#HALONE PLEASE PIERCE ME THROUGH THE HEART PLEASE

[astrxealis]

i will watch the trailer in english soon :))

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 28: Bow

“So remind me why we’re doing this, if you’d be so kind”, Dia asked.

“You may be an all-powerful warrior with a spellbook in hand, but imagine the utility if you learned something new. Where better to learn than a training ground such as Camp Dragonhead?” Haurchefant reminded her kindly as requested.

“I guess. I don’t necessarily have anything better to do thanks to the Braves, now do I?”

“I hope this might prove sufficiently entertaining during your stay. Here is your weapon.” Haurchefant removed an oaken bow from the wall mount as well as a quiver filled with arrows.

“A bow?”

“Aye. Is aught amiss?” Haurchefant tilted his head at her comment.

“Well, no, I guess…I would have thought you’d recommend something a bit more, er, close combat than that.

“A knight cannot be content with simply one mode of combat. A quick marksman can have just the same impact as the mightiest of swords with the right timing.”

“Yeah, but the sword looks cooler.”

He sighed. “Aesthetics aside, I figured this would be an easier transition. Instead of slinging spells, you would sling arrows.”

“I guess. The bow is definitely a different medium though- easier to aim my hands than this.”

“Who knows? Mayhap you’ll find yourself enjoying it more than you think.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll try anything once.”

“Attagirl! Now then, here is where you’ll stand.” Haurchefant lead her to a marker about twenty fulms away from a target. “Allow me to give you an example of proper bow handling.” He grabbed his own bow and quiver and prepared at a target next to hers.

“All right, first thing’s first, depending on your dominant hand- based off of what I’ve seen, you appear to be right-handed- you need to place one leg back and another to the front. As a right-handed woman, keep your right leg to the back for support…” Dia listened as he explained form for proper bow handling for about two minutes.

“….and last, but certainly not least, keep your eye on the target. If you’re aligned with your bow, you will hit your mark.” Finally, he demonstrated everything he said in one shot. Carefully, he drew back the bowstring, and fired at the blue and silver target in front of him. It flew skillfully towards the bullseye and landed perfectly, as if he told the arrow to simply go there. “Does this make sense, my friend?”

“I…think so. I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Indeed. Show me what you’ve learned.”

The answer was rather little. She fumbled with the quiver for a moment, failing to get an arrow since she failed to attach the quiver to her person properly. She spun in circles a few times as if she had a mi’qote tail she wanted to catch, but she did manage to get one.

“Got it! Now you said something about a nock”, she mumbled, looking for a slice of metal on the string as he pointed out. “Ah-ha!” she exclaimed quietly as she located it and placed the feathers against it. Slowly, she pulled back the bowstring, but found she couldn’t get it very far back, not to mention her slipping grip on the arrow.

Out of nowhere, Dia felt her arms be lifted upward gently. “Don’t let your elbows fall back into your sides or you’ll never get very far”, he spoke softly into her ear in a low tone. He slid his hands up her arm to her hand and corrected the positioning of the arrow, pulling it slightly backward so she didn’t grip the feathers. “Remember, slightly behind the feathers”, he instructed in the same tone.

Please don’t let go of me, she thought to herself, hoping to every god she could think of that he couldn’t tell how she drank up his warmth, that hot breath against her neck, the way he whispered to her just right, and how it made her heart race.

It only made things worse when he gently took her chin and tilted her head towards the front of her, pressing against his own cheek as he put his face parallel to hers.

“Eyes on the target”, he said just as low before turning his head to her ear, and whispering “Fire.”

She didn’t even register her own grip releasing. She just focused on her racing pulse and the shiver being sent down her spine at his whisper.

“Well done!” he exclaimed aloud, snapping Dia out of whatever the hells that was, and bringing her attention to the target. Her arrow pierced through the edge of the circle near the bottom.

“Uh…I-I didn’t even hit the bullseye.”

“‘Tis your first time, my friend. Many a fresh recruit have sent their arrows flying through our windows, so I consider this a rousing success for your first try!”

Now that he said it, it was rather nice to her that he could see a miss in such a way. To that end, she intended to try again. “Hey, so uh, you might want to help me try that again, Haurchefant. Maybe I’ll hit the bullseye this time with your help”, she suggested meekly.

“Nonsense! You’ll never learn with me hanging over your shoulder. Now then, use what you’ve learned, my friend.”

Dammit, she cursed in her head.

Dia picked up what he led her to do pretty quick, and went through the motions: straight arm, just past the feathers, eyes on the target. She waited a few moments as she felt herself practically fighting the bowstring, but the stage was set.

That is, until she took her eyes away from the target to look at Haurchefant, who seemed to stare her down as well, but why?

She would have thought about it more had she not just grazed his arm with an arrow.

“Oh, Twelve help me!” Dia exclaimed as she threw the bow to the ground to run to his side.

“I’m all right, I’m all right”, he tried to reassure her, but kept his arm conveniently covered. She pulled it away from the wound with great force as he attempted to keep the wound out of her sight. “Gah! I’m so sorry, Haurchefant!” she apologized as she began her ministrations on his arrow wound. “I’m an idiot; I got distracted by something at the last second and that arrow just flew in the exact direction I didn’t want it to go.”

He said nothing. He couldn’t; not when she was right there. The way the aether flowed from her into him electrified his senses. Her firm grip on his arms was exactly what he needed. The way she glistened with sweat in such a frozen wasteland; in this moment, she seemed rather…splendid.

“There. Are you all right?” she asked Haurchefant worriedly.

Halone help him, he needed out of there before he did something he’d regret.

“Oh, uh, yes, I’m fine now, thank you”, he answered rapidly and nervously, “Keep, uh, keep practicing with that bow. I just remembered that I have some business-like…business to attend to in my-my office. Excellent work! Keep it up!” He shot out of the shooting range as fast as he could and entered his office with all haste.

Dia, you fucking idiot, you scared him away. Focus! she berated herself in her head. She picked up the bow one last time, doing exactly as she was instructed, and fired the arrow. It hit the wood that held up the target. “Fuck!” she whispered loudly.

********

The evening sun hanged in the horizon of Ishgard. The golden glow of twilight still shone enough light that the garden she managed to keep alive in the courtyard behind Borel Manor could remain visible. She tended to her peppers and kidragora quietly in spite of the cold. None could make a master botanist stop doing botany, climate be damned.

Once weeds were pruned enough, fertilizer was laid down properly, and covers were applied to keep her labor of love warm through the night, she stepped away. Her garden was located in a different spot of the courtyard, separated by a wall, most likely at the former countess’s request. On that other side of the wall was a small area used to practice combat. Neither her nor Aymeric used the other side all that often; Dia had a proper setup for practicing gunbreaker maneuvers with Thancred back in Mor Dhona, while Aymeric preferred to use the mostly defunct Whitebrim front for his training. With that in mind, she was slightly curious about it, and decided to pay it a visit.

Upon reaching the other side, she took a quick look around. It was painfully obvious how unused everything was considering the frozen state of all the equipment. That said, there was one particular item that didn’t seem to share the same level of disrepair: a dark oak bow, complete with metal arrows in a quiver next to it.

It still hurt. After everything she’d seen and done, after everyone she ever met, after all the sacrifices she’d seen, it still hurt. But still, she always remembered how a smile better suited a hero. Dia picked it up off the wall, alongside a quiver that hung next to it, and stood at the line about 30 fulms behind the target.

The quiver was on correctly this time, making it much easier to pick one out of the collection. She found the nock easily, seeming to have been prepared already, and placed the arrow just above the feather. She placed her right leg back, and lifted the bow, ready to aim. “Arms up”, she whispered as she lifted her arms. “Eyes on the target”, she whispered as she focused on the target.

She could still hear him whisper, “Fire”.

In a moment, she let go of the arrow, and felt a small sting of disappointment as she just missed her mark. It landed on the right between the edge of the target and the bullseye. “Dammit”, she whispered.

“Fine form.”

She turned her head to see Aymeric at the doorway, clearly amused by her attempt. “Come to laugh at your girlfriend and her piss-poor aim?” she snarked, still disappointed in her efforts.

“I would never. Your aim is fine, my dear. That in mind, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lack confidence in something before.”

“You should have met me when I first started adventuring. You’d be floored by how little confidence I’m capable of having.”

He smiled and laughed lightly. Aymeric walked towards her and said, “You look rather dashing with my old bow.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

“Naught to apologize for, my love. Consider it our bow.” He led her to lift up the bow again. “Your form is quite good, but don’t waver.” He held onto her bow arm to still her arm, and tilted her chin upward, keeping his hand in place. “Align yourself with the bow. Remember, it follows your lead, and you are a natural leader.” She kept her eye on the center of the target.

“Fire”, he ordered in a low tone.

Dia released her grip, and witnessed the glory of her arrow hitting the very center of the bullseye.

She squealed in excitement and hopped in place like a child, making Aymeric laugh in a mixture of pride and amusement. “Congratulations!”

She pounced him and kissed him in her jubilee, and he returned it happily. After a few seconds of enjoyment, she released and told him coyly, “Thank you for being such a great teacher.”

“Where would I be without my star pupil?”

She grinned and returned to kissing him with more passion behind her efforts than the first time, the both of them soaking in each other’s energy and warmth as the evening began to wane.

Thank you too, Haurchefant. I’ll carry your guidance with me always.

[zenithlux]

EOA 10: Divine Intervention

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve updated this beauty. But now that I’m finally able to write more again, expect more updates on more stories (and more drabbles as always... but maybe not all Devil May Cry xD)

Catch up on the story here!

Carbuncles are small fox-like creatures that can help fulfill various roles depending on which version is summoned. Emerald Carbuncle casts spells, while Topaz Carbuncle can tank. However, there are rumors of much stronger Carbuncles that can be summoned based on the power of the summoner. Only a few of these variations are known…”

-Y’mithra’s Research Journal, “Of Summons and Carbuncles”

---------------

After nearly an hour of little progress, Aymeric accepted that, in this lifetime at least, he may never actually summon a carbuncle.  Y’mithra had tried to be encouraging. “It takes time,” She said. “And you’re showing great promise. Just practice whenever you get the chance.” And while he appreciated the sentiment, Aymeric wasn’t sure where she got that notion from, as nothing had happened since he attuned to the aetheryte. He hadn’t even seen the shimmer of a Carbuncle, something that Y’mithra had called a promising sign. And while she had also claimed to see it herself, Aymeric didn’t believe it. 

It was difficult for Aymeric to not think of his failures as a potential burden. They still didn’t know what effect Aymeric’s sudden “absorption” of Z’iyanna’s power had on her. And if he couldn’t use this newfound magic, then what was the point? Why was he given this power if he wasn’t capable of using it? 

On the bright(?) side, he could still see Moogles, which was good for his new companion. 

Puklia Pachu, or Puklia as she preferred to be called, had been waiting on the airship before Aymeric himself got there. And once she’d announced that “Sir Aymeric said I could come, kupo!” he knew any attempts to dissuade her would be for naught. Now, she was on top of the world, thrilled to be going on an adventure, excited to meet her hero, and mesmerized by the airship itself. Aymeric could feel her enthusiasm as if he were the one about to meet his idol for the first time. And that, at the very least, was a feeling he could relate to. 

“Is she as amazing as the stories say, kupo?” Puklia said. 

“I don’t know which stories you speak of,” Aymeric replied.

“I’ve heard them all, kupo!” Puklia said proudly. “Did you know she even defeated our king? He was big and scary and she fought him and the Moogle guard all by herself! And I heard it was more graceful than our dancers, kupo!”

“Moogle have dancers?” Aymeric said, trying to imagine what such a thing would look like. 

“Is she that amazing?”

“I think so.”

“Is she as beautiful as they say too?”

Aymeric choked, and he swore he heard Cid chuckle somewhere behind him. “Well traditionally speaking…”

Puklia’s arms flayed in irritation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Many would likely refer to her in that way.”

Puklia paused as her paw touched her chin. “But do you, kupo?”

Aymeric’s face felt warmer than a 1000 suns. “I… Yes I… suppose I would,” He was suddenly grateful that Haurchefant had gone elsewhere, as he couldn’t imagine answering such a question in front of a man clearly pining for Z’iyanna’s affections. Of course, Haurchefant would likely be answering these questions himself. In fact, Aymeric was certain the Moogle would be far more entertained with Haurchefant than Aymeric himself. 

“Aymeric,” Cid said as they drifted toward one of the islands. “It seems Haurchefant has beat us here.”

“What?” Aymeric practically flew from his seat as he reached for the railing. On the ground was a Haurchefant, but he was more furious than Aymeric had ever seen him before. His voice practically pierced the heavens, even though Aymeric couldn't quite tell what was being said. The boy in front of him - Emmanellain, Aymeric recalled - was cowering as if Halone himself was standing before him. The page boy next to him was quiet and clearly avoiding Haurchefant’s wrath. 

“Oh no, kupo!” Puklia said as she waved her hands around in a panic. “Z’iyanna’s missing!”

Aymeric’s heart plummeted as Cid brought them in for a landing. “What else has he said, Puklia?”

“She went to save that boy, kupo,” Puklia said. “But the boy came back without her!”

Aymeric didn’t want to believe her, but the pain on Haurchefant’s face when they landed. “Z’iyanna’s missing,” He said, eyes flickering to Puklia for a brief moment before meeting Aymeric’s gaze again. “And the temperature is dropping by the minute.”

“Hypothermia?” Aymeric said. 

“That is my greatest worry, at the moment,” Haurchefant said. “Even if she had access to Ifrit, I fear she would not last the night.”

“My crew and I can scout the area,” Cid said. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” The page boy said. “The storms up here are very dangerous for airships.”

“But surely if we know which way to go…”

“My brother cannot recall where they were,” Haurchefant said through gritted teeth. “But we know she rescued him from the Vanu, so she has to be near there.”

“She dropped to a much lower island,” the page boy said. “I couldn’t see which one, but I can try and lead you there.”

Zephyr kwed beside them as he pressed his forehead to Haurchefant’s cheek. “You know where she is?” He said. The bird chirped a second time, more urgently than the first. “I’m so sorry,” Haurchefant murmured. “I should have asked you sooner.” He grabbed a set of blankets from a knight, and filled a backpack with small bits of food. Then, he leapt onto the Chocobo’s back. “Please take the Lord Commander home and return to us in the morning. I swear on my life that I will bring Z’iyanna back.” 

“I can’t abandon…” Aymeric began.

“I will find her,” Haurchefant said. “But we cannot risk the archbishop blaming you for her disappearance, or declaring you missing as well.” And before Aymeric could respond, Haurchefant took off into the skies, Zephyr leading the way. And for the second time that day, Aymeric was left painfully aware of his own weaknesses. 

“Mr. Aymeric?” 

He glanced at Puklia as she slowly hovered up towards his face. “Is Lady Z’iyanna going to be okay?”

Slowly, Aymeric nodded. “Lord Haurchefant will bring her back. Of that I am certain.”

----------------

It is cold.

Oh so very cold

Why did these treacherous mortals try to fight the likes of me? Why did they work so hard, and struggle for so long, to contain me in that failiable prison? They should have known that I am unstoppable. I am inevitable. My rage will consume them all. My fire will scorch the earth. My fury will annihilate all life and hope in its wake. 

But she gives me pause. The goddess among mortals. The fight who has destroyed the lives for hundreds of soldiers, beasts, dragons and primals in her wake. SHe stands before me. Unafraid, Unflinching. And she tells me the words I never wanted- n, never thought I would hear.

“You’re not alone.”

The Warrior of Light they call her, come to save a murderous, ruthless monster like me.

But this doesn’t change anything. My rage only simmers, buried deep within her consciousness. Our power is intertwined- two unstoppable aethers feed off of each other. Growing. Shifting. Changing until neither are recognizable… or until only one is left.

So I wait. I bide my time and watch until one or the other claims this body. My rage may consume her. There are already signs that it is beginning to. Her righteousness may undo me, but I feel nothing. 

She has no idea of the turmoil within her… but she will soon.

That elezen… is more interesting than I thought. I wonder if he realizes the potential he now holds within him. But it is of no consequence to me. If he does not grab what is now rightfully his, then he is of no use to me.

Humans are all the same.

Except for her.

She is the only one to have proven herself to me.

We’ll see how long that lasts. 

For her death, will be my beginning.

----------------

It was cold. 

Oh so very cold. 

Z’iyanna knew she was dying. Her robes could only retain so much heat. Her healing magic couldn’t stop the impending hypothermia. Her shield couldn’t block the frigid winds. And as the sun lay low on the horizon, she was left to wonder if which version of her the search party would find; a proud Warrior of Light or a forgotten corpse adrift in this sea of death. 

At least the whale hadn’t come back. Though she had yet to decide if freezing to death was better than being eaten alive. 

No, she chastised herself. I will not think that way. She had survived far worse than something like this. And while Haurchefant might not have made it back in time, Aymeric surely would have. Which meant Cid and the others had to be close. Zephyr had found her before. He could certainly find her now. But she was painfully aware of the fact that the islands had shifted over the last few hours. Some had risen. Others had lowered. The island where she’d met the Vanu was so far away she had to squint to see it with any amount of clarity. And with the wind picking up.

“You’re right you know,” the voice from before whispered in her ear. “It’s all hopeless.” 

A small piece of Z’iyanna wanted to lash out in a blind rage. This person. This thing that could only exist in her head had no reason to berate her. But the majority of her didn’t, as it was too consumed by shivering behind a rock that offered very little comfort. 

“Pathetic.”

Z’iyanna snorted. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“But you’ve never believed it.”

“And I don’t now.” 

“So you’re a liar too?”

“And you’re not even real.”

The voice sighed. “I am as real as you are, child. And you’re the reason we’re stuck in this bloody mess to begin with.”

“Heaven forbid I try to be a hero.” 

“You’re no hero, Z’iyanna.”

Her head snapped up in protest, but she was alone. Great. She thought. Either the hypothermia was kicking in quicker than she thought, or she had finally lost her mind. Either way, she’ll be making her enemies’ day. 

Haurchefant…

Z’iyanna was not blind, nor was she ignorant of her own feelings. The two had been close companions for over a year now- far closer than she had been to any of the Scions. Haurchefant knew almost everything about her. He’d never judged her or expected anything more than who she was. Not as the Warrior of Light, but as Z’iyanna. His comrade. His friend. Maybe his something more. She wasn’t certain exactly where they were in that regard… but it wouldn't matter much if she died here. 

Then there was Aymeric. What would happen to him if she were to disappear? Would his people blame him for her death? What about the new, unknown aether within him? She had hoped to read the inevitable letter from Y’mithra with all of her theories and findings to ponder over while Z’iyanna tried to figure it out herself. And she wanted to know what was happening to him. She was also terrified that her death could kill him just as quickly.

Then there was Bahamut, Midgar and Twintania. Tataru, Alphinaud, and the other missing Scions… So many lives depending on her survival. So many people expected her to pull through any adversity, death included.  

“Because they are worthless without you,” The voice said again. “And I say good riddance. Maybe you’ll finally get some peace when everyone else isn’t piling the world on your shoulders.”

“Lady Z’iyanna!”

Of all the times she had heard Haurchefant’s voice… it had never brought her such visceral relief. And Zephyr’s panicked “kweh!” almost brought her to tears. “I’m here,” She whispered, her dry throat unable to produce anything louder. But Haurchefant landed by her side anyway, sliding off of Zephyr’s back the second he could. A moment later - when had he ever moved this fast? - a blanket was wrapped around her as Haurchefant pulled her close to his chest. 

“Zephyr,” He said. “Behind her.” The chocobo moved without a sound as he plopped down behind her, pressing his body as close to her back as possible. And Z’iyanna, weary from the day and exhausted by the lingering voice, succumbed to the newfound warmth. 

----------------

Alphinaud was exhausted by the time he returned to Ishgard, and he quickly decided that a nice long nap was in order. 

Unfortunately, he stepped into a manor full of solemn faces and a Count whose first words were “I’m afraid we’ve encountered a problem.”

Alphinaud did his best not to crumble at the thought. “What kind of problem, Count Edmont?”

“Lady Tataru has been arrested for heresy.”

The quote “no rest for the weary” had never felt so real.

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #1: heedless

words: 927

--

Bloody pixies.

Thosinund hefts the sack over her good shoulder and swears for the umpteenth time. All this for a pair of buggering psammead legs. “Just two,” the little creature had wheedled, clasping its tiny hands. “That's all! And you can carry them back in this. Please?”

The thing is dead, all right, but it packed a hell of a sting. Just before she'd driven her greatsword through its thorax, wham, down had come a blow and pierced straight through the leather of her sleeve. She'd tried to pick out the pieces before dabbing on a bit of healing potion, but the bollocking mist—it makes the light so hazy that it's damn near useless. Like her wounded arm. Gods damn it.

The other problem with the mist is that she's lucky if she can see a dozen fulms in any direction. She has no idea where the pixie village has gone. She wouldn't be surprised if they'd magicked it a malm further off, just for a laugh. Bloody pixies with their bloody chores and their bloody blasted bullshite games.

“'Bring me a pair of psammead legs!'” she mimics, through clenched teeth. “Bring me a buggering ice pack, you little green toothpick.”

Whoever made this potion hadn't accounted for faerieland venom. The sting site throbs with every step she takes, as if it has a life of its own. They had better cure this when she gets back—instantly. On the spot. Presto.

There—a blue glow, in the distance. The aetheryte. “About time,” Thosi growls. She quickens her step, setting her jaw against the throb in her arm. Just a little farther, and she'll be all right. Just a little farther. Hup two three four, dump this thing down at their door—

And the ground is gone, gone, she's walked off some edge—

Something slams into her chest like the fist of Titan. The world whites out, and takes Thosi with it.

–

When she wakes, the forest has gone.

In its place are white walls detailed in warm wood; below her, the ground has lost even the hint of fallen needles or flower petals. It feels like- oh. A bed. A bed? But whose? And why- where is...

A creaking sound. Thosi turns her head as the door of the room opens, as someone comes in.

She feels the blood drain from her face.

“No,” she croaks. “No, this isn't happening. You're dead.”

The figure freezes, staring down at her. Below a ragged fringe, blue-violet eyes widen on either side of an arched nose. The clothes are odd- black, flowing things quite unlike aught she has ever seen him wear. But that face... that face...

“Thosinund,” says the apparition, taking an uncertain step towards her.

“No!” Thosi gasps, and her heart is beating fit to burst, her whole body is on fire. “You're dead, you're gone, you're in Halone's frozen bloody halls.”

She has to keep saying it, or she'll forget. Forget that this man in his strange garments is not, cannot be here. Bloody venom, making her see things- yes. That's it. The venom.

“Thosinund,” says that dear voice, sounding exactly like a million memories. “'Tis only I-”

She shakes her head, ignoring the resultant flare of pain. “It is not,” she moans, “it's not, go away. Please. Please...”

Stay, her heart wails, heedless of the danger. Stay. Hold me. Never leave me again.

The figure retreats as slowly as it came, but not far; it stops just outside the doorway. There are snatches of a conversation, sotto voce.

“...awake?”

“...fevered.”

“She doth not know...”

'Doth not.' Urianger is here? That's right, they came to this godsdamned place to see him, and now he's here. Maybe he'll know what to do. She settles back, dizzy, to wait.

The creak of the door. She looks—but shuts her eyes again at the sight of that face.

“It's not time for you yet,” she whispers, feeling hot tears well up beneath her lids. “It's not time, Haurchefant. Go away.”

“I will,” says the impossible voice, as footsteps slowly approach the bed. “I will go away, but not til th- til you have taken this.”

She shakes her head, a tiny, tiny motion. “I know about that. Ghost food, ghost drink. Food of the dead. I've got to live, it's not time yet.”

“I know th- you do,” he says, closer still. “I would not take you now. I bring that which will make you well.”

Oh, blast it. She opens her eyes, blinks the tears away. “Will it make the fire stop?”

He nods, and gods damn it, he seems so real. His eyes are tender, his expression serious but kind. “Yes, beloved.”

“That's new,” she mumbles. “You used to just say 'love.'”

He nods again. “So I did. Now please, love, take this for me?”

She lets him help her raise her head, lets him tip the cup to her lips. The liquid inside is blessedly cool; she drains the lot in moments. Her body burns yet, but she can feel the potion spreading to find the flames, to drown them where they lie.

“It's not time yet,” she reminds him.

“Indeed it is not.”

She gazes at him, desperately, as though she can devour him with her eyes. “But don't go... til I'm asleep.  All right?”

He places a hand on his heart. “You have my word.”

“Good.” The pillow is soft under her cheek. Her lids are starting to feel heavier, but she refuses to blink too long. Even though the fires are going out, one by one.

--

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[starswornoaths]

The Flames of Her Fury

Aymeric is slow to trust, even those who he wants to trust. On any other day, Serella would have the patience for him. Today she is fighting for her friends’ lives.

Or:

Serella asserts herself, and Aymeric has the first inclination that maybe he’s a bottom.

(This isn’t NSFW I’m being an idiot it’s just about them talking before Alphinaud and Tataru’s trial)

When he received word of the arrests of Master Leveilleur and Mistress Taru, Aymeric only found himself surprised by half. That they were accused of heresy was, while deeply unsettling, only surprising in so far as it happened so soon.

A frown marred his face as he mulled over Lucia’s report of the situation; that it was Ser Grinnaux of the Heaven’s Ward that laid such charges against them, vague as those charges were, was of grave concern; though no one voiced it, the writing was on the wall: this was meant to get rid of a perceived threat.

Still, that threat was clearly not with the accused—capable as they were no doubt were, this was a shameless ploy to eliminate the Warrior of Light by association.

Because Serella would intervene; even knowing her as little as he did, he did not doubt that she set out for a solution the moment she was informed. Heavy thoughts bade he wonder if this would be another notch upon her sword or her moment of ruin. He could only hope for the former.

Thus the notice from the lift guard that the Warrior of Light was requesting an audience did not come as a surprise, and she was swiftly granted entrance.

Even less surprising was her hurried gait as she walked in. He did not even have the opportunity to stand and greet her before she was at his desk.

“I won’t pretend you don’t know,” Serella began, foregoing her own greeting. “That Alphinaud and Tataru have been arrested on charges of heresy.”

“I was informed,” Aymeric answered. “I must extend my apologies—“

“You had nothing to do with it.” Serella dismissed. “And I don’t have time for pleasantries.” She grimaced. “Haurchefant sent me to you in the hopes that you could help me.”

“Regrettably, there is little I can do to stop it.” Aymeric said, and folded his hands together atop his desk.

“What?” Serella balked, as if surprised. She shook her head and tried to explain, “No, that’s not—“

A flare of anger sparked in his chest; here she had come to him but a week ago insisting they be honest with one another to build trust, and already she not only wished to use him for his position, but to demure as though she was not? Had his suspicions of her intent been right all along? Though he did not raise his voice, he did not hide the way his frown deepened.

“The Holy See has formally arrested them.” He said in a clipped tone. “Were I to try and step in to release them—“

Serella’s hands slammed upon his desk hard enough that he jumped in his chair. The noise was sharp enough to pierce through the anger, the thud heavy enough to douse the conflagration in his chest. His heart pounded in his chest from beneath her fiery gaze.

“I need you,” she said, her tone low and dangerous. “To pull your paranoid head out of your own ass and hear me.”

The last words were snarled, her scarred lips pulled back enough to bare her teeth. Without meaning to, Aymeric straightened in his seat and moved his hands to his lap, gaping up at her intense visage with wide eyes. Her ferocity had never been directed at him, and as he watched the fire burn in her mismatched eyes he at last understood how she had turned false gods to ash.

“Let me be clear: I do not want you to intervene.” She continued in that warning tone of hers. 

Unconsciously, he shivered from the ice in her voice. She loomed over him in a way none had dared to since he began to climb up the ranks of the Temple Knights. His pulse quickened, and the heat in her gaze slid down to settle low in his gut— and was promptly shoved away because what was he meant to do with that particular feeling. 

“It would be stupid.” She continued. “Even if they were cleared, they would only be targeted more than they already have.”

“That they would.” Aymeric conceded softly, still more than a little surprised.

“All I am asking of you,” Serella said, her tone slowly thawing into something more neutral. “Is to tell me how I can save them.”

It was subtle—if she had not been leaning so close to him he might have missed it, but he saw the way she winced when her voice cracked. Her mask of stalwart and unflinching fury slipped, however momentarily, but it was enough to quietly remind him that she was fighting for two of the only people she had left on this star—doubtless it only made her more desperate.

You are capable of kindness, he chastised himself. Remember that.

“It would seem,” he said hesitantly. “That I have presumed in error.” He lowered his eyes, humbled. “Forgive—”

“Later.” Serella snapped. “Tell me how I can fix this. Please.”

“They can demand a trial by combat—and doubtless Master Leveilleur will.” Aymeric said quickly. “Mistress Taru, however, can select a champion to fight in her stead.”

“Me, then.” She said simply.

“Precisely.” He confirmed with a nod. “Though her champion must needs be present—“

“Thank you, Ser Aymeric.” Serella cut him off, already pushing away from his desk and running to the lift. “I’ll report in after I win.”

“And that is already a foregone conclusion?” He called as she slipped inside the lift.

She turned to look at him as the gate closed.

“It is.” She said. “Because it has to be.”

Her words stayed with him even after she left.

He could not help but be humbled by the encounter. While her outburst had been more than a little…unexpected, he could concede that it was not without merit—or at least, was understandable, given the circumstances. She had come only seeking his advice, after all, and he had to quietly concede that his assumption was uncalled for, and his reaction outsized. It would seem they both bore the pain of thawing to one another, he thought to himself.

Aymeric weighed his options carefully. He spoke truthfully when he said that there was nothing that he could do; even if he had the political sway for it—which he lacked besides—the backlash would doubtless put them in greater danger. Serella had the right of that. Still…there were some areas in which he had a modicum of latitude.

The linkpearl frequency that he dialed was one he had memorized from repetition, and he was soon tapping his earpiece as the call connected.

“Ser Handeloup,” his Second Commander announced himself.

“I require your discretion in this discussion, Second Commander.” Aymeric said. “Pray speak as though you are conversing with a friend.”

“Of course,” Handeloup replied in a conversational tone.

Good, Aymeric thought. The less it seems that this is an important call, the better.

“If I recall your schedule correctly, you are currently at the Tribunal?” He asked, even as he thumbed through the day’s patrol routes and assignments to confirm what he had said.

“Only just,” Ser Handeloup said easily. “But yes.”

“There is a trial of heresy for two of the wards of House Fortemps on the docket today,” Aymeric explained. “Can you confirm that it has not yet begun?”

“A marvelous question,” Handeloup replied casually—good, he was keeping up appearances. There were a few moments of static before he spoke again. “From the sound of it, there is nothing going on at the moment.”

Then the judge has not yet brought them to face their charges. There was still time…

“I would ask you to invoke a request of documentation on the orders of the Lord Commander.” Aymeric said after only a moment’s pause. “I would know more of these charges and what evidence they are based upon.”

More like he would stall the judge long enough to guarantee that Serella could get to the Tribunal before the trial started, but still. Nothing stalled bureaucracy for another half bell or so like paperwork.

“I can do that.” Handeloup said. “Anything else I can assist with?”

“Only that you might bring the requested documents to the Congregation at your earliest convenience.” Aymeric answered. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Ser Handeloup.”

“Of course,” his Second Commander replied. “Until then.”

With the call ended, Aymeric leaned back in his chair, his hands resting in his lap. Technically, he was only asking Ser Handeloup to perform a task he would have had to have done regardless—he only asked that it be done sooner rather than later.

Punctuality did not correlate to preferential treatment, after all. Any who might try to accuse him of it would only be mocked for their overreach. He could only pray that Serella would make it count.

It was less than three hours later that Aymeric heard word that she had, in fact, made it count—and count soundly, from the sound of it. To hear Haurchefant explain the battle in breathless detail, Ser Grinnaux should offer thanks to Halone that he still possessed all of his limbs.

Aymeric felt only a little guilty that he regretted not being able to see that.

Still, if that had been the ultimate conclusion to the whole ordeal—with the Warrior of Light as the victor and the wards of House Fortemps cleared of their charges—then that would have been more than enough, sight unseen. So when he was notified later that evening that Serella was awaiting admittance to his office with a package, he had to admit, his curiosity was piqued. He permitted her entry.

Serella came to him with steps lightened from her earlier burden and an apologetic smile upon her face. She had taken the time to change out of her armor, and came to him wearing a simple shirt and pants, obscured only by a thick gray cloak. This would be the first time he had ever seen her out of her armor, he realized with a start—it struck him as significant, even if he could not parse out why.

“A pleasure to see you again, Mistress Arcbane,” Aymeric greeted her from his desk with a smile. “And may I express my relief that the trial came to such a satisfactory conclusion.”

“I’m just glad it’s over.” Serella said, sighing. “But I didn’t come here for my ego to be fed.” She shifted her weight to one foot in front of his desk, her expression bashful. “I came to say thank you,” she explained before adding, “and…because I owe you an apology.”

He respected her too much to pretend at ignorance, though all the same, he felt an apology was unnecessary.

“You owe me nothing—“ he tried to say when she held her hand up.

“Please don’t try to excuse my behavior.” She implored him with a shake of her head. “I got in your face and spoke out of turn— you didn’t deserve that.”

“Given the circumstances,” Aymeric said amicably. “I am in no position to fault you.”

“Nor I you,” Serella replied. She shrugged a shoulder and looked over to the window before adding, “I thought about how it must have looked from your perspective for a bit there—and I’d have drawn the same conclusion you did.” She lowered her gaze. “Truly, I’m sorry for the way I treated you. It was beneath us both.” She met his gaze evenly. “I’ll carry myself better going forward, you have my word.”

Aymeric could not help but be pleasantly surprised—though he was considered young for his station by most standards in both military and political fields, many of his political colleagues might as well have been toddlers for how well they handled any given situation where they might have even tangentially been at fault, so such a direct apology was…welcome. His expression must have given some part of him away, as Serella fidgeted.

“Have…have I offended?” She asked hesitantly.

“Not at all,” he said immediately. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” He cleared his throat and explained, “I am unaccustomed to receiving apologies of any magnitude that were even half so sincere.” He offered her a slow but genuine smile. “You are a breath of fresh air, Serella Arcbane.”

“Yeah, well,” she fumbled for a moment, clearly flustered by the comment. “Likewise—you actually took the time to hear me out.”

She gently laid the box she had brought in with her upon his desk—a small box, but he recognized the white and gold parcel wrap from a chocolatier he had been known for frequenting. He quietly wondered if she knew that part, and hadn’t simply asked around for a reputable sweets shop; there were only so many in the city, he remembered with dismay.

“I remembered you liked confections, but I had no idea what you would like,” Serella said apologetically. “But I was recommended this place for sweets.”

“By whom?” He asked, eyeing the wrapping. “They have good taste.”

“Haurchefant,” Serella admitted with a smile. “I figured it must be good— was the only store I’ve ever heard him recommend by name.”

Aymeric laughed at that—the two of them had often gone in their early days of knighthood together and spent damn near every gil they had on good chocolate and taffy to share with the then young Lord Francel. Of course Haurchefant would remember—he had often admitted that those were some of the few happy moments he had within the city before his transfer to Camp Dragonhead.

“I am surprised he did not remember my old order there.” Aymeric said, already beginning to tug at the gold ribbon wrapped around the box.

“Oh he does,” Serella said with a wry twist of her lips. “He just wouldn’t tell me.”

That was a surprise—much as he adored his old friend, Haurchefant was, above many other things, the biggest gossip Aymeric personally knew.

“Believe me, I asked him.” She said, holding up a hand. “But he told me, ‘isn’t it better to learn yourself?’” She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. “That these were meant to be a surprise olive branch was beside the point—I evidently still had to learn for myself.”

“Ever has Lord Haurchefant had a proclivity for mischief,” Aymeric mused. Sliding the lid of the box off, he peered down at the confections within and arched a brow. “May I ask who chose these sweets in particular?”

“I did.” Serella said, and he heard the shrug in her tone without looking up at her.

They were truffles— what flavor, he could only guess— wrapped in white chocolate and dotted with blue icing on top. Mamelons d'Halone. Reminding himself that he was no longer a boy of twelve summers, he fought back a snicker.

“An interesting choice.” He said instead, though he could not help but smile wider. “May I ask what made you decide on this?”

“Because it seemed a good icebreaker.” Serella said with a grin and a shrug of her shoulders. “And I was a tit earlier.”

Aymeric was not proud of the laugh that bubbled up in his throat at the joke.

“Alright, now I am a touch cross.” He admitted around his chuckling, and though he gave a valiant effort to looking annoyed, her grin dissolved his attempts. “That was not funny.”

“You laughed, so it counts.” She countered. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “there’s...there isn’t any cultural significance to these, right? I mean, I asked at the shop and they said no, but—”

 “Only that young students of the scholasticate laugh at them in the windows.” He reassured her, giving in to his chuckling and holding up a hand.

“Good.” Serella sighed. “There’s a similar truffle in Gridania— but it’s named after Menphina instead.” She pointed to the sweets inside the box. “And there’s a little pink nub on the top instead of blue.” She shrugged. “But I’m guessing that’s just to be funny because it’s cold here.”

“A rather bold assumption,” he tutted playfully. “That Ishgardians are capable of humor.”

He delighted in the startled sputter of laughter that Serella coughed up, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“Did…” She asked slowly, her grin widening by the second. “Did you just make a joke?”

“Not at all.” He dismissed. “I made an observation.”

“True enough,” she sighed. “How could I think you could be funny?”

“How indeed,” Aymeric said. Eyeing the chocolates, he saw the unique opportunity they represented. “As recompense for presuming me capable of humor, I would request your assistance in enjoying these.” He looked to her as he gestured to the box. “I fear I could not eat them all alone— and I would enjoy speaking with you more.”

“Ah,” Serella mused with a knowing nod. “You’d like to be kept abreast of how things are going?”

Aymeric’s lip twitched— and he hated that it did. Her eyes, hawkish as they were, saw it, and she flashed him a toothy smile.

“You smiled.” She observed.

“I shan’t be making a habit of it,” he promised, even as he gave up and laughed again. “Come, I shall prepare tea for us to partake in— that is,” he caught himself; she hadn’t accepted his invitation. “Provided you are amenable?” Fearful of being seen as presuming her consent, he fumbled to explain, “truly, I would never press the issue. I only wished to take a moment to speak with you, and—”

He had an entire, long winded explanation for what amounted to ‘I want to know and trust you,’ that he was prepared to launch into when she started to laugh before he could truly begin. He looked up at her, and any of those carefully constructed words he might have still had in his head faded.

Serella was smiling at him, but for the first time it was...different. Her expression was soft and comfortable, and a warmth he had not realized she had made her smile glow with radiance. That her face was almost half scar did not matter to him as she met his gaze with a tilt of her head and a mirthful twinkle in her eyes.

Beautiful, his mind whispered. He ignored it.

“I would be more than amenable.” She said, her tone matching the softness in her eyes. With a huff of laughter, she added, “though just black for mine, if you please.”

“Of,” his throat felt dry and his voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “Of course, Mistress Arcbane.” He gestured to a chair nearby. “Please.”

“How many times do I have to ask you to just call me Serella?” She asked him with another of those bell-clear laughs.

“Perhaps a few times more,” he said with a faint smile of his own as he set to fixing the kettle. “Though I would not wish for you to feel as though you must accept my invitation—”

“Aymeric.” Serella said.

He looked up from the kettle, surprised; she had never said his name before without his title, and he had not heard his name said in such a patient sigh since he was a boy— though this felt...different. Kinder. There was a faint...something that fluttered against his ribs but he pushed that down as far as he could— he wouldn’t even know what to do with that little budding...thing in his chest.

“You can call me here as often as you like,” she said, her smile still soft as gossamer and still doing odd things to his thoughts. “And if I can, I’ll come because I want to be here.” She looked down at her lap, though her smile did not fade. “I want us to be a team— perhaps even friends.”

“Then our goals align once more.” He said easily and earnestly. “Shall we start here?”

“I think,” Serella said, beaming at him as she settled her hands in her lap. “I think we shall.”

And once they had their cups in hand, they did.

[magpi-ffxiv]

Menphina’s Bosom is Hiring! (Balmung)

Looking for Staff, FC Members & More!

Good day everyone! This is likely to be a long post, but if you’re looking for an FC please continue reading until the end! 

My character’s name is Narani Bayaqud, an Xaelan woman that has been in the west for around eleven summers now. Her goal in life was always to give people a safe place to live and work while helping as many people as she can. Her event Menphina’s Bosom is a Bar & Lounge that runs biweekly and hosts performances and entertainment on the regular. 

Currently we are looking to expand and grow into our Medium house a bit further! We have a number of active members but we are looking to grow beyond that to allow our hard working staff to alternate and take breaks from the sheer amount of hard work that they do!

So even if you are not looking for an FC I’d be incredibly honored if you could reblog this about that’d be grand! 

The OOC Stuff

We’re a very inclusive FC, and we try are damnedest to make everyone feel involved while being incredibly flexible about real life things. We can’t expect you to be there every Menphina’s Night, or attend every single event we host! 

Menphina’s is so much more than an FC, we’ve grown into a family of which I kind of head helm as the Mother of the group. We talk a lot in our Discord server, sometimes thought inspiring comments on characters.... but mostly it’s shit posting and overall good feels in calls. 

We aren’t very big, and that’s okay. We have 52 members in our FC, but only 19 actual people involved in the FC. (Yes we have that many alts, we literally have a role for altaholics). We are a laid back group of adults, most of us with exceptionally colorful language and ... interesting tastes in things that I’m sure you’ll catch on quick if you take a gander through our channel. 

We host regular events, including one in which we use the 5e D&D System to promote our story events, so any knowledge or experience in the system would be wonderful (But not required).

The IC Stuff

Menphina’s isn’t just a Bar & Lounge, it’s actually a front for some deeper more professional matters. Narani Bayaqud heads a team of Voidsent Researchers, hellsbent on purging voidal gates that popup around more rural areas that may not be adept at handling the situations themselves. All proceeds from the bar goes to paying employees for their work there and funding for their next mission.

We have a wonderful system in place to do voidsent missions! While we’d love to do them in game we understand that final fantasy xiv doesn’t allow you to build custom encounters with a well thought out roll system. So instead we use Roll20 to set up maps and encounters for each voidsent mission we do! Our experienced DMs (Myself and @skyskip) will be happy to integrate your character into story as well as assist you in setting up your sheet.

The Bar itself is given its name from a story of Halone & Menphina in which Halone pierced the icy heart of Menphina with her spear. We, and I repeat this so very much, are NOT a strip club, no matter how much some of my members try to make it be.

If you’d like to see the Manor you can at the Lavender Beds Ward 17 Plot 27!

We are looking for Bar Staff, Floor Staff, Performers, Researchers, and Hired muscle! Technically we’re looking for a bit of anything, as long as your character would be willing to help out with the event they will have a home in Menphina’s Bosom. 

Beyond that! If you wish to be staff and involved in story but are currently in another FC you’re happy with you’re still welcome to join us! 

We have no qualms working with others from other FCs, a few of our current staff actually run their own FC but assist us with event nights and are looking to be further involved in our Story Arc! We have a linkshell to keep people not involved in our FC up-to-date with FC event details so that there isn’t any confusion throughout the night!

As an active RP FC we encourage you to use the Menphina’s space for RP! We want people to feel as though they can bring their characters back to our Manor to RP with whoever they wish!

That about does it! 

If you stuck around to the end thank you so much, if you could give this a reblog so that others can see it I would greatly appreciate it! 

If perhaps you saw something in my little recruitment post here please contact @bluebell-bluebird or @skyskip to contact us about joining or working with our small FC ♥. 

You’re also welcome to contact me at Suffocait {Cait}#8893 on Discord for any further information or any questions you may have about Menphina’s! I have my Discord up nearly 24/7 and never sleep so a reply is like to come sooner rather than later.

Remember, there’s always a Room for you in Menphina’s Manor if you’re looking to join! Thank you for reading!

[house-mercaiges]

Plot & Story Meme

Charlemont Mercaiges

ONE PLACE ♦ The forests behind Charlemont’s childhood home, Stonemoor.  He spent many a day in those woods, riding, running, playing, and napping underneath the dappled sunlight.  It holds fond memories for him.

TWO VILLAINS ♦ Ishgard, period. ♦ His own dogged persistence.

THREE RELATIONSHIPS ♦ Magalie Dartancours.  The Velvet Moon, Sister Dearest.  She is the only constant in Char’s life, even when she isn’t.  There is nothing he would not do for her, and she for him.  Mags can be found at @stab-sister ♦ Emon’i de Allond.  The Woman.  The only one to ever pierce her way underneath Charlemont’s skin and lodge herself there, leaving him impossibly annoyed and yet somehow growing fond of her as well.  While starting as staunch enemies, they have since become… friendly.  Ish. Emon’i can be found at @ethereal-anomaly ♦ Abelaire Cygnnoire, a dear childhood friend with whom Charlemont lost touch years ago.  They were reunited by chance and swept up in a brief whirlwind romance with each other, only to burn out quickly and lose touch once more. Abel can be found at @abelaire-cygnnoire

FOUR ITEMS ♦ An antique gold pomander, encrusted with rubies and inlaid with a mother-of-pearl lily.  It has been in the family for years, and Charlemont keeps it under lock and key. ♦ A ruby signet ring, the very same loaned to Sylvain, which he also guards with the utmost secrecy and priority. ♦ Moko or somnus laced cigarettes.  While Charlemont is not an addict by any stretch of the imagination, moko and somnus - just a touch - often help him to truly relax his perpetually cold body and analytical mind. ♦ Small gold hoop earrings.  It is a rare day indeed that he is found without one in each ear - quite old and expensive, from the looks of them.

FIVE CHARACTERS ♦ Sylvain Tolbert, an Ishgardian lord with too little practicality and too much time and money (at least previously) on his hands.  An antagonist for Char, he took it upon himself to blackmail the Duskwight after discovering his true identity, in an attempt to rescue his sister.  It worked.  Kinda.  Sylvain can be found at @sylvain-tolbert ♦ Laure Labaste, the head chef of the house he serves as a house knight.  Laure is practical, no-nonsense, harsh, and has a heart made of gold.  Char can be found sometimes in her company in the kitchen, watching her bake and trading stories with her.  Fantastic cook, as you would expect.  She lost her son in The Dragonsong War, and never speaks of his father. Laure is a minor character of mine, and can occasionally be found at @smokespun ♦ Raven Alderscorn, Lord of Alderscorn Manor and last of his name.  A curious, respectable, and trustworthy businessman that Charlemont began a professional relationship with shortly after accepting his post at House Sartigault.  Since then they have become casual acquaintances, and speak about more than just mun-tuy beans and honey lemons.  Raven can be found at @housealderscorn ♦ Dacien Mythale, Lord of Mythale Manor and proprietor of the Quills And Curiosities bookshop.  Charlemont visited Ser Dacien for counsel after a chance meeting at a holiday party in which they both determined the other was similarly familiar with the void.  He proved knowledgeable and trustworthy, and Char is grateful for his assistance.  Dacien can be found at @quills-and-curiosities ♦ Frederique Sombremont.  A rather odd, forthright chap who seems to quite expertly pluck the nerves of every individual he meets on a case by case basis.  Charlemont rather enjoys his ostentatious and often rude, clueless (or is it?) manner, though he suspects there is a whole lot more to that man than meets the eye.  Fred can be found at @snarkyelf

SIX MOMENTS ♦ Temporarily entrusting a dangerous magical family heirloom to Sylvain in an effort to rescue his sister from The Void.  Story found here. ♦ Turning to his sister in an effort to keep his secret safe, after Abel having broken into his apartment, and Emon’i dispelling his wards.  Story found here. ♦ Realizing that the sexy fortune teller he met in Limsa was actually his long lost childhood friend.  It happened under the influence of a large amount of alcohol, and he heavily denied his true identity even when confronted with it.  Eventually though, he relented.  Outside of Charlemont’s immediate family, only two people know who he really is. ♦ Returning as a child from what he believed to be a dream of the forest, only to discover himself covered in dirt and leaves, hair a mess, bed cold from his absence.  Magalie held him close to her for the rest of the night, warming him, scared for what might have happened and what might still. ♦ Having had the ability to see and communicate with ghosts his entire life, not to mention coming from a rather eccentric family, Charlemont never thought anything strange of his talent.  The discovery came in his early teens, when he relayed a message to his private tutor from his deceased son, only to be met with horror.  The tutor left the house, never to return, and the other students confirmed to Char that no, people don’t normally see ghosts. ♦ Watching his sister from afar at a gala in Ul’dah last Starlight, schmoozing her way through the guests like a glittering siren… and promising himself that one day she would be doing this in Ishgard as is her right. 

SEVEN QUOTES ♦ “How could I ever hate you?  We have died a thousand ways, a thousand times together.  We will die a thousand more.  You are my religion just as I am yours.” ♦ “I cannot believe this is where our family is from.  The pomp and circumstance is ghastly, not to mention the Ishgardian Orthodox Church.  Nothing but blind devotion and guilt.  A pretty little show for piety, and run by who?  An ancient old bearded bag of dusty arse biscuits, that’s who.” ♦ “Nophica will protect her children, Halone, just as you have abandoned them.   Your mercy and your justice fall upon deaf ears.  I will prevail.  We will prevail.  And we will reclaim what you have taken.” ♦ “I have experienced a disaster or two.  Even a failure, one that was my fault.  Perhaps more than one.  I don’t endeavor to explain away failures or offer excuses.  Needless, senseless.  Things happen, sometimes terrible things.  It’s how you handle the fallout that matters.  The plans you create, the actions you take.  It is at that point, when you are picking up the pieces, that your resolve and strength will be tested.  Your dedication.  Your worth.  Not in the moments of your failures themselves.” ♦ “Fire burns.  Ice freezes.  Do not be surprised that these things hold true.” ♦ “Magalie, you cannot kill the maid because she was unable to get the wine stain out of your blouse.” ♦ "A man blackmails me and thinks that I wouldn’t do my own studying?  Come.  You forget that although stripped of title, I am a noble as well.”

Bonus:  "You… are… utterly… vexatious.  Is it intentional?”   ___

Tagged by : @nightmaze (Thank you so much!  This did take a while to fill out completely, but it was so enjoyable!) Tagging : @eorzean-wayfinder (for Gale?  :3) @isarmont-sorel @mugishalffull (anyone you like!) @housealderscorn @kistenian-haillenarte @ladyrivienne @olivehlke @keelime-pies and everyone else who would like to do this!  I would love to read your answers, so please tag me!  ♥ Blank Template : http://pastebin.com/rynGB3pR - http://pastebin.com/edit/BxXxfEPf

[divine-ruin]

🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love

Abel and Iria had been sitting out upon the pier beside her house, her brother with them as he was tossing stones into the water.  “It’s fucking bullshit, Abel.  I don’t understand.  We want to move Mom to Ishgard so the doctors there can treat her.  This doctor here keeps saying that she’s too unstable to be moved, but I know she’d be better off being there,” her brother grumbled.  Iria had been staring out over the water, she almost near to tears as she knew that her mother’s condition was turning for the worst.  She just couldn’t find a way to prepare herself to make that one last final goodbye.  Ian’s words just pierced her heart as their father had made the recommendation after Honoria’s condition seemed to worsen.

As Abel watched her, his expression turned to one of gentle sympathy as he crossed the pier from his “brother” to settle down next to her.  He took her hand in his as he tilted her chin upwards to meet his eyes.  “Listen, when we’re married, that’s something you’ll never need to worry over.  You will be cared for by the best physicians and you will never want for anything.  I’ll talk to my father to see if there’s anything he can do to help intervene.  She at least said ‘hello’ to me today!  That’s a small victory in and of itself, right?  I mean, I’m not here and present as you all are but she somehow remembered me.  That made me feel so much hope, Iria.  Please don’t give up, we’ll get her well.”

A gloved thumb ran across her cheek as she smiled through her tears, nodding.  He continued: “She did tell me something when she asked me to come in to visit.  She made me promise to take care of you and to allow you the freedom to chase any intellectual pursuit that crossed your path.  Who am I to deny you your dreams?  I want to help you build them.  I mean, after all, we are sort of breaking through a glass ceiling already, are we not?  Hopefully our union will inspire others to not be so fearful of racial differences when it comes to marriage.  The old goats in the Holy See will finally see that there is no shame in it.  I certainly see no shame in it.  I will be thanking Halone every night for giving me such a beautiful wife.”

She remained speechless.  Abel was never one to hide his emotions, especially the contempt he felt for the upper echelon and the code of living they seemed to impose on everyone.  Even being where he was, he remained steadfast in his convictions.  He was still quite young, but working his way up the ranks within the Ishgardian military and was completely without equal.  She felt so confident in this and had seen with her own eyes.  They had spent the rest of the week of his visit making up for lost time as he made his intentions to her perfectly clear.  They had shared their first kiss in that visit, and she couldn’t wait for him to return.

Several weeks earlier, the Nicholaides family was invited to Ishgard to stay with the Theriots and enjoy one of the many Tournaments that had been held for the different milestones that Abel and his fellow knights had surpassed.  He had been lined up to participate in just about every event his battalion could’ve entered as he had excelled so far with his tactical abilities and battle prowess.  With some coaxing, Iria’s brother was able to participate as well being one of the blademaster’s former students.  As Abel had been the last left in the training room to ready himself for the tournament, finishing up suiting up in his armor, Iria had walked into the room with a smile lighting up her features.  Newly 19, she was an adult by now and looking forward to that next step with him. 

He looked up, only as soon as he had fastened his cloak around himself, almost donning his helm when those pewter eyes fell upon her aquamarine orbs.  He smiled softly as he approached.  She bore a dress of a deep sapphire that was trimmed in silver and gold satin with emerald gems dotting the neckline, all within the fashion of his House colors.  Removing the ribbon that kept her hair bound, it fell in a curtain of flamed mane around her tiny frame.  Aqua.  Her favorite color. 

He knelt down before her, he meeting her height as he took her chin into his fingers as he always did to show affection, his helm tucked underneath the opposite arm.  She was practically beaming at him.  “I know you’ll do well, that much is plain to see, but…is it not customary for a knight to bear his lady’s colors when entering combat?” Her voice was gentle, and he chose that moment to share another private, lengthy kiss with her.  Pulling away gently, his plated fingers tucked a lock of her unbound hair behind her ear.  “I would be remiss to pass up such a golden opportunity, my love.  Thank you, I’ll wear it proudly and wave to you in the stands as soon as I’m called.  How’s Ian faring?” he grinned, already having an idea of what she was about to say.  She tied the ribbon to the wrist of his gauntlet.

“Oh, he’s very adamant that you both are going to completely decimate all of the opposition.  I’ve no doubt you will, Abel.  Your strength and knowledge has increased so much in the past few years, and I’m so very impressed with everything you’ve managed to accomplish.  How could I not?  You’ve worked so hard and now here you are,” her voice was barely above a whisper.  He grinned in a bit of pride.  “You know why that is, correct?”  She canted her head at him in curiosity.  “Because you wish to accomplish your military goals?” she questioned, thinking that should’ve been the most obvious answer. 

“No, Iria,” he said, bringing her head close to his so he could place a kiss to her forehead.  He looked back into her eyes once more.  “When you come to live here in Ishgard with me, I want to make certain I have every necessary tool in my arsenal to protect you, it’s been very important to me for you to see that I’m capable, and having this chance with you present today is just but a taste of that,” he quietly confessed, stealing one last kiss from her before they were interrupted by Ian bursting into the room.  “Abel, they’re ready, bro.”

Ian was outfitted in his own armor with a sword and shield, their duo combatant competition marking the beginning of a long competition for them both.  He grinned a bit goofily as he looked to his best friend and little sister.  “Alright, Princess.  The knight has to tend to his duties now,” Ian said teasingly.  “Love you baby girl, Dad and Momma are sitting in the stands waiting on you.”  Iria nodded as her brother approached and gave her a small hug and a kiss to her head, making sure not to crush her tiny frame in his large armored embrace.  “You look so pretty!  Go get yourself settled, we’ll wave at you from the stands.”

“Wait, one second, Ian,” Abel interrupted as he grabbed Iria’s wrist gently while she was turning to leave.  He turned her back towards him.  “At the ball tonight, you’ll save a dance for me, right?” he winked at her as she nodded enthusiastically.  “Of course I will, I doubt anyone else would want to whisk me across a dance floor.”  He frowned.  “None of that, you’re beautiful.”  He collected her fingers into his and pressed a kiss upon her bare knuckles.  With that his helm was on his head.  Ian had started to walk out as Abel had pulled his greatsword from the rack on the wall.  “Abel, wait!” He stopped in his tracks, only to turn around and kneel once more for her.  She kissed the metal of his helm where his lips would’ve been.  “I’ll see you soon, love,” his muffled voice breathed out as she made haste to join her parents.

Declan and Honoria had been sitting and waiting for their son and future son-in-law to take the field, Declan with a large cigar sticking out of his teeth as Honoria sat with both arms around his massive bicep.  Lord Aristen and Lady Inissa had been visiting with the elder Nicholaides only to smile over as their future daughter-in-law had joined them.  “Iria!  You look so beautiful!  Did Miranah make that gown for her, Ria?” Lady Inissa had inquired, reaching over to take Iria’s hand in affectionate greeting.  “Mhm!  She most certainly did.  Iria, Lady Ina invited us for tea next week and to stay for a few days.  Hopefully you should be excited for that as we get wedding plans squared away,” her mother smiled.  “I’m sure you’ll be excited, it’s another chance for you to see Abel.”  Iria blused at that, Lord Aristen letting loose a guffaw as Declan chuckled himself.  Declan playfully socked Aristen in the arm.  “Can you believe it?  Our kids, man!  I’m a proud papa right now, you should be too.  Gotta a whole lotta stuff ta look forward ta,” he grinned as he took another deep inhalation of his cigar. 

Honoria gave him that look to tell him to settle down.  Declan immediately regained composure.  He turned back to Aristen who lofted a brow with a playful grin of his own.  “We’ve some business to talk later over a glass of bourbon, Dec.  There seems to be a few things we need to iron out in haste before we allow them to say their vows.”  Declan nodded, “Anythin’ ya need, buddy.”  Abel and Ian took the field as soon their names were called, both taking a quick moment to wave to their families in the stands, Abel blowing a kiss to Iria in the stands and she “catching” it. 

The assaults from their opponents seemed relentless, but for everyone that approached, Ian was able to suppress the blows with his shield, making effective timing with his own sword thrusts while Abel held nothing back.  His own timing seemed a bit erratic and restless but far too overbearing for their opponents to handle.  It was only after several rounds and several hours that they were able to be reunited with their families, Iria beaming as Abel received his commendations and awards.  Once everyone was released from the stands, she rushed over to Abel in a full sprint, her skirts flowing behind her with every sprinted step she made forward.  He was just as eager as he took her up into his arms and held him close, throwing his helmet off into the grass and spinning her around a few times.  He stole a kiss from her.  “Oh my stars, that was magnificent!  You were absolutely brilliant, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!  I am so proud of you both!” she declared in all of her excitement.  He winked at her.  “See?  You’ll never have anything to worry about.  Now, let’s go get ready for that after party.  I’ve a dance saved for the woman I’ll be spending the rest of my days with.”

@captain-rez

[progeny-of-the-fury]

Reconvene: Law’s Resolution 

Log date: 9/9/17

OOC Note: The text in these logs are strictly for the readers enjoyment. Anyone using the knowledge displayed within this text without the participants knowledge risks the potential of blacklisting from future communication and roleplay. Please do not meta-game!

Tags: @lightsinshadows

To fight or not to fight; is that the question? No. The question is not whether to fight. Such is clear as day. We must fight, there is no other answer. The question is rather: What do you fight for?

Lawrence Wallace >> Static gives way to a few testing signals, the sure sign of someone who's hardly ever used a linkpearl before. "Hello? Hello?"

Adelise De’bayle>> "This is Adelise, how can I help you," a monotonous voice rings out from within the distortion after a few short seconds.

Lawrence Wallace>> "OH Adelise, right." he clears his throat, caught off-guard at the response. "I. I've been considering what you said earlier. About. Everything, really. I want to talk more."

Adelise De’bayle>> "I take it this is Mister Wallace. I am glad to hear you took our conversation to heart," she replied flatly, her tone never expressing any rise in emotion. "I am certainly available to speak more if you wished to come to my House's estate. It is stationed in the Lavender Beds. First ward, fifth plot."

Lawrence Wallace >> "Law."

Adelise De’bayle>>: "Right..." she murmured back, "any how. Speak to the front desk and let them know you are here to see me if you decide to come. They will direct you toward my chambers."

Lawrence Wallace >> "Right, right. First Ward. Fifth plot." as the pearl cut out he could be heard mumbling it to himself a few more times.

Lawrence Wallace pushes the door openly slowly, peeking his head in to be sure he got the right room. Dark, menacing, intimidating woman in a chair. Sounds right. "Uh...thank you for inviting me. I'm not sure what...what I want to talk about really, but."

Adelise De'bayle glances up from whatever documents she was scribbling away at, narrow crimson stare moving toward the Elezen as he entered. "Such a change in tone. Lose your will on the way here?" she asked out, left hand mounting her quill for the time being as she offered him her attention. "I do not imagine you came here to simply stand, so do tell what is on your mind."

Lawrence Wallace looks to the pile of books to his left, a hand pushing back through his hair. "No, it's not that. Talking to people isn't really...I'm not good at it." he clears his throat and levels a stare on her. "What do you believe is Just?"

Adelise De'bayle sat back in her chair, her hands clasping to one another as she rested them to her lap. "What do I believe to be just?" she repeated the question, her eyes closing momentarily as though to offer the idea her undivided attention. "A world where blood and countenance do not make a man. Where everyone is granted the same footing to follow their paths. Where dreams are not forsaken to sleep," her eyes peek open, "I believe the only true beings who embody what it means to be 'just' are the gods.

Lawrence Wallace presses his lips into a thin line, considering the answer. "A world where dreams are free to be followed, without barriers built by men or beast? And what of wicked men with wicked dreams? Does your Just world allow them place? What prevents them from rising?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Those who would see the world be built into that of a better place and not one of horrors," she replied simply, reaching for her quill once more. "You see. I cannot be 'just' being Adelise," the tip of her pen found its way to the sheet before her once more, the sound audible throughout the quiet room. "No... for I am a mortal, and the world around us taints us. See, rather... I intend to embody the image of the Fury. I will bring justice to this world in Her visage, as I alone have no right being the arbiter of another, as I am just as guilty of evil doings as the next. Only under Her, am I to see to the building of a truly better world."

Lawrence Wallace: "You leave my question unanswered." he comments, a hand propping up on his hip. "In our short conversations I can agree with your fervor, but. I think you to be too lofty in your ideals. In the muck and mud of this world, the one we live in, wickedness will always rise. It will endure, and even should you see justice brought by your Fury so, too, will those of vile intentions bring their wills upon the world. I asked what will happen to those who would be a barrier to your vision? To the evil of this world we have now?"

Adelise De'bayle: "If they are a barrier to my vision, then they must be struck down by the pierce of her lance," she replied firmly, "I figured that was made clear enough. My ideas will be forever considered lofty to all around me, and I have simply learned to accept their doubt. Those who would not follow the virtues the gods present to us are the ones who prevent all from becoming greater than they could be. The sowers of prejudice, molders of false idols and worship. Shepherds of absent minds. Their ideals only serve themselves. And while self-preservation is of great importance, they will step on others to see that it is done. Deplorable. So yes. I would personally see them struck down. Do not get me wrong though," she sighs, setting her quill down. "I weep for such lost souls, despite their evil. We are not born tainted, we are made evil. Such potential lost."

Lawrence Wallace brings his arms to cross over his chest, his expression rather neutral for all the passion or doubt that generally claimed it. "I needed you to say it. To hear that you are willing to do what must be done in the name of your vision. That you are willing to act, not just speak words of dreams and visions as many are willing to resign themselves to. Whether you weep or not for those souls is no concern of mine, I wanted to know if." he pauses, eyes casting to the ground. "I am told I trust too easily those who display a passion for justice similar to my own. I wanted to know if I could trust you to act. If that is the case, I will offer my arm in aid."

Adelise De'bayle: "I find no pleasure in killing," Adelise trails off, her head tipping back, "I wish to change the world through action, to slay a person for their ideals is a last resort, but often it is the only option left. Many believe being the goddess of war that Halone revels in combat. It is not true. She is the goddess of war, not goddess of destruction like her father, Rhalgr. Her Fury's strongest virtue is mercy. To slay those who would be a stain on this world... it is a mercy," her tone grows dark, her mounting her quill once more. "You are offering me your alliance though, is that what I am hearing?"

Lawrence Wallace: "Last resort." his own voice takes a bitter turn for a moment before he looks back at her, stern and sure now. "I am. I tire of working alone. I tire of nobody willing to do anything to help those who need it. To leave evil and wickedness running amok while they live out their content lives behind walls of stone and coin. If you tell me you will act, so will I."

Adelise De'bayle: "To change hearts is the virtuous way of making a difference in the world, being a warmonger is not. Not all can be swayed through words, far too many are simply too lost to save" she shakes her head, genuine solemness coming over her features. "I am honoured to find an ally with such zeal. You do Hydaelyn justice by standing by me. Such passion," she hums to herself, eyes narrowing, "in time, we will see who you will walk in the righteousness of. Until then," she pushes her chair back, standing to approach the man with a respectful bow. "May we walk side by side on this path to the world where we will truly be free."

Lawrence Wallace: "I walk in the path of Righteousness for the people who deserve it. It is them I fight for. The people. If the Gods see fit to grant me the power to do so, I will thank them." he responds to her strange bow with a nod of his head, his fist thumping against his chest in a standard salute. "Until there is no more evil left in this world."

Adelise De'bayle: "The gods do not grant power," she states out firmly. "It is our responsibility to take their power and use it," she nods, "until there is no more evil. Tell me... Law," she turns on her heel, the drapes of her skirt flitting about dramatically, "when you look into the starfilled sky, what do you see?"

Lawrence Wallace blinks, looking up to the ceiling as if that would somehow illuminate his answer. "I see stars. I don't find myself looking up at them often. I'm not very good at taking breaks."

Adelise De'bayle huffs a single breath at his answer, turning to face him again. "You will come to learn soon, that they are more than just stars that light the darkness," motioning a hand about, Adelise gestures toward the room. "Take what you will, eat all you desire. All that I have, is yours. Is theres. This life of luxury was said to be a blessing after my many turns of living nearly in the wilderness at all times. I am not in need of luxury, as it does not push my ambition, so I instead wish to use this wealth given to me, to improve the quality of life for those who were born into nothingness. So they too can find the strength to stand and fight."

Lawrence Wallace waves off the offer, shaking his head with a frown. "Gifts lose their purpose on me. They are better used on another, one who cannot provide for themselves." he examines her carefully, looking at the fine fabric that made up her outfit, and a moment of doubt passed over him. "If you know of any work to do, though, I will take that instead. There is always too much to do."

Adelise De'bayle watches his expression, eyes following his own. "I am the Viscountess of this House. Along with my ambition, I have a responsibility to keep a face out of respect to the family that sacrificed more than you could comprehend for me to be standing here today," she pats a hand to her skirt, "I am currently on a pilgrimage to the stones of Eorzea with some companions of mine, others who wish to see the world changed. Our travels are taking us all over. We often come across things that need be done."

Lawrence Wallace dips his head, "Of course, I'm not used to seeing anything so..." he gestures to the room at large, and the decorations within. "If you need my help you can contact me. Unless I'm currently in battle I will respond."

Adelise De'bayle dips her head forward. "Trust me. I am not quite used to it all either myself. I will call upon you if ever needed, but..." she moves to take a seat once again, "please, feel free to come whenever you please as well. As an ally of my mine, my home is yours. If ever you need a place to rest your head, these doors are open to you."

Lawrence Wallace shifts from foot to foot, unease and discomfort passing over him now that the conversation he wanted to have was over. A hand goes up to his head, curling in the hair at the back. "Right. I doubt I will. This is no place for me, far too fancy."

Adelise De'bayle: "You say such, but accepting to be an ally of mine will mean I need to speak with you more often," she eyes him some, "but I will leave that up to your own discretion"

Lawrence Wallace: "Oh. Yeah. That's how this works." he sighs and nods, looking to the fire now. "Um...right. I guess I'll visit now and then, just to. Talk about things?"

Adelise De'bayle: "Sounds about right to me."

Lawrence Wallace: "Right. Then. I suppose I'll take my leave."

Adelise De'bayle: "If you have said you share and have nothing to add. It was good to see you again. Until next time," her head dips forward politely, hand reaching to pluck back up her quill.

Lawrence Wallace: "Goodbye then, Adelise."

And with such, my ambition grows.

[voidfirenate]

Wolf or Phoenix (part 4: Final)

Damn it all the hell, it hurts. She won't let go, not that he was surprised.. Nate remembered the first day he’d woken up an she was there. ‘You're mine, Mortal. I followed you in hell, now we are one in the world of the living.’ Even as she said that then, she still ate at him. . . Only stopping when she realized his body would die without him. It was the fail safe in the spell Draco had given Granger nearly a decade ago. Nate watched like a third wheel in a play as his body writhed in pain as the concoction wasn't just burning him on the outside but Ahemait on the inside. A purifying potion, his brain told him. . . Why? He didnt know shit about this stuff. Magic, aetherical manipulation on this scale always made no sense to him but now he knew. However just as the question unrolled in his brain, it was answered. ‘Because you’re now the one absorbing Ahemait.’ Crying out louder, Nate faced the ceiling screaming at the top of his lungs as the black aether that’d resided inside of him for so long was destroyed and reconstructed into his own aether. His wounds along his arm began to slowly close as a new power spread from his chest out. Soon the pain was energy like the time he been with Raiden. His cry soon turned into chuckling as he became drunk on the very thing remaking him from the inside. The ropes holding him were burned off as he slowly stood up.His hair had grown out long, reverting to its original color while white streaks poked out from different places but mostly toward the front of his his head. The man in the room instantly went for the sword at his side, but Nate knew. Dont know how, but he did. In mere seconds he was across the room with a hand gripped tight on the man's throat. Halone stepped back watching, a smile curving her features under the metal. “Welcome back, Nald.” She said before stepping back so as not to become the next target. Instead she’d wait for him to calm before she’d take him back to Draco, fading into the shadows. The man pulled at Nate’s iron grip without success while his air ways were crushed. . . at least until a arrow flew at them looking to pierce Nate. Dropping the man, the half breed bounced back while alight violets searched the dark recesses of the cave for his new attacker. “You wanna fight, Wolf? Fight me. Fight and die by my hand. . . for my sister you took from me.” A young girl, no older than thirteen years old, stepped out a used bow in hand. Even through the high, Nate knew her in minutes. It was hard to forget really. . . Long sliver hair, draped down fine elezen feature that were saddly marred by an ugly scar across her left cheek. A scar he’d given her three years ago. “Migam.” He spoke in a rough, regretful manner while stepping back from her. “Oh so you remember me? Good, I want you to know the name of your slayer!” She threw down the bow to the ground to grab a bottle of red liquid from her side. His eyes widened as he felt the vial pulsate, singing to his very core helping him recognize it. Dragons Blood. “Migam no!” Only it was too late, the girl took the whole vial in one go while Nate watched in horror. Raiden’s warning ringing in his mind, ‘The vengeance consumes your heart, and eventually your whole being. The monster it makes you into, that's all that remains.’ Shite! He thought, as his aether flared filling him like it hadn't done in years making him feel so much stronger. . . Yet. . He was still powerless to stop the child's transformation into an abnormally large snow white aevis, one of his nightmares. Like her sister had been long ago, when Nate killed her for Heresy under the order of House Dzemael. He winced as the unwanted memory remind him of the frightened ten year old rushing him and him reacting from battle high. . . His short knife slicing her face. . . It was later he realized she was a kid and let her go. Seems the decision was coming back to bite him as the aevis roared at him then charged. Nate had no weapon. No armor. No means to stop a rampaging dragon hell bent on killing him so what did he do? Well he ran. His legs carried him quicker than they’d ever had, reaching the mouth of the cave in moments. The rush of northern air hit him hard but the cold didn't touch him like normal. . Instead a heat emanating off him in waves, sending the falling water hissing as it kissed his caramel skin. Interesting.. He thought but didn't have time to dally on this little fact as the roar was closure at his back. Tsking, Nate lept from the mouth of the cave just as the beast erupted from the entrance. Snow flew around him in a flurry, while his heels dug into the ground to stop himself from tumbling. His heels hit the thick frozen water, a loud exploded around him following him the more he ran. Looked that was no hiding it would seem, continuing to run as the dragons heavy steps followed close on him. “Migam! Please you need to calm yourself!” He whipped around to face her only to see she’d vanished. How the hel- His thought was cut off as a tail smashed into his side sending him flying across the landscape. The impact hurt and he could feel his bone snap at the attack, only the pain was miniscule. . Seems his little boost was helping him for the time being. Recovering mid air, the man skid across the ground as he tried to stop himself and face the beast. Damn it… The hells was he going to do? He didnt know how to cure a rampaging beast. . but He did know someone who might. Inhaling as the Aevis rolled its shoulders, like a cat does before pouncing its prey. Her eyes were tiny wild orbs while her jaw lowered to the ground with saliva falling over sharp rows of teeth. Nate bit on his bottom lip as he thought on how to do, his eyes scanned the landscape for a way to distract the her so he could escape… Grinning as he spotted a large frozen lake. “Works for me… Migam! You wanna kill me? Then come and get me!” He yelled before running at her. This obvious confused the beast cause how many times does one prey rush their predator. Stupid prey apparently as he was within snapping distance when he vaulted over her Dhalmel size bodying. Hitting the ground behind her with a hiss before he ran for the lake just off the cliff. Her confusion didn't last long as within second she was charging after him reinvigorated pace, but Nate was faster still. The snow not hindering him as his steps were light enough to not get stuck in its white depths. His long legs carried him to the edge, Migam’s jaws coming on him as he dove off the side for the solid surface of the lake. She tried to halt herself but the momentum along with her weight had the beast following him over. Inhaling as he knew just what to do, hand extending forward sending flames bursting forth from his palms to melt a hyur sized hole for him to fall into. Diving under the surface, he propelled himself a little then more as the dragon hit the water adding to the force spurring him downward. While Migam fought to get back up for air, Nate let himself sink while pulling on his power as vibrant reds and golds made a cocoon around him. Seems it was time to go home, he thought as he erupted infront of the house. A bubble of water bursting out with him, creating a steaming wet mess by the archway. Violets dragged up to look at the company house, a grin spreading as he’d never been so glad to see this place than he was in that moment....