “Are there any other barred doors or enchantments To note?” he asked with a smile, when she finally stopped talking. 

“Spinner save me, yes, there is a whole lower wing we are blocked from. Mother used to run a brothel down there, she hated when I called it that. She had a preference to call it a House of Respite. She hid Nobles and others down there that were trying to evade the eye of the Dragonsong, it is where the fire was in fact, it is the most haunted part of the house.” 

As if on cue the wind rattled the house and windows again, causing Viviane to jump; a rather loud scream coming from her lips at the same time. “Forgive me, I am very in tune with the things that dwell here. They have known me since I was days old. It is why I have kept this building under guard and boarded up for so long.”

[carrefxur]

Day 8: Chimerical (Free Choice) [FFXIV Writing Challenge 2024].

Warning: Spoilers for Dragonsong's Reprise ahead.

A grand feast. Stews, soups, fish, croques, pastries, and untold amounts of wine and laughter to be shared. One of many knights of the Convictors taking her place at their long table, celebrating the end to their righteous war. Tales of the final days of the Dravnian Horde echoed throughout the halls.

At the head of the hall sat Dragon-King Thordan, in his glorious throne crafted from the heads of Hraesvelgr and Nidhogg. It was a necessary price he had to pay, absorbing the powers that they had drawn steel against for so many years in exchange for their grand triumph. But it was all worth it, in the end; now they could feast on the fruits of their labors as much as they wanted.

Arliene is on her third glass of wine by now. The elezen doesn't recognize the men on either side of her, though that doesn't take away from her merriment any less. She looks across the table - only to not recognize any faces across from her either.

"Is this truly your dream?" One of them speaks to her. Or was it multiple? The question rings up and down the hall, as Thordan leans forward in his throne; his gaze affixed on the knight expectantly.

"…Yes." A single voice cuts through the cacophony of noise, silencing the room. The sound of the King's armor rattles throughout the hall as he stands, making his way down the aisle. The cold touch of iron rests against her skin, sending a chill down Arliene's spine.

"Then reap what you've sown, champion! Drink until our kegs run dry! Gormandize yourself upon our offerings!" The hall roars in approval, while Thordan leans down, speaking in a voice only Arliene can hear.

"In the morn, the truth shall be revealed to you, my staunchest defender. The way the world is meant to be for an honorable knight such as yourself."

What a wonderful promise.

A cause realized.

A purpose fulfilled.

The perfect dream.

[theoreticalconstruct]

The King Is Dead - Long Live The King (FFXIV, bad end AU)

Fandom: FFXIV Characters: Aymeric/Estinien/Haurchefant AU where Aymeric didn't need to be saved from the Vault.

Prompts: @polyamships - PSD Jan 2024 - Conflict @yearoftheotpevent - August 2023 - AU of your choice (yes it was a tough year and I'm late) threesentenceficathon - Any, Any, Canon divergence that makes thing worse.

Unsure if I'm going to write more on this, but would be happy to see what anyone else does with the concept. Also I accidentally deleted this post when I tried to update it. Whoops.

When Aymeric had gone to speak to his blood-father of what they had learned of their war… the others had expected him to try to convince Thordan to speak the truth about their nation's past and the dragons' hatred for them, or for the Archibishop to take him prisoner to see how many more knew the truth; no one had expected Aymeric to emerge on the eve of their rescue attempt, with a calm smile and a strange light shining in his eyes, saying that the Archbishop had tried to show him truth and had been found wanting, and that now it fell to him to save their nation.

Estinien had seen it first and Haurchefant soon after, the strangeness in him - the way his tactics shifted away from defense to offense, the new reports he requested about the Empire and about the state of the Alliance, the curious overtures he made to the Warrior of Light about placing more resources behind the Scions and making them a force that could stand against the Ascians and win; by the time they realized that he was not himself - by the time they realized that he in secret had been tempered and overtaken his father with his new-found strength, seized command of the Heavens' Ward and taken the powers offered to them by the Ascians as his own - it was too late to save him.

They would not survive this, they feared, as the primal that had tempered the man they'd once loved was powerful and bore the hopes and dreams of generations of Ishgardians… but Haurchefant could not give up hope that the commander he'd cared for was still there somewhere, beneath his dreams of King Thordan and a world united under Ishgard, while Estinien knew that he was gone and that the Aymeric he'd known would sooner die than become a tyrant, no matter how benevolent he may try to be.

[the-littlest-kojin]

The Heretic And The Legatus

"So, Tara. Tell me about your war? You know all about mine, but I must confess, my education didn't really cover the wars in Ishgard." Cradled in the Elezen's arms, Vergilia Corculum looks up at her girlfriend's face, a gentle smile on her lips.

A heavy sigh escapes the Ishgardian's lips. "I'm not even sure where to begin. You really know nothing of the Dragonsong War?" Snuggling closer to Taraine's warm body, Vergilia shakes her head. "Nothing. My Legion was posted in Garlemald proper. I know that Regulus's Legion was deployed to Ishgardian lands - he likely knew more."

"Alright. I will give you the history, from my perspective. Least I can do to try to educate an outlander like you," Taraine teases, her voice light.

"How kind this savage is!" Vergilia mocks back, eyes dancing. "Truly, I have found the kindest savage in all this lawless land."

Laughing, low and sardonic, Taraine pulls her lover closer. "Alright. So as a child, I was taught that the War began after Nidhogg - unprovoked and unjustified - attacked Ishgard, and King Thordan and his Knights Twelve..."

~

"So, having drank the dragon blood... You can now assume a draconic form?"

A pillar of smoke enshrouds the Elezen's form, resolving into the shape of a large, scaled figure. Vergilia stares upwards, her eyes wide, as her mouth works silently.

"So... You're still Taraine?" A laugh - much deeper, shaking the ground - escapes through draconic fangs. "Yes. I am still Taraine. But you remember how I told you I was genderfluid?" "Ah - You are male in this form?" "Yes. And female in my Elezen body. Both are equally my 'real' body, but I am a man like this and a woman like that." "I understand, dearest Taraine. Do not fret."

The silence stretches for a moment before Vergilia steps closer, gently resting a hand on her boyfriend's scales. Silently, Taraine reaches one of his claws out, gently running it along Vergilia's arm.

Silence surrounds the couple as they stare at each other, the cool air surrounding them as they gaze at one another.

~~~~~

These screens were a gift from my off-tumblr friend! I wanted to explore this ship more.

[mistercrowbar]

Dragon King Thordan discovers that alongside the dragons’ offensive power of the Ahk Morn comes their ultimate defensive ability, the Ahk Ward. geddit

A silly commission for a friend who seems to delight in getting me to draw these complicated FF14 designs for shit posts.

[elveny]

Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

“Just to make sure I understand this correctly,” Adriene said slowly, “the Eye is a literal dragon eye from that first elder dragon they slew.”

Estinien nodded. “Yes.”

“And it woke even more power within you, like it was supposed to, but it also woke some memories, and that, it was not supposed to do.” She looked quizzically at Estinien. He had spoken about how the moment he had touched the Eye, he had literally seen and felt the moment of betrayal when King Thordan butchered the dragon, and several scenes from later centuries of deeds that Azure Dragoons had committed in the name of the holy war.

He shrugged slightly. “Our theory is that the Eye reacted to dragonblood running in my family. They didn’t know and neither did I. But what I was very aware of was that having visions of dragons would be considered suspicious, so I kept quiet—and did my research. But it wasn’t until I stumbled over Ysayle that I found out the whole truth.”

“And you believed her?”

Estinien scoffed. “Not at first. But once you keep an open mind and look into places and reports you’re not supposed to look into, everything falls apart pretty quickly. It’s a wonder the Holy See has managed to keep this going for so long.”

“So you stole the Eye and joined the heretics.”

“It wasn’t quite as simple as it sounds, but yes,” Estinien nodded.

Adriene continued, “And when you found me, you had it with you and it reacted and that’s why the Holy See thought I was working with you and not just…”

She gestured vaguely and the roguish smile came back to Estinien’s face. “Not just trying to get into my pants?” he suggested.

Read the rest on AO3