#FFxivWrite Results

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

FFxivWrite2022 Recap & Winners

11,165 total entries were submitted in 2022!

This includes all entries that were submitted via the Google Form, including late entries (and excluding duplicate entries).

Which brings us to 42,721 total recorded entries since we began this challenge in 2017! 

And, we had 105 volunteer artists in 2022!! Which means that there are 105 prize-winners!

A breakdown of the stats + announcement of the Participation Prize winners are below the cut ~

Want to see all public entries? Here’s a link to the Master Spreadsheet. This omits entries that people requested to keep private between them and I.

Total Participation Year to Year:

Prompt Participation by Year:

NOTE: The big dips are Make-up / Extra Credit Days. Lots of folks choose to take a break over writing Extra Credit. Legit!

Prompt Breakdown by Week:

Submissions by Day:

NOTE: Day 7 was the day before the 24-hour deadline went into effect. Hence, the big ol’ spike.

Submissions by Platform:

Participation Prize Winners

Winners were selected via a random raffle dice roll made by each of the artists and span all online writing platforms, including Tumblr, Ao3, Google Docs, and others (like Twitter). This writing challenge is not a contest - no one’s work was being judged for length, skill, etc. The prizes are based on participation only!

Prizes are a simple black & white portrait of the winner’s character. Most are shoulder up but the artists are free to take liberties if they’d like. Prizes are not commissioned work, so ultimately it’s the artist’s choice for what they’d like to do for the piece. Some artists (not all) accept commissions and might be open to colorizing a prize piece, after it’s been posted, at their normal rates.

All of 2022′s winners will be contacted directly by their volunteer artist. If you are a winner and your artist has been unable to contact you after 2 weeks of trying, you will forfeit your prize and another participant will be chosen to take your place, so make sure that your inboxes are open and keep an eye out for new discord friend requests.

As always, there are a few whose artists needed to drop out for personal reasons, and that’s ok! In those cases, the winners will be carried over into 2023′s pool of winners where another artist will pick up their prize and complete it.

If you are on the below winner's list, make sure that your inboxes are open & keep an eye out for discord friend requests!

*NOTE: Discord usernames have had the #numbers removed for privacy purposes. Winners are presented in alphabetical order by provided contact username.

_dawnforged

Adelle

Aerix

aetaliaffxiv

alisterj

alizesthira

allycryz

alymae

AmiFFXIV

ariesdraco

Arisa_Haneishi

asciangrandpa

Aster

AstrienLuna

Beanmom

Bexy

Bones

Brightside

brodiekins

buffnamazu

Captain SaveABro

carbecex

casualcatte

CelticFire_

cosycerise

cureblush

Dalantia

daneari_

Dark Commander

darkangel_mya

dirgeofgelmorra

Dis

Discord! Ajenjo

Djill

dragons-bones

Duskfire

e-dragoons

eliseofsoleanna

elizabethrobertajones

Entropy

escherstrange-ffxiv

evacybele

fantasy-so-far

farfromdaylight

GatchaHell

gererrin

Granny

grumpy-limsan-customs-cat

Haila

hanurel_ivars

Hashiru

Heaki

Hobi__14

Houserosaire

HyphenYaeger

Kai

kali_sazo

Kedare15

Khepri

kihtsae

Kyorgra

lemurescythes

Lethe_FFXIV

lilacknifecat

meepsthemiqo

meximango

MissEliza

Mitheithel

NatAshWrites

Newt

nonisland

noodlebeans

NovusPrime313

OkamiLuna

opheliaglorfindal

Oscar Mild (they/them)

PenguinZero

podima17

punishededen

rhalgr

Rhiann

Rivkah94

ruenis_

SanmickTiare

savvybunbunny

scrollsfromarebornrealm

sirdolraan

slowmoded

Soaringtalon

SPERM WHALE RAILGUN

Spikewerks

Sprite

superribbon

syrcusgardens

Tanwen

Tavard

TheStumpedOne

Usagi_Mitsu

vikkabby

Weezled

whispersafterdusk

xivsleepinglion

yokasaris

Youko

Zoe_Daxa

Congrats, winners! 

We’ll see you next September for FFxivWrite2023

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2022 || kofi

[storms-path]

FFXIV Write 2024: Day 9 - Lend an Ear

This deep in the Noumenon, footsteps carried far. Even the gentle pattering of the mammet which had guided Stalwart down the winding corridors rang out through the hallways. Still, Stalwart found herself so engrossed in the musty tome she’d cracked open that she only noticed the familiar footsteps of one Y’shtola Rhul moments before she rounded the corner. No mammet guided her, Stalwart noted with a frown. Had she traced her way here through the residual aether? Either way, Stalwart was not particularly in the mood for company. Perhaps she could take this tome elsewhere and-

“Stalwart!” Y’shtola’s face split into a rare smile as she waved.

Stalwart forced a smile of her own. “Y’shtola. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Y’shtola hesitated, apparently lost for words. She glanced at the mammet, judging it safely out of earshot. “I won’t mince words.” A dark shadow passed over Y’shtola’s face. Her ears were flat against her head, her tail swishing slowly. She looked… afraid. Unusual indeed for one so composed. Just what was she about to say?

“I fear I have fallen in love with you.”

Ah. There it was. The conversation Stalwart had intended to avoid. She had realised, of course. It had been harder and harder to play off Y’shtola’s advances as anything but romantic overtures. But still, she’d hoped for a little more time. A little more preparation. A little more… “I see.” A cowardly response, but the best she could manage. She couldn’t find the words to describe the roiling, churning feeling in her gut.

Y’shtola was clearly not impressed, but she let the silence cut deeper and deeper until Stalwart finally broke it again. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to have this conversation at all, but…”

“Do you feel the same?” Y’shtola’s voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. If it weren’t for the quiver. If it weren’t for the hammering of her heart. If it weren’t for a thousand other tremors and nerves and fears. She couldn’t see Stalwart’s face, only the impression of it, but her posture was that of a cornered beast. Without realising it, Y’shtola had backed Stalwart against one of the shelves. They were close now, so close.

“I…” Stalwart couldn’t look at Y’shtola, couldn’t bear the look on her face. Don’t make me do this. “Yes. But.” Say it. “We can’t. I can’t.”

Y’shtola knew it was coming, but she couldn’t do a thing about the floor falling out from under her heart. “I thought as much.” An effort of will kept her tone even and calm. A strong one, at that. “I understand. Thank you for being honest with me.” She stepped back, turned to leave. A hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Wait.” Stalwart didn’t know why she’d reached out. She didn’t know why she spoke. But she had. And the words spilled out. “I want to, truly I do! You’re kind, you’re intelligent beyond measure, you’re absolutely terrifying when you want to be. Who wouldn’t fall in love with such a woman? But I…”

Y’shtola smiled, pretending not to notice the quivering of Stalwart’s hand. “I understand, Stalwart. It’s alright. Thancred told me about your devotion to Haurchefant. He was a lucky man, to win your heart so.” Not that it didn’t rankle, to lose to a dead man, but-

“What? No. That’s not it.” Thancred? What did he know about any of this? “Yes, Haurchefant’s death hurts, more than I can put into words. But that’s not why I can’t do this!” Stalwart’s voice was rising higher with every word. Thankfully none could hear them, this far down. Except for a mammet bound to silence. “It’s you!”

Y’shtola wasn’t prepared for that. Confusion draped over her already whirling emotions. A heady and unpleasant mixture. “Me? What do you mean?”

Did she truly not understand? “How many times have you leapt into the jaws of death, ‘Shtola? How many times have I had to mourn you, only for you to re-appear as if nothing’s wrong? How many years have you burned off your life already, simply because you’re too proud to admit that you’ve been robbed of your sight? Have you given any, any consideration to how I feel? How much it hurts to have to keep losing you? How I’ve had to harden my heart against the very idea of loving you, just to spare myself the inevitable hurt when you don’t come back?” She was crying now. The dam of emotions had finally burst, drowning her in them. Forcing the words she’d held back for so long out of her. The anger. The fear. The sheer, absolute exhaustion of it all. Y’shtola was silent, clearly stunned. Good. Let her chew on that for a time, instead of coming up with another cutting remark.

“Hypocrite.”

A single word, cutting more than any snide comment. Fury rose in Stalwart, fists balling and shoulders tensing in a single moment.

Y’shtola wouldn’t be cowed by the larger woman. “Do you truly think I do not fear for you, whenever you and your companions ride off to face some existential threat?” Were she able to truly see, she’d find herself blinded by tears. But Stalwart’s form being taken aback by her words was as clear as it always was. “Every time, every time, I find myself praying to the Twelve that you return to us safely! And my heart prepares itself for the fact that you may not! Being able to finally face a Primal with you was more of a relief than I dare give words to! And less we forget, you rushed in to face oblivion with Urianger and I without a second thought in Ultima Thule!”

“Because I couldn’t bear to live without you!” The words were out before Stalwart could stop them. This time it was Y’shtola’s turn to be taken aback. “I knew that Arashi would need me, I knew that she would struggle to face Meteion alone, and I didn’t care! Because a world where I had to watch another person I loved with all my heart die wasn’t one I could stand to live in!”

Silence reigned for a spell, broken only by tears splashing against cold marble floor. Stalwart’s tome lay abandoned on the floor. The mammet was torn between its duty and breaking the icy quiet. Then, at last, Y’shtola took a step forward.

“We truly are a pair of fools, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We are.” Stalwart likewise stepped closer. “I… I don’t know if I can do this, ‘Shtola. I don’t want to hurt again.”

“But you will.” Y’sthola’s voice was as matter-of-fact as if she was discussing the weather. “I’m older than you, and burning my life away, as you say. One day, sooner or later, you will lose me.” She took another step forward. “Or I’ll lose you. I’m prepared to accept that, if it means we can try making something worthwhile out of our feelings.” Are you? She wasn’t brave enough to give voice to the words. Not yet.

Stalwart hesitated at the crossroads of her life. She had rushed into love with Haurchefant, let it envelop her, embrace her, blind her with its brilliant passion, and then rip out her heart without warning. She couldn’t do it again. But gods, she wanted to. So badly that it hurt. And then there were Haurchefant’s last sentiments, in the Lifestream. He had known. He had given her his blessing.

“Three rules.” Stalwart couldn’t stop the shake in her voice. “Firstly, you promise me that you don’t throw yourself into the Lifestream the moment things look dire. Second,” she jabbed a finger at Y’shtola to stress the point, “You let yourself be vulnerable and drop your aethersight every once in a while.”

“Agreed,” said Y’shtola without even waiting to hear the third rule. It was the most certain she’d felt in years.

“And thirdly,” Stalwart continued as if she hadn’t heard Y’shtola’s all-too-ready agreement. “Thirdly… Don’t call me Stalwart. That name… isn’t really mine, not any more.” It was time to let go of the childhood hero that had guided a young Steely Hart towards self-discovery. “Only one other person has heard this name before you. I told him as he lay dying. My name, the name I’ve so badly wanted to say…” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t say it. The moment she tried, she leapt back to the Vault, to the walkway, to Haurchefant’s cold, cold body. It was a mistake, all of it, she should never have-

A warm hand took hers. Y’shtola looked at her with a warm, soft smile. “I’ll wait, if you need me to. Take your time.”

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, just for a moment. A breath of hot chocolate, perfectly heated, tickled her nose. A ghost of a smile danced in front of her.

“Tender Star.” She breathed it, more than said it, finally letting the name out. “That’s my name. Call me by that.” Y’shtola was closer than before now, but Tender didn’t want to run any more. Without really thinking about it, she looped an arm around Y’shtola’s waist, suddenly hungry for her warmth. Y’shtola stretched up to reach Tender’s lips. Their first kiss was witnessed only by a mammet, currently awakening to a great deal of things it would later be able to describe as “emotions.”

After an eternity, Y’shtola pulled away. Her smile was starlight, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Tender Star,” she whispered, and all was right with the world.

[neoma-eltanin]

Prompt #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

For FFXIVWrite2023 Character: Erjon Sjadarwesfv Warnings: None

Love.

He knew what that word meant. An intense feeling or deep affection, for something or someone. He had experienced it himself. That binding, gripping, tearing and overwhelming sensation of your heart swelling and aching and oh it was a most wonderful and terrible thing. A pleasure, a pain that shifted between being the only thing he wished to ever feel and the thing that tortured him more than any other.

For a moment he felt like he was in heaven, even as his feet stood firmly in the ashes of a hellscape. The smell of death so distant it might as well be the scent of a meadow. Sapphires so brilliant, so perfect he might cry for how blessed he was that they even offered to meet his pallid gaze. Warm locks of red, soft like the feathers of a swan for his weary hands to feel. So soft that he forgot the cold, hard metal that ever grazed his fingertips.

In this nightmare he would endure. He had hope. He had love. He wanted to protect it, hold it close and never let go.

And suddenly, everything was gone.

He screamed. He wailed. He begged. The meadow, the sapphires, the feathers. Come back. Come back.

His hands reached for nothing. His voice received no answer.

Never again. Never again would he dare hold on to what so easily was ripped away from his heart, what so easily crumbled into dust in the wind. He would seal it inside a shell, hard and unyielding and out of reach.

Love.

He knew what that word meant, once. He knew what it meant to lose it. The feeling of it withering in your arms and the warmth leaving your soul in the bitter, cold dark.

He lost it. And it never returned.

He would make sure of it.

[soulshards]

FFXIVWRITE 2024, PROMPT #8: SPONTANEOUS (Free Day) tw: none • words: 797

performed or occurring as a result of a sudden impulse or inclination

It wasn’t quite nighttime - not yet. The sun hung low in brightly coloured sky, brilliant hues of reds and yellows spilling out across the horizon as in a few hours, it would say it’s farewell. But it was still daytime, and Bites had a rather impulsive need to go fishing. And they did not want to fish alone.

They walked lazily, long, spiny tail swaying from side to side, as in one hand they carried a bait box, and the other, two fishing rods.

Dark eyes peered at the Inn before them, messy, fluffy hair getting a shuffle as Bites dipped their head to the side. Their friend was staying here, that they were sure of. And though the sun had yet to set, they were sure they wouldn’t mind getting up a little early in order to spend some time together.

Their hand raised to the door, pushing it open as they passed to the counter in order to double-check the room number in which their friend was resting. Once confirmed, they continued on, up some stairs, and a right, before they came before the dark oak door. Locked.

Bites leaned to the side, long arms resting the bait box on the floor, as a curved nail was raised up, and inserted into the lock. After some wiggling around, they felt the soft click of the mechanism before pressing on the handle to open the door fully. They wouldn’t mind.

Probably.

A grin found their lips as the door swung open, the sleeping form of their friend draped over the bed; dark scales with speckles of red that covered so much pale skin, wrapping around his back like a blanket, tousled white hair standing up in random points from his sleep. The curtains were drawn, no light in the room save for that which spilled out from the now open door.

Bites inhaled deeply, as purposefully heavy footsteps brought them over to the bed. They was usually low energy, a little more placid and calm - but sometimes, on occasion, they would let out this more playful side in the company of friends. “Shuunnbaaaiii!” They were not shouting, but they were loud. Loud enough to almost rouse the man from his sleep.

“Get up! I want to go fishin’!” The base of the fishing rods were raised up, coming to jab him lightly in the side. A large hand raised, swiping at the obnoxious intrusion upon his slumber with little grace or any real effort and a faint grumble was heard by forward facing horns. “C’mooon. There’s still some daylight left!”

“I’m sleeping, Bites… go away…” another grumble, more coherent, as the man shuffled on the bed to turn away from Bites and the prodding fishing rods.

The fishing rods were placed to the side, resting against the bedside table - the bait box still lingered by the slightly open door - and the Xaela came to pull on Shunbai’s arm in order to roll him over. It took a bit of effort, they were strong. But this man was large.

“...pleeeaase, Shunbai… Enkh won’t go fishing with me! And Sebit is busy! Don’t make me go sit all on my own…” The pleading was turned up, just a little. In truth Bites would not mind fishing on their own, but the nocturnal habits of Shunbai means it had been a few suns since they last hung out. And that would simply not stand.

Bites would lean against the bed, their grin visible, flashing fangs that had dug into this man's flesh on more than one occasion (out of affection… or frustration). Those same fangs which were now poised by his arm, an eyebrow raised up, letting out a soft ‘Aah’ as if they were about to chomp down upon his scaled shoulder - it was one way of waking someone up. They were nicknamed Bites for a reason.

Squinting eyes glared at Bites now, lips pulled back over fangs as he gave another grumble.

“....fine.”

Bites jumped back up to stand with a wiggle of their tail, fluffy hair bobbing as fangs were hidden behind a big smile. They would never bite their friend to wake them up, no. That’s just cruel.

“Yes! Get changed! C’mon! I brought you a rod, whoever catches the most fish doesn’t have to cook them!”

Feet scampered to scoop up the fishing rods and head back towards the door, grabbing the bait box. They would give him some privacy, at least, in getting up and changed. Some.

Bites would appear back around the door on occasion to make sure Shunbai was actually getting up and making an effort to get changed, before slinking back around the doorframe once they were satisfied he was moving.

They’d make the early ‘morning’ up to him.

Probably

ft. Shunbai @shadesofblades prompt picked by coffee also!

[steak-n-popotoes]

FFxivWrite '24 - 5

"You really drew all these yourself, kupo?"

Beef nodded. The top of his head barely peeked above the sketchbook he held up for Kupopo's perusal.

"Well, your landscapes are pretty good, and the flowers are even better - they should make for some powerful pictomancy!" the moogle exclaimed, wings fluttering and pom bouncing. "We could go over elemental pigments... but the basics are boring, kupo. Why don't we see how you fare with some other subjects, instead?"

The two relocated to their local striking dummy in order to practice a few tricks of the pictomancer's trade.

"You know kupo, I only had the one job crystal to give away anyway, so if you think about it, it's actually a bit of a blessing that you were the only adventurer interested in being my student."

Beef's only response was to stare at the moogle in silence.

"I can see you're eager to learn, so let's get started, kupo. How about we try weapons?"

After a few minutes of watching Beef stare at his beginner's palette, Kupopo thought it best to offer some more guidance. "It doesn't have to be perfect, kupo, just come up with something you can pound a few poms with."

The suggestion seemed to help somehow, as Beef snapped his fingers and began to paint, stroke by stroke. Once it had taken shape, he raised the finished piece aloft - a feat that would never have been possible were it truly a weapon forged in iron.

"A hammer, kupo? Kind of silly at that size, don't you think?"

"Dwarven decking."

"I have no idea what that means, kupo." Kupopo shrugged. "But I guess it's true what they say: when you have a kupo nut, all of your tools start to look like hammers, kupo!"

Beef didn't think he had heard that one before.

"How about we switch tactics, kupo? You could really fill any role on the battlefield, if you think about it. A pictomancer is only limited by their imagination, after all! You could draft up a shield, or even cure pain with... paint, kupo!"

Beef's face scrunched up in response. "Messy."

"Look, that's up to you and how you imagine it, kupo."

For a while Beef tried to conceptualize a depiction of healing, but the line that distinguished between these two uses of magic lay somewhere outside of his grasp. To his untrained eye, it was all just magic.

"Well, you passed the job interview, so I'm sure you've got imagination to spare, kupo." said the moogle. "If you can't visualize how casting a healing spell would look, why don't you try sketching a healer that will do it for you?"

Beef looked to Kupopo, then his brush, and then back again. After another dose of erratic encouragement from his moogle mentor, he gave his best attempt at painting L'kozu.

The resulting evocation defied all description.

"THE HAMMER, KUPO! GET THE HAMMER!"

In a panic, Beef hurriedly sketched up another hammer and scrambled to grip its handle.

"STAMP IT OUT QUICK, KUPO!!"

In a whirlwind of color and magic, he rapidly and repeatedly pounded the dissatisfactory piece until it was rendered across the V&C garden as little more than a painterly pulp.

After a few moments for the two to catch their breath, Kupopo fluttered past Gale to speak a little too close into Beef's face. "I changed my mind, kupo. Maybe we should work through the basics after all... then we'll consider building toward a living muse."

[tsupertsundere]

FFXIVWRITES 2024 - Day 1 - STEER Incomplete ---- 742 words ----- Notes: DID NOT EXPECT TO POST THESE NOW but the submission works differently than I thought it would.

editor's notes: the first day is just proving that I can make something like this exist.

Angeline Carax's focus had a weight of its own sometimes. That was according to the family mythology - so heavy that it would slip out of her head and roll onto whatever had caught it, drawn up and absorbed like honey on the tongue. "I'd like to savor it just as much," Angeline said when she was finally able to, which was far too late for it to have mattered, "but the connection seems made to be broken."

Many things are, her mother Wisteria commented drolly. The resulting argument was as tedious as it had been familiar, a long time ago. Distant now, very nearly sweetly so.

It made her lip twitch into a light smile, even as that weighty focus now had caught and spread across the expanse that unrolled before her - Shaaloani, Tural. She had just traced a path through it to reach this vantage point, one she could fancy she could still trace, and her steed's sides huffed in regular rhythm beneath her as Cinnamon caught his breath after the invigorating climb.

Taking in the fabric of each plain, mesa, prarie, meadow, scrubland, wash - if she could go into it deeply enough, she'd be satisfied. As it stood, just staring would have to suffice, though even that at the wrong moment could prove to be costly.

Cinnamon's ears flicked up first before a deep rumbling made the clasps on the saddle and its attached bags clink. With a little gasp Angeline came to, her fluffy curls bouncing beneath her hat as she shook herself back to herself. The rumbling had grown so intense stones around them leapt like tossed coins and Cinnamon shifted nervously, whinnying.

At once, Angeline tightened her thighs around him and clicked her tongue, that heavy focus falling together in a single point with the weight of a black hole. It swept in a ray at the rocky outcropping, and at her whistle she rocked forward as the same time Cinnamon surged. For an instant an impossibility of horse and rider on uneven land flipped the stomach, but with the flexing and twisting of his supple muscles beneath his skin Cinnamon spilled down the scrub ridge As sure-footed as if he had magnetized horseshoes.

The ridges mellowed out quickly, and the slow build up of gravity gathered exponentially like a bowling ball dropped into a halfpipe - Angeline stood in her stirrups to crane her head as finally she could get a glimpse of a huge dust cloud sweeping in off to her right. /Rrhoneeks?/ she thought furrow-browed - deeper still in the distance small figures were running and waving their arms, only one other similarly mounted and, as was easy to presume by the wail unfurling from them like a banner across the plains, out of their depth.

A broad grin spread across Angeline's face beneath the flopping brim of her hat, eyes devilishly shadowed, and she dropped flat across Cinnamon's back as she kicked him up into a full gallop and set them both on a comet-like arc toward the herd.

The miqo'te on the [horse] slowed its gallop as she caught and lost her breath - she lifted her hat and wiped her brow with her forearm, leaving it resting there as she squinted in surprised relief as the rhoneek herd funneled and then stretched out along the comet's trail. With a sharp HUT she replaced her hat and kicked off to hold up the other side.

The thundering of the rhoneek's hooves rattled toward their home pasture - replaced by the young cowpoke's fervent thanks, and to please not mention this overmuch, especially when her uncle was in earshot. "Mention how well you ride? Now why wouldn't I share that?" was all Angeline said in reply with a conspiratorial grin. "These things happen. Nothing days."

"Nothing happening," the girl replied, returning a fanged one of her own.

Angeline's final assessment: "Yes. You'll be just fine."

The sun was setting as Angeline trotted Cinnamon back to town, passing another miqo'te perched - or rather poured - across a fence, cheeks resting on both fists.

When she approached, the weight of her focus made his tail flick. "Need any help there, sir? You're looking mighty flushed," Angeline affected in a long drawl, her giggles disrupting her good ol' college try at the local accent. His look of astonished delight made the attempt more than successful.

"Wh- why - I - well - " he was laughing too hard and quickly abandoned his own attempt at a high coquettish reply

[worldoshaking]

FFXIVWrite Day 9: Lend an Ear

The day’s bustling was done, and naught left to do but wait. Alainaux had had half a mind not to stay, but he had laboured long to set the fireworks in motion, and he could not deny a certain curiosity to see the results.

It was strange company Alainaux found himself in, but he was certain the party of the second part found it still stranger. Undoubtedly, passersby would think them a odd duo in their ill-matched raiment, neither belonging to Limsa Lominsa or to its port. They didn’t know the half of it.

The Wandering Minstrel was eyeing Alainaux with the peculiar expression the latter had come to expect. ”’Twas good of you to lend the Lominsans your ear,” he said, with an ingenuous smile that Alainaux distrusted. “This will be a Rising to remember.”

Alainaux made him a polite nod. “’Twas the least a stranger like me could do.”

“Do you call yourself a stranger?” said the minstrel, with an odd little laugh. “You have been here before, have you not?”

”Not in such circumstances as would alter that appellation,” said Alainaux. It was no falsehood. Though he had been here a dozen times, he would always be a stranger to this wind-blown city, nor would he have it otherwise.

His meetings with the minstrel through the years had been fortuitous and abrupt, fraught with possibilities that were rather too interesting. ‘Twas certain that the minstrel of the present day did not recollect the past, but all the same he had a nose for momentous happenings, and an unerring instinct for identifying the perpetrator of deeds Alainaux had no wish to claim. The latter had been inclined to flight at first, but he had grown resigned to the frequency of their meetings. The minstrel was as impossible to avoid as the weather, and Alainaux’s apprehensions had been relieved by his evident ignorance of the past.

But the minstrel was looking at him with an alarming familiarity; the product, perhaps, of their contemporary meetings.

“None of us are truly strangers to the Calamity, are we? We carry the memory of it with us in every moment, and it is a memory that unites us. Even those we do not remember—” He paused, with a glance at Alainaux, but Alainaux gave him no encouragement, so the minstrel went on. “This celebration is for the things we do not remember, as much as the things we do.”

“There is small joy in such a celebration,” said Alainaux. He had no desire to prolong the conversation. “People have plenty to be grieving in extant recollection.”

“And yet the destruction of the Calamity compassed so much more.”

“You speak as though you have griefs of your own.”

The minstrel smiled ruefully. ”Would that I did. When I was younger, I was overfond of the sound of my own lyre, and I missed many an opportunity to listen instead. I wish I had paid more mind to the world around me; to so much that is now lost, both stories and songs.” The minstrel gazed out to sea. The sky was beginning to darken; it would be time for the fireworks soon. ”The heroes of that world deserved to be heard; to have a song made of their deeds, that would ring across the world.”

”You would have forgotten,” said Alainaux drily.

The minstrel laughed. ”Likely I would, but I should like to have heard them, all the same. Songs have a way of living on, even when they’re forgotten.”

The minstrel was not so eager now to share his music; he did not often play to crowds, or seek to spread the music that he made. Before Carteneau, he had come to Alainaux with great eagerness, longing to talk and be listened to, to have his songs heard. He had found scant enthusiasm among those he approached; there was quite enough unease about, and no-one had the stomach for his talk of comings and calamities. Alainaux had not been welcoming either, but the minstrel had sought out his company with some tenacity, and he had grown accustomed to his meetings with him. After their first meeting, he had not seemed so eager to press his songs upon Alainaux’s ear; he had found plenty else to talk about, plenty of other diversions in his company.

Likely he had now forgotten the songs he had pressed upon his hearers then.

”Those the songs tell of are not so happily situated,” said Alainaux. ”And this world has its own songs.”

“Indeed,” said the minstrel, ”and its heroes. Wouldn’t you say the Warrior of Light deserves a song of their own?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Alainaux. “But they are not here.”

“A great pity,” said the minstrel, with another odd smile. ”One might say their presence would be fitting.”

Alainaux paid him no mind. Whatever the minstrel might insinuate, he was not the Warrior of Light; he was a traveller who had happened to be passing for some momentous events, circumstances that one of his powers could not well leave be. He was not this world’s hero, by temperament or inclination.

He did not remember Carteneau, though the memories came to him sometimes in flashes: the faces of the others, altered beyond recognition by terror. His own hand slipping from the cliff’s edge, as the rocks exploded around him. The ruin of the world, in a flash of light.

The sound of Hydaelyn’s voice, too late, in a paean of grief that split the sky.

There was a strange irony to his presence here, at this celebration for the dead, this symbol of hope to the living: he was one of those dead. He was not here for hope, or for sorrow. He didn’t know why he was here, why he’d chosen to linger in the city. Only that there was something fitting about it, that he should be here, the only person who could fill in the gaps of the city’s memory with his own jagged shards.

[nalukahvi]

FFxivWrite2023 Participation Prize - Esredes

Another year of folks giving writing their all, and another year I have the joy of drawing something for one of the winning entries! This year my winner is @crimsonfluidessence with their character, Esredes! Their writing really got to me and 100% inspired the finished result for the art.

Huge thank you as always to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for organizing FFXIVWrite! And a big thank you to @crimsonfluidessence for the great food (the writing)!

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

In another time, another place

There’s just something about characters speculating how their lives could have gone differently that is pure catnip to me! Especially characters where, but for a few key choices, they might have wound up as a hero rather than a villain, or vice versa.

Now combine that with having an NPC cosplay alt, meaning that I spend a not-insignificant portion of my FFXIV playtime wondering what that character would think about lots of random stuff.

End result: an entire menagerie of Fordola-centric plot bunnies! This post will be an attempt to corral said bunnies into a form that’s at least somewhat organized. It will also grow over time as I add writeups for new AUs if and when they become relevant to what I’m posting on this sideblog!

.

To Catch a Falling Star: Instead of leaving for Doma, Lyse spends Stormblood infiltrating the Skulls, with the ultimate goal of convincing Fordola to defect to the Resistance. When your army gets decimated, just steal the other guy’s one, you know?

Eventual Fordola/Lyse, with a complicated enemies-to-lovers arc.

Note that I'm writing scenes from this as they fit the FFxivWrite prompts, not in chronological order. So here's a second list, with the entries listed in the order they occur in the timeline (though there are still large gaps and lots of missing scenes I haven't done yet!)

Take our quarry alive!

Plans Hatched Behind Bars

Narrow Horizons

For a Morsel of Acceptance

Who wants to steer the Reaper?

Those Fleeting Halcyon Moments

A Telling Emotion

Sally forth, to endings unwritten

Aftermath of a Duel

.

WoL!Fordola AU: Not WoLFordola like the ship, WoL!Fordola as in the original Warrior of Light, the Meteor Survivor who fought at Carteneau, who destroyed the Ultima Weapon, who ended the Dragonsong War… he died to Zenos at the end of Stormblood. Oops!

Now Fordola is the only one left who has the fighting skill needed to even have a chance of filling his shoes.

This is the timeline I’m basically writing as I take my alt through the MSQ. It starts out as a continuation of TCaFS (so technically TCaFS is one of my WoL’s backstories in a roundabout way haha). But it gets even weirder. Fordola might be the new WoL, for example, but it’s Krile who is the shard of Azem!

Fics in this AU:

A Nostalgic Adventure

Third-Rate Azem

.

WoL was out fishing, Fordola did the sidequests instead: Not an AU so much as a common premise I use. Fics in this series assume that everything is the same as in canon, including there being some non-specific WoL (maybe even your WoL!) who exists and follows the normal MSQ. However, while they’re busy offscreen somewhere, Fordola is forced to pick up the slack for them and do sidequests where she doesn't usually appear.

My first FFXIV fic (Sympathetic Resonance aka "why is Fordola in Eureka?") would be part of this series, as would my WIP Sorrows of Werlyt fic.

.

8th Umbral Calamity: Shadowbringers never specifies whether Lyse and Fordola are killed by Black Rose in the bad timeline. What if they weren’t? Lots of fun (and by fun I mean tragic) ways that could play out!

Originally, this was going to be a kind of Apocalypse/Road Trip AU, with Lyse and Fordola traveling through a Black Rose-devastated Ala Mhigo and trying not to to kill each other before they reached Cid and the Ironworks.

Then I was writing an FFxivWrite entry and realized it would be interesting to combine it with another AU I had, where Fordola gets executed by the Resistance and winds up accidentally bodysharing with Lyse…

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

7,935 total entries were submitted in 2023!

This includes all entries that were submitted via the Google Form, including late entries (and excluding duplicate entries).

Which brings us to 50,656 total recorded entries since we began this challenge in 2017! 

And, we had 109 volunteer artists in 2023!! Which means that there are 109 prize-winners!

A breakdown of the stats + announcement of the Participation Prize winners are below the cut ~

Want to see all public entries? Here’s a link to the Master Spreadsheet. This omits entries that people requested to keep private between them and I.

There's a lot to be gleaned from the data this year. Firstly, this is the first year where we see a real dip in participation, numbers dropping to the pre-2020 range. There are a couple of probable causes for this dip: this year, I chose, a) not to promote the challenge in any discords, b) not to repost any prompts to twitter, and c) not to post reminders throughout the challenge for folks to submit their links.

I was curious to know how much my own direct participation effects the challenge these days, and the numbers seem to point to "quite a bit!" So, that's good to know.

Secondly, we have finally approached the "data visualization salad" limit in which there are enough data points to confuse the visualization of the data overall, rendering them a little tough to understand at first glance. So, next year will probably see some fine-tuning of the data so that it's easier to digest.

Now, onto the good stuff!

Total Participation Year to Year:

Prompt Participation by Year:

NOTE: The big dips are Make-up / Extra Credit Days. Lots of folks choose to take a break over writing Extra Credit. Legit!

Prompt Breakdown by Week:

Submissions by Day:

NOTE: Day 7 was the day before the 24-hour deadline went into effect. Hence, the big ol’ spike.

Submissions by Platform:

Participation Prize Winners

Winners were selected via a random raffle dice roll made by Moen and span all online writing platforms, including Tumblr, Ao3, Google Docs, and others (like Twitter). This writing challenge is not a contest - no one’s work was being judged for length, skill, etc. The prizes are based on participation only! The more entries that you wrote and submitted within its 24-hour deadline, the higher your chance of winning a prize.

Prizes are a simple black & white portrait of the winner’s character. Most are shoulder up but the artists are free to take liberties if they’d like. Prizes are not commissioned work, so ultimately it’s the artist’s choice for what they’d like to do for the piece. Some artists (not all) accept commissions and might be open to colorizing a prize piece, after it’s been posted, at their normal rates.

Due to recent changes in Discord's username format, this year (and this year only) all winners will be notified by yours truly (MoenMoen) via a friend request and message in Discord. Next year I'll be teaming up with some folks to find a better, more streamlined process for informing and connecting winners with their volunteer artist.

So, keep an eye out for me in your Discord friend requests/inbox over the next week or so (it will take me a minute to get to everyone):

As always, there are a few winners whose artists may need to drop out for personal reasons, and that’s ok! In those cases, the winners will be carried over into 2024′s pool of winners where another artist will pick up their prize and complete it.

Congrats to all 109 winners, and I'll see you in September 2024 when we do it all again!

[faelune-home]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #14: Telling

(A/n: Pushing some progress for the role quest rewrites with a step forward in the magic quest! One thing that's nice about this is that it lets the Scions take over some of the work from the quests that were otherwise just your job as the player. All the hard foot work stomping around to question folk and search for clues.

I'll confess that one of the scenes here is maybe not one I'm keen on, it feels a bit weak narratively, but I liked the writing in it enough to keep it for now.

Word count: 1761)

She wanted to say she had results, so she could report back to Fhara with news that would bring the woman to Ishgard and prepare them for the next step, some progress in their ventures. Unfortunately, she had no such thing. Just a cold flight through blustery winds throwing snow into her face on the back of a chocobo. She was sure chocobo were capable of resisting the weather, it was a natural deterrent in their feathers, and yet somehow the creature beneath her felt chilled to the bone and shopping wet to the touch. Truly no-one was immune to the frigid storms left in the calamity’s wake.

Alisaie dismounted from the chocobo and paid the porter her fee, then tightened up her coat around her to continue her march onward to the Congregation. The wind had picked on her return trip from Falcon’s Nest, trying for yet another day to find their dragon - Fafnir or somesuch as they’d named it - and coming up empty. It didn’t help that by what little description she’d managed to get from the few that had witnessed it, its appearance almost seemed perfect to blend into the snowy landscapes of Coerthas.

She was grateful at least for the borrowed coat to handle the worst of the weather, though it seemed she was so unlucky to have the weather constantly in uproar and never seemed to calm even for a moment. She had to hope then that her luck had to be balanced out with some information from Artoirel’s own inquiries with Deacon Clem.

And judging by the fact that both men were waiting outside for her, maybe they did have some good news for once.

“Lady Alisaie, welcome back,” Aymeric bowed, “I take it there’s no news from the Western Highlands?”

“None at all. No further reports of sightings or attacks, though I’ve unfortunately seen with my own eyes the wide berth the people there give to the stationed clergy. Knowing the nature of how people turn, and with most of our afflicted being members of the Church, mayhap it would be best to recall them to the city,” she suggested, “After all, smaller local communities can be very close knit, and the ostracisation might even be more potent than if they were back here. There’s something to be said about the distance the people feel between them and the Church, but it may afford some protection for a brief while.”

“That sounds like an idea, though it may be difficult,” he responded, frowning, “I can send a message, though I wouldn’t doubt some individuals to refuse and continue to attempt their work in reaching out to the masses. Even with the disconnect and, as you said, the risk a local community singling out an individual can do, there are some civilians that would still turn to the Fury for guidance in these turbulent times, and the clergy would still offer their services and comfort to them. They may risk remaining out there even with an order to return for safety.”

She frowned at the suggestion, understanding his reasoning but already cursing the potential stubbornness of the people. But she nodded nonetheless.

“And I take it you have something as well? After all, you would be waiting inside for me otherwise,” she said.

“That we do, my lady,” Artoirel responded, and Alisaie almost dared to think his stern mien almost showed a hint of satisfaction, “We may have an idea of the identity of the man that became Profane Fafnir. Deacon Clem’s witness report matches up with that of a missing patient from the newest infirmary in the residential districts.”

“Then we go,” America stated, turning to Alisaie and telling her, “The districts are still heavily under construction, and much of the land has still to be built and cleaned. The way to the infirmary is clear but mind your step should you catch yourself on rubble or end up near the path edges.”

Alisaie tried to bite back a sharper response, or even a frown, though it only made her jaw tighten. She knew he was only being considerate, but she hardly needed to be babied. It was hardly an active battlefield. But in the end she nodded.

“Thank you ser. Lead the way.”

~~

Alisaie did wonder in passing if this was the restoration project Fhara had said she’d been taking part in. Ever since the souls of the Scions were still trapped on the First, she’d had stories of picking up some skills and offering to help clean up and repair some work in Ishgard. But then if that was the case, surely Aymeric would’ve mentioned it.

After all, he always seemed eager to make mention of Fhara and her achievements, especially in regards to how they aid Ishgard’s future.

She pushed the thought aside as she had to clamber around a rock taking up their pathway, overhearing Artoirel chiding a foreman for letting the way get blocked given the vital connection it offered to the infirmary.

“They should have it cleared by the time we’re finished, though it shouldn't have ended up as such to begin with. Far be it for me to overstep Lord Francel given this is his project to oversee, but there needs to be quicker action for the sake of the residents as well.”

“Are they staffed enough to stay on top of it?” Alisaie asked, looking behind her as they continued on the path to see the cluster of workers moving to work on the rock, some even scaling the unsteady rockface next to them with ropes in hand and already being wrapped underneath the thing.

“I should hope so. I’m aware that Master Francel has petitioned the aid of adventurers and artisans to offer their assistance. Much of the major clearances and construction is happening in stages I believe, it allows our volunteers to go off for their own duties then return at set times. It leaves a number of our own here to mind the premises and upkeep maintenance on the recently finished work, as well as providing assistance to the residents that have moved into the finished plots,” Aymeric responded.

Maybe Fhara was helping then. She could very much set up arrangements with this Francel and show up whenever Aymeric just happened to miss her.

They crossed the threshold into the infirmary and were met by a worried aide.

~~

They had an identity! An idea of the man that may have become their blasphemy, and it was certainly feeding into the idea that the blasphemy itself could be influencing the clergy in some way.

An elezen man named Vaindreau, shared with a retired member of the Heavens Ward, but evidently not the same person, given the reports that he was a younger man.

…Okay perhaps it wasn’t as much to go by, but it was still something! And the implications that he had a connection with a clergyman, Bishop Vartinoix, whom they’d also been in contact with, was something to be investigated. Alisaie certainly wasn’t entirely sure of the man during their past encounters.

But she’d been ordered to retire for the night, so that they could prepare for more searching and inquiries on the morrow, especially if they could contact Fhara with the good news.

She couldn’t quite help being a touch amused at Aymeric’s face when she’d offered to get in touch with the other woman. Like he was biting back a protest and having to force himself to be professional about it as he acquiesced the duty to her.

Alisaie settled back into the inn room they’d provided for her, always close at hand in the Forgotten Knight - and one of their ‘finest’ rooms by Gibrillont’s statement, though finery seemed to mostly be found in the slightly more well kept bed sheets. “Stuffed with the finest karakul fur!” apparently.

She was set up by the small desk, ready to write a report of the day’s events and the revelation they’d reached when her linkshell pinged in her ear.

“Alisaie?”

She blinked, a touch surprised. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you brother. Is all well?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Or- well, as well as they can be given the circumstances,” he responded with a sign, “But I just wanted to check in. It’s been some time since we’ve all been in contact, I just wanted to make sure everyone is okay, even if we’re all busy with our duties.”

“I’m fine. Have you had any luck? Any progress?” she asked innocently, sitting on her reveal for a moment longer.

“Nothing, I'm afraid. Most of our troubles here have less to do with our blasphemy and more to do with the human side, the people struggling to reintegrate after being part of the Empire’s forces. And Fordola is…well, I haven’t been able to speak with her yet, she only seems to talk with Arenvald much whenever she’s around. Fhara called in earlier, and even over linkshell she sounds exhausted. I should hope she has a chance to rest with how much she’s taken on with this work.”

Alisaie frowned deeply, remembering how every delegate had swarmed Fhara specifically, everyone needing her help, right then and there, just her alone. It was a boon then that Fhara recognised her own limitations and had the Scions to help take on the extra weight of these duties. It came at the cost of their main investigation into the source of the Final Days being halted, but any progress to help limit peoples suffering had to mean something…

“And what of you, sister? I know things must be difficult in Ishgard with the weather, and I hope the people aren’t giving you too much trouble.”

She snapped back at his question, shaking her head despite the fact he couldn’t see her.

“Oh it’s fine. The weather is awful but I’m managing. And Lord Aymeric is very attentive, he keeps an eye on me and informs of the goings on with certain groups. It’s almost a little too much. But I’m aware he’s trying to help.” Alisaie could hear him chuckling over her grumbling.

“Indeed. But how is your investigation going? I would like to hope someone’s made progress.”

A smile curled over Alisaie’s lip, an overwhelming desire to brag already brewing in her chest. Yes she should be thankful that they even have a way to move forward compared to the progress some of the others might be at now.

But she had to revel in the chance for some friendly sibling boasting when she could.

[elfyourmother]

Do you consider yourself a lore breaking, lore bending or lore adhering roleplayer? Does this adherence to lore depend on the kind of lore you're exploring with your characters; i.e. you play fast and loose with ideas xiv has yet to develop, but you tend to pay close attention to the fleshed out ideals? Is there lore you have modified that you're proud of and would share here?

I view lore as a starting point for me to jump off from and make my own. Always have.

I find strict adherence to game canon for its own sake creatively suffocating and always have, in every setting I've ever written in. It’s pretty much entirely because I grew up on DMing and writing in Forgotten Realms, which took a very DIY approach back in the day that was heavily encouraged by its creator. Everyone's Realms were equally valid, according to Word of God, and there were often intentional "blanks" left in sourcebooks for the DM to fill. These books emphasized over and over again that the DM was the ultimate authority on canon, not TPTB or the novels or anything else. That philosophy has informed my approach to worldbuilding in the transformative fandom sense for the last 30 years. That and being a queer Black femme of color who is very rarely satisfied by canon narratives rife w racially problematic tropes. I change things to make a space for myself and my characters and the stories I want to tell, by necessity. FFXIV is no different in that respect.

That said, I don't smash SE canon just to smash it either. Despite how bonkershits a lot of Gisèle's canon appears on the surface (eg. post-war Ishgard's constitutional monarchy with King Aymeric), everything I change has been carefully considered and engineered for as much internal consistency as possible. As much as I operate on Rule of Cool, I need things to make sense for me to have fun.

But I am distinctly not a roleplayer, for this and many other reasons. I'm strictly a fic writer, and I don't ever collab with people. The world Gisèle operates in is constructed entirely for her, and my own enjoyment, by design. So no one is forced to deal with my stuff if they don't like it.

That said, King Aymeric is probably the lore I’m most proud of. I wrote a ficlet for ffxivwrite last year on it here, but the cliffs notes: Aymeric invoked the ancient covenant between man and dragon when begging Hraesvelgr’s aid against Nidhogg and vowed he would restore it, but Hraes said that because that covenant was broken by an Elezen king, only an Elezen king could restore it. Hraes was wily though, it wasn’t just upholding weird draconic custom in saying that. His ulterior motive was to make Aymeric guarantee his people would be united enough not to turn on the Dravanians once Nid was handled. the end result is that Aymeric restored the Ishgardian throne (“The Azure Throne”, as a nod to Haldrath), but as a largely unifying figurehead/ceremonial position with Parliament strictly defining the role of the king. Artoirel is Lord Speaker of the House of Lords. Aymeric’s still LC of the temple knights in addition to his royal duties. He wasn’t giving that up lol.

making a constitutional monarchy plausible in the context of the story was challenging and I think I’ve done a solid job of it tbh. I wanted to lean into the Arthurian romance vibes of HW but also solve the fundamental problem I had w how it ended, which is that I don’t think it’s a terribly realistic scenario for ppl who were under a theocracy for 1000 years. Aymeric essentially having his hand forced by Hraesvelgr solves the issue of why he would restore the throne and tbh I don’t flinch from the complications of squaring that with the revelations about Ishgard’s founding, I think it only plays more into Aymeric’s ambivalence about the role he’s been thrust into.

[agent-yolk-writes]

FFXIVWrite (Day 10) - Stable

Oops I tripped and all these photos of haurchewol spilled everywhere oh nooo

“Pray forgive him. He can be a bit…rambunctious at times. Been carrying an attitude ever since we retired from racing. It was a lot worse before, but I think allowing him to kick some arse on the road helped quite a bit.” Riida had told Haurchefant the first time she had to put him in the camp’s stable. 

Many travelers had stopped by Camp Dragonhead with their obedient chocobo in tow, but this may be the first time he’s seen one having an attitude towards their owner. Despite his sweet-sounding moniker, he can be quite mischievous. He remembered trying not to laugh as Riida greeted him outside after dismounting, unaware that the oversized bird had already begun chewing on her unruly hair like a carrot. 

Just like his owner, he finds him simply fascinating. 

While Riida wasn’t ready to talk about her upbringing, she doesn’t mind sharing stories on how she and her sister went by to make gil when they arrived in Eorzea proper. One of which was racing at the Gold Saucer and essentially received a mount from the ‘bad batch’ as a backhanded gift. She explained that purebred chocobos were worth millions, and since nobody wanted to sponsor a rookie with no professional training, she had to make do with what she got. That’s how she got her hands on Pudding and immediately fell in love. 

When asked why she left she merely shrugged. “It started not to be fun.” She guessed. Riida had recalled having to use almost all her meager winnings to buy out Pudding. It was tough for him to get adjusted to a new life (she even showed off some scars he left on her arm), but eventually made it work once she enlisted in a Grand Company. 

“Still, he is my sweet little Pudding.” She booped his beak once he was all set in his stable, resulting in a soft kweh from him. “We may have our differences, but he’s still my best friend. He’d put up a fuss when Noodle and I huddled around him for warmth back when I couldn’t afford a room at the inn, but then he gets antsy when I’m gone for too long.” Pudding tried reaching down to nip at her hair again, but she quickly intercepted his advance. “Hopefully he’ll learn to socialize with his Ishgardian cousins and learn some proper manners. Yes, you.”

To watch Riida interact with her beloved companion made Haurchefant’s heart skip a beat.

[lucinata]

FFXIVWrite, Prompt #18: Hackneyed

If at first you don't succeed, try try again.

Even if you die, it was all just a premonition, so you can go at it again.

If you encounter a problem, use gun. And if that don't work, use more gun.

Find your one solution and throw it at every problem you see.

When your favorite shirt gets worn out, patch it up and use it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

It's more patch now than shirt.

People don't wear out like clothes do.

(The tears stay hidden, and are rarely mended.)

Primals are mundane now that we have a solution to them. Everyone feels so much safer now.

(Except the guy who has to fight the primals, but they haven't said anything yet.)

Got a problem? Ask the Scions!

Always put all the eggs in the one, sturdiest basket you've found.

People don't notice things are breaking until they suffer the consequences themselves.

To do the same thing over and over while expecting different results is madness.

[nk-rinji]

[FFXIVWrite] Hackneyed

They went over the design for the fifth time.

Rinji may try to conceal her roots, but if there's something that gives her away, it's her passion for style.

She doesn't mind uniforms. She still knows that functionality and practicality come before all. However, she also knows that her hard-earned gil has value. And for her commissioned, expensive and personal armor she definitely wants something she is comfortable with. No, something that she likes, even.

So there it was - the fifth draft. Rinji knew she was testing the smith's patience, but she also knew that the smith would rather die than to deliver an unsatisfying result. Besides, better now than when it's actually smithed.

"Maybe let's focus on the helm, eh?" The Xbr'aal spoke. "Here. I asked a contact and looked into your big cathedrals and spires. You certainly have it for gloom, eh?"

Rinji looked over the paper. She hums. "What are these supposed to be?"

"You're an Ishgardian Knight, are you not? I thought these could emulate, like… The ornaments of the church. At least from what I've seen."

"Hm…" Rinji squinted at the idea. "Maybe… A spear ornament somewhere? Or, well, three of them."

"Isn't that, like, the most hackneyed thing one can do with your armor? Besides, didn't you say you didn't want to make it too Ishgardian?"

"You're the one who brought up the Church."

"Touche."

The design didn't go through in the end. Neither has the next one. However, it made the feeling of putting it on for the first time all the more exhilarating — not to mention, the smith was handsomely compensated for his trouble.

In the end, it was truly hers.

[crossroadsdimension]

Fanfic Writing Update

I have. So much fanfiction.

FFXIVWrite 2024 (title of collection pending) -- I plan to start uploading these to AO3 in November. They'll be every other week, as Distant Cousins is still going, and will push back my ARR Patches story for Cross Sylvan. But that's fine -- I want to get these out before next September.

Cross Sylvan's Adventures -- I've gotten up to writing the ARR 2.3 chapters, but I haven't written them yet -- the above has been keeping me busy. Don't expect to see these for a while as a result, but...know that I'm going to be set on Thursday updates for a long time after this.

Currently, my every-other Thursday uploads for FFXIV fics are going to carry me until the first week of Oct 2025. Expect that to extend out into 2026 by the time September is done.

Warrior Returned -- currently working on Ch 89, which will be going up Memorial Day of May 2025. Plan to write through at least chapter 90 by the end of this next week, which will put me in June and maintain my 8-month lead on my readers. I'm gearing up to enter Mor Dhona. Almost there.

Distant Cousins -- sitting on chapter 52 right now, which is going up in March. I plan to start pushing for more chapters written after I get through my month goal for Warrior Returned. I want to maintain at least a six-month lead, but we'll see. I've had a guest commenter on my fic taking away a lot of my Trigun attention lately, which has left it a little difficult to find the motivation to keep going.