#Halone would approve

[bonetoile23]

Forever stuck in WIP hell

Aymeric's attire but it's all lingerie wip

[ainyan]

WIP Wednesday Whenever

I missed WIP Wednesday yesterday (and for a few months), but I really wanted to give you guys a bit of a taste of one of the pieces I'm working on.

From the private journals of Lord Aymeric of Ishgard, as discovered by G'raha Tia in the ruins of Ishgard, Eighth Umbral Era

Word of her work in the Western Highlands and in the Sea of Clouds circulated amongst the families of Ishgard, and for once, the scions of House Dzemael spoke well of the foreign woman in our lands. House Haillenarte already thought the world of her, but Lady Laniaitte had been equally as impressed by the Warrior of Light as her younger brother. I must wonder if it was those accolades as much as the indiscreet questioning by her companions that led the Heavens’ Ward to accuse them of heresy. In hindsight, I realize that my father’s personal knights would not have taken kindly to a storied hero in their midst and not under their control.  I do not think then that they believed the rumors from Eorzea regarding the Warrior of Light. This does not surprise me overmuch; love overflowing have I for Ishgard and her people, but we have an arrogance that we have ill-earned at times. When she stood forth as the champion of Mistress Tataru, I could see the smirks in the eyes of those arrogant knights. Those smirks faded quickly when she began to move. Within moments of starting, it became clear that her azure Drachen armor had been fairly earned. Her lance was but an extension of her arm and the fury of Nidhogg swirled about her, lending a dark aura to her obsidian horns and glittering scales. She was justice incarnate; a breathtaking avatar of Halone Herself. She won handily, as one might expect from the woman who put an end to the Black Wolf’s reign. By the time that both Ser Grinnaux and Ser Paulecrain were kneeling in defeat, their flushed faces set in furious lines, Alphinaud was similarly winded, hands planted upon his thighs as he fought for breath. By contrast, she looked as radiant as the moment she had entered the arena, not even a sheen of sweat upon her brow as she gazed down upon the two defeated knights with a disappointed expression. When the Arbiter announced the outcome and acquitted the two unfortunate Scions, she turned and left in her usual silence. While most would not have had the fortitude to resist heaping remonstrations upon the heads of the defeated, she declined to do so, instead exiting the arena in dignified silence with her companions in tow. Once more, I found myself impressed with her all out of proportion to her diminutive size and retiring demeanor. Nor was I the only one; Lord Haurchefant gifted her with her very own black Ishgardian chocobo, direct from the Fortemps stables. Embarrassed though I am to admit it, I wish I could gift her with a similar demonstration of my approval. Alas. Perhaps I will be afforded such an opportunity in the future.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Prompt #12: Dowdy

(cut for sexual content)

The Ala Mhigans were quite mad for their liberators. Stories of the epic battle with Zenos were making the rounds in the city, getting wilder and wilder with each retelling. Riven and the others couldn't walk two steps outside without being mobbed. It was getting to the point where the Scions had to don disguises just to get around. Such as the rather dowdy maid's dress that was crumpled at Estinien's feet. The dragoon Dominant was more interested in the tableau before him, reaching for a handful of grapes. Riven had been given a richly appointed set of rooms for her stay, complete with a lavish bathing room. The sunken tub was easily the size of a small pool. Scented flowers and flower-petals floated on the water's surface, wisps of steam coiling up into the air. Incense gently scented the air from various hidden braziers, while bright sunlight poured in through the windows. Propping his feet on a low table, Estinien finished off the grapes and reached for a glass of wine. Riven's head broke the surface of the water, and she blinked at him.

"What are you doing in here?" She demanded, though her voice lacked heat.

"Enjoying the view." Estinien jibed. Riven shot him a smirk.

"The view, hmm?"

"The view." Estinien repeated, an answering smirk appearing on his face.

"And does the view meet with your approval, ser?"

"I rather liked the flashes I got, yes." Riven seemed to be equally fast in the water like she was on land. Valefor was no Garuda, but the Eikon was surprisingly quick and agile. Again Estinien found himself wondering what just went into creating an Eikon in the first place. Was Valefor attracted to the graceful and lithe? Her own magical talents aside, Riven could make quite the fortune as a dancer. Zurvan and Reinhardt were well matched--to the point where if the old god hadn't told them of the demise of his bloodline, Estinien would swear that Reinhardt was a lineage-carrier. Mathye had revealed the religious upbringing he'd had by his grandfather--worshipping Halone in all her aspects, and now he bore the regard of the Glacier-Breaker. A soft splash pulled Estinien from his inner musings. Glancing down, he watched as Riven gave him a saucy grin, paddling over to the bathtub steps.

"What's this then?" He asked, helping himself to a mouthful of wine.

"A better view for you, Master Dragoon." Heat coiled in Estinien's stomach as Riven climbed out of the tub, dripping wet and naked. Save for a scattering of petals adorning her skin, she looked the very image of some lonely monk's depiction of lust incarnate, down to the sultry gleam in her eyes.

[nk-rinji]

[FFXIVWrite] Taken

The dances, the cheers, the joyous atmosphere - it was, of course, yet another ball in the Pillars!

And there isn't a ball where the shining heir of Teweronts isn't invited. There he was - mingling among other guests, chatting their ears away, his boisterous laugh sending itself across the whole room.

Of course, it wasn't actually Leon - the real timid excuse of a noble is sitting back in his chambers, deep within some book, likely while being scolded by their Father. No, it was Alyssa (or Rinji, as she calls herself), going through with the charade - though not like she minds! She's got drinks, company and dances! What's there not to like? A little lie won't hurt anybody.

It was time for yet another dance. Leon, of course, had to dance with a whole assortment of different noble ladies, as followed by the etiquette. And he didn't lack in options, nor did he lack spirit. Alyssa knew she fancied ladies, and considered her disguise being a nice bonus to it. And as the pairs twirled and partners swapped, the night progressed rather swiftly, to the enjoyment of everyone involved.

But as the music progressed, and began to slowly reach its conclusion, one more round of dances had to go through before the night could be considered a success. And a lady approaches Leon with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. She was of incredible beauty, only exemplified by her gown. Leon, - or, rather, Alyssa, - could feel the colour on her cheeks as the lady invited him for a dance. She knew her for a while now. Lady Leanour of the Meril family. Someone who has the attention of many suitors, someone with whom to even speak is an honour (among the young nobles), not even mentioning a dance. Her and Leon have danced before, but it was but a passing moment, far from anything worth talking about. And yet here she is, inviting Leon for a dance.

Alyssa could not believe her luck. She couldn't wait to tell Father of this - he would certainly be incredibly proud to hear that she has brought their family more renown! It doesn't matter if the dance would be the only gesture Lady Leanour deigns her with - a rumour like that is bound to give them all the respect they would ever need! And so Alyssa obviously took the lady's hand, and happily took her to the dance floor.

There was also something... else she was feeling. She knew this would never happen again, but she had hoped the dance would never end. This small moment of their closeness was bringing her a sense of comfort and warmth. And the smile lady Leanour gave her... It almost made Alyssa stumble. What a way to end the night! A memory for a lifetime...

"My lord?" Suddenly, she spoke up during the dance, catching Leon off-guard.

"Yes?" he blinked twice.

"I was thinking... Perhaps we should come to the next ball together?"

Leon’s heart skipped a beat. What did she just say?

No. He heard what she said. 

Oh no.

Leon couldn’t answer immediately, and that was already a mistake on his part. He wants to say ‘yes’ so badly, but he knows what this means. It’s not an invitation to the dance at all.

Would Father approve? No, of course he wouldn’t. If their scheme is found out, it will cause a massive scandal. But how can she turn down the lady without gravely insulting her? Time was running out. He had to say something.

“I am terribly sorry, my lady, but… I am already taken. Er, that is - I already have a dance partner for the upcoming ball.” he nervously smiled, hoping that his innocent awkwardness would be convincing.

“...Truly?” she raised her brows. For her to be rejected was… unexpected. “Who is the lucky lady, if I may?”

He’s doomed. He ran through his mind as quickly as he could, and landed on one name he vaguely knew.

“Lady Cerillian of Revinteux, my lady,” he nodded and prayed to Halone that she didn't know her.

“Hm… Must be some smaller house. I know her not,” her voice turned slightly colder, and Leon did not miss the veiled insult against him.

“Yes, well… had I known, I would have definitely accepted the offer. Please do not take it the wrong way, my lady.”

She was satisfied, at least for now, and as soon as the dance finished, she left him almost immediately. As he looked at her leaving, he felt a pang of guilt upon his heart. Well… Some sacrifices must be made to uphold family reputation. Nothing he can do about it.

He didn’t feel like dancing anymore.

[mariyekos]

Going back to @kurookami-no-kuraitsuki's reblog, Halone's a bit of a mixed bag, but isn't as outright dismissive of concerns as Nophica is. Now Halone's my patron deity so I'm definitely coming at this with a bit of bias, but I read her words as acknowledging the faults in some who worship her even if she doesn't outright scorn them, whereas Nophica just gives the elementals the green light.

(Above: screenshots of the third and fourth Halone line below)

Halone: How bold you are to summon me, NAME. 'Tis no less than I expect from one of mine. Halone: In recognition of your valor and deeds, I offer a word of counsel. Halone: Well do I know the power of men's hopes - of mortal faith. And there is no faith that I reject. Halone: Yet in every age, there are those who invoke the name of the divine for their own ends. Be not misled by them.

In the third line, Halone seems to be saying that there is no inherent wrongness in being faithful, as it is powerful in its own right. But in the fourth line, she warns against those who use faith as their excuse to do bad things. No names are named and no details are given, but this acknowledgment of the misuse of the divine to further one's own ends (like what King Thordan and Archbishop Thordan VII, among others, did) is key. Yes faith can be good and she has no problem with faith itself (line 3), but people can abuse faith for selfish reasons, so you should watch out and not be misled (line 4). She does not explicitly mention Ishgard like Nophica mentions the elementals, and she does not say their actions are good, just that faith is.

Basically, Halone seems to be implying she is not happy people have done selfish (or bad) things in her name, which can be read as her not being happy about what some Ishgardians have done even if she is fine with being worshipped in general. It's the actions that are bad, even if the belief is not. And that's what makes the two different!

I know it's in the RB above mine, but I'm going to put Nophica's lines (including the two before it) in the text here just to make it a little easier for me to read and compare.

(Above: screenshot of the lines below).

Nophica: Why, if it isn't NAME! You with to speak, do you? Nophica: Tell me, have you ever met an elemental? Nophica: Many hold that they were born of me, and as I mentioned, they are the voice of those who abide in the Twelveswood. Nophica: At times, they may seem excessive in their actions, but it is out of an abundance of love. So pray be good to them, and heed their warnings!

As @eriyu said, Nophica seems to be just dismissing the problem of the elementals. Even if Nophica doesn't hold any power over them, her message is one of approval. I will note that she doesn't explicitly confirm she actually made the elementals, just that other people think she did. But it's less an issue of whether or not she made the elementals or whether or not she holds any power over them, and more an issue of whether she's fine with what they're doing. Since she tells you to be nice to them and that their actions are done for a good reason (love), I'd say yes, she is.

So...

Nophica basically says "yes the elementals may be doing excessive (bad) things, but it's okay because it comes out of the goodness of their hearts. Do what they say, and don't blame them for being bad!"

Halone basically says "faith can come from the goodness of people's hearts and I like that, but you must be wary of those who use faith as an excuse to do selfish (bad) things. Don't let yourself be led astray by those who do bad!"

If neither can actually stop people/creatures from doing anything, the only thing we can judge them on is what they think of those actions. When the creatures associated with Nophica do bad things, Nophica says to listen because it's for a good reason. When the creatures associated with Halone do bad things, Halone says not to listen because it's not. Hence why I find Nophica's line "worse" than Halone's. One goddess gives an excuse and says to keep doing said things, while the other gives an explanation and says not to.

Tl;dr Nophica does not acknowledge the faults of those associated with her whereas Halone does and that's what matters to me.

what baffles me about the Gridania situation isn't that the problems "still" haven't been dealt with; it's that the story seems less interested in exploring them than it did in ARR. there is so much ARR content that clearly acknowledges that the racism is a problem, that the xenophobia is a problem, that the elementals are a problem...

but later storylines are just more and more content to gloss over it all. as of 6.5 we just have Nophica telling us "teehee, listen to the elementals; all the shitty things they do are just because they love too much :)"

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 5: Stamp

When you were Esredes, you formed strange relationships in your day to day life. Yes, he had people he relied on and trusted, but there was something to those times with people, where both of you simply remained idle and recognizable passerbys to each other.

A few times each month, Esredes pushed his way through the Dravanian Embassy doors and approached the desk. "Hi," he said to the Hyur woman behind it. "Hello, Esredes," she said in her usual tone- it wasn't overly warm and friendly, but it wasn't unfriendly either- it was one of mutuality. There was little hesitance before her next question: "What was it this time?" "Dragoon." Esredes started. She began writing down on a piece of paper, scoffing. "Oh, it couldn't be. I was *sure* you were going to say Inquisitor." They both chuckled about it, then she spoke again. "Continue." "Young. Young and completely naive," Esredes said. "Right." "Saved her from peril." She wrote this down without a word. "What's the name of each?"

He recited two sets of names, one human and one in Dragonspeak. Within a few minutes, she had everything filled out- one of the few things Esredes had noted about the woman was the terrifying speed at which she could do paperwork. She slid it over, her fine script handwriting pristine and neat to an almost uncanny degree as always, much better than his- and stamped it. "All done," she said, sliding it over and handing over the envelope after stamping that too. Esredes took the papers and smiled at her. "Thanks. You're truly sent by Halone." She smiled at him. "I'll see you back in in a week or two?" He laughed. "You most likely will. Do take care."

It was three weeks later.

"Dragoon." She wrote it down. "Looked around my age. She claimed she simply 'decided to follow this mortal' and won't go away. Very... childish." "Names." He recited another set of them. Soon enough, the paperwork was slid over again, the stamp of approval perfectly pressed into the parchment. "So," he said when he ended up back in there a week later as she wrote everything down. "How about that snowstorm yesterday?" "I wrapped a blanket around myself and sat by my fireplace with tea for two hours," she offered, not looking up from the paperwork as she filled it out. "That sounds a lot nicer than me. I was caught out in it." She glanced up to him, but offered no words, only asking a question with her eyes, to which he didn't respond. Not for a moment as the beat dragged on. "...I had to burrow in the snow for a while. Not fun." "You'd think you would watch the sky better," she remarked. He ran a hand through his hair. "The clouds didn't look any grayer than usual." She slid the papers over. "Now the little one is safe in the city."

"Do you think," Esredes said when he came in five days later, "that the little ones are drawn to those who tried to kill them because their parents didn't teach them to be afraid of men? Or is it that they did, but didn't explain the differences, and they all have a rebellious nature?" She slowly shrugged up at him. "I think we must all look the same to them," she offered. "We need to get these laws changed." Esredes said. "What if you run out of ink before we manage to approve every dragonet a civilian or Dragoon brings in to the city without getting permission." "Then we'll make them pay for the ink." She smiles. "You're right." Esredes said. "They can't be spending all that gil on too much..." She slid the papers forward, still smiling. "Have a good day, Esredes." "Thanks." He picked them up. "You're truly sent by Halone." "I don't mind if you say Shiva, you know." "Shiva, then, too." Esredes turned and walked to the door and looked back at her. "Take care."

The two of them would have the same conversation, over and over again. Maybe it would be next week. Maybe it would be tomorrow. It was like a plague- every time you fixed one problem, you found two more people who had dragonets on their shoulders and were somehow completely oblivious to how unsafe it was to have one out in the middle of Foundation.

And so he went back to the Embassy. And so they chatted over the paperwork. And so she approved the forms, and he left. In all likelihood, they would never go out to eat together, or get swept up in a long and surprisingly revealing conversation like he often got caught up in- but he at least knew she would always be there in the wake of another argument with a clueless loyalist, and for that, she was truly sent by something as a dose of normalcy among the lunacy of his everyday life.

[thescions]

Away from the offending party, Ireneve held her throat, willing away the heat building within. Of course, it made sense to him to make it a formal announcement. The fact that he had left out the crowd was honestly the most infuriating part.

As if she had ever needed his approval.

Even knowing he would someday take his father's role, to attempt to undo Edmont's efforts would be an asinine waste of time. It would weaken them both, in history and asset. So, it was obvious, was it not? He had to have forgiven her, regardless of his true feelings. The whole of Ishgard was well on its way to accepting her, ever more needless formalities in the wings.

Perhaps she had foolishly hoped, had thought she might be safe in the cocoon of Fortemps' walls.

He could have left it alone. He could have saved them both the annoyance. The obvious hesitance in him, the struggle. Oh, she knew exactly how he felt, and wasn't it entirely gentlemanly to let even enemies think what they might?

By the grace of Halone, she spotted Haurchefant as his head turned about a corner. Likely seeking her to apologize. She huffed a bit of anger from her lungs and summoned a wry smile.

"He does love to see me squirm, doesn't he?" She shook her head. "I will have to be better. He will surely not be the last, I know."

For all that Artoirel had ever said -- or neglected to say -- to him, Haurchefant rarely felt a rise of anger towards his brother. He understood the scandal, the betrayal their father had inflicted on his mother, the expectations placed upon his shoulders. Although he had always longed for a better connection with his family, Haurchefant understood the why of the mostly socially-imposed distance.

But for the first time, he was seeking out Haurchefant in earnest request for assistance: She looked furious with me. I don't understand the woman. You're the only one she ever seems to interact with peacefully.

That was not correct. Artoirel knew it, too. But there was no time to lecture him on how to speak to people.

"That was not his intent, Ireneve." Of course she had her assumptions. As calmly as she spoke, he could tell by her somewhat frenzied energy that she was livid. "Although I must admit, his was a piss poor attempt to ...reaassure you, I suppose the goal was?" He shook his head. "My brother excels in the carefully-constructed social circles of Ishgardian nobility. Anywhere else that requires him to consider others of different backgrounds is...well. A disaster, as you've experienced. But I assure you, he meant no ill-intent, despite the insult his words may have inflicted."

He offered her his arm.

"Let us quit the manor for now. A stroll in the brisk night air would do you some good, I think."

[jefarawol]

Ridiculous! Do they honestly think that executing Ser Aymeric will change anything? That the truth will somehow die with him?

These fundamentalists rage against the passing of the old ways, unable to accept there can be no going back.

Given the fanciful nature of their demands, a peaceful resolution does not seem likely. If the hostages are to be rescued, it will be by force, I fear.

Agreed. Lucia, take a contingent of knights and establish a perimeter outside the entrance.

At once, Lord Commander!

Hilda, I need your people out in force throughout the Brume. When word spreads of the situation, the friends and family of the hostages may try to take matters into their own hands. I will not give these militants more targets.

I shall lead the assault on the Vault. Master Alphinaud, can I count on the support of the Scions?

Of course!

We are in your debt.

I shall join you as well, Lord Commander!

Your assistance is most welcome, Lord Artoirel. To arms then, friends! Time is against us!

Our minds were set. We were to raid the Vault once more. there was a tension between the four of us, Aymeric, Artoirel and Alphinaud. I did not miss Aymeric's hesitation when Artoirel offered to join us, not accepting until you gave your approval.

Listen well. We will enter the basilica, according to our latest reports, there are at least six hostages being held within. The numbers and readiness of the True Brothers of the Faith are unknown.

I am told one claimed to have served under Thordan VII. Might the same be true of the rest?

Given the swiftness with which they seized control of the Vault, I think it highly likely, yes─which means that they may well possess the knowledge required to turn the building's defenses against us. Be that as it may, we have no choice but to press on. Lord Artoirel─you are a brave man and true, and none would dare question your honor if you chose not to risk your life in this endeavor. Are you certain you wish to join us?

I am no stranger to the battlefield, Ser Aymeric! My arm will not falter; my shield will not break! Halone as my witness, we will bring these fanatics to justice!

Well said, my lord! Friends─follow me!

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 6: Ring

The speaker of the house of lords exhaled deeply, having just returned to the sanctuary of his own home after a particularly grueling day of debates on the floor. He reminded himself that he was grateful to participate in such a debate at all—it marked how far Ishgard’s reform had already come, and pointed towards a brighter future for them all. It did naught to mitigate how very demanding the work was, unfortunately. At least it meant it was worthwhile.

“Welcome home, Ser,” his steward said, as he helped relieve him of some of the heavier outer pieces of his regalia. “Tea is ready for you at your convenience, should you wish it.”

“Thank you, Martineaux,” he replied. “I shall take it in the drawing room.”

With a polite, practiced bow, the elderly Elezen manservant disappeared towards the kitchen. Aymeric took a detour to his chambers to change into his house clothes. By the time he arrived in the drawing room, his staff already had tea service laid out for him, boiling hot, well-presented and comforting. The curtains were drawn for privacy against the already-darkened Ishgardian sky, and the fire was freshly stoked, blazing away in the hearth. 

A few letters were waiting for him by the tea tray. Hmm. Those were bound to be somewhat less relaxing. He reached down and leafed through them, skimming their postal markings. It was too early to have realistically yet heard from Keimwyda on her latest journey, and sure enough, none of the missives were from her. So they could wait.

He dropped them back onto the table and looked around. Tired as he was, he yet felt a bit restless. He had much on his mind this eve.

His eyes wandered up to the painting above the hearth: the Lord and Lady de Borel, his foster parents, casting a dignified gaze over the room. They were younger on the canvas than they were in his memory. They bore sterner expressions, too—but then, such was the style of family portraits among the Ishgardian nobles. 

He missed them.

He made his way towards the mantel and leaned against it, taking a minute to contemplatively peer into the glass-top case which was installed there. It was full of mementos of the late couple: miniature portraits, a brooch, the viscount’s military medals, a jeweled hairpin that the viscountess always wore. They were by no means the only keepsakes of theirs he had—indeed, this whole manor was still suffused with their presence and their sensibilities. He had changed precious little since their passing.

The changes in the city, however—those had been rather more stark. He wondered what they would think of it. He could not but believe they would approve. At the very least, he hoped so.

With a careful, reverent touch, he prised open the clasp on the case and lifted the cover. In the center was a blue velvet box, only a few ilms wide and high, its lid emblazoned with the crest of his house. He opened it. His mother’s wedding ring.

He carefully retrieved it, and turned it over in his fingers. It was a stunning piece of craftsmanship—a large, rectangular diamond, cut to as many facets as it could bear, glittering in the light of the fire. It was surrounded by tiny sapphires, set into a masterfully-carved gold filigree that more than a little called to mind the silverwork wrought upon Naegling. Inside the band was simply etched the sign of Halone, in whose eyes all marriage vows were sealed. No doubt some among the higher houses would find some reason to declare that this jewel was not so fine after all, but he knew full well how little stock he should place in their opinion.

He remembered sitting upon the viscountess’s lap when he was very young, gingerly touching this ring, fascinated as any small child would be by its colors and shine. She had bade him be gentle with it. She had told him how special it was—that before it was hers, it was her husband’s mother’s, and her husband’s mother’s, passed down from one lady of the house to the next. He could not now remember how many generations she said it had spanned, but it was at least those three. Those who married into the line were bestowed it when it was time. It was a mark of their acceptance, of their place of honor: an affirmation that they were truly of House Borel.

As he studied it now, he thought also of his mother by blood. He had never met her. He never learned what became of her. He often wondered if she was even alive—although he could not but doubt it. At the very least she had likely been driven from Ishgard as one of the Holy See’s many secrets that were never meant to see the light of day. He wondered how much say she had in his surrender. He wondered if he would have loved her like he loved the people who raised him. He wondered if the man who sired him had loved her at all in the first place.

But alas, these were answers which the Archbishop had not deigned to give in life, and now could not give from the grave.

He studied the ring and thought of his own place in this house. By all rights he shouldn’t be here. Against all odds, he was. The bittersweet ache of all that lay in his past sat heavy on his heart, but just as potently, he felt gratitude to those who had loved him and given him a future. ‘Twas no surprise that the entire estate fell to Aymeric’s charge as sole heir—yet it had not been lost on him that his mother’s will had specifically cited this ring. It served for a sign: he truly belonged to this house, and now it truly belonged to him, to bring it into his future however he saw fit. She trusted him with it. He did not bear that lightly.

He considered the size of the piece—it was a beautiful antique. A bit large perhaps, though not inelegantly so. Yet it would certainly not be practical for anyone who regularly worked with their hands.

Aymeric supposed that was just as well. It probably wouldn’t fit on a Roegadyn finger, anyway.

Startled at his own thoughts, he snapped the lid shut.

…He was probably getting ahead of himself.

[sunderedazem]

WoLposting on main for what (and how) he's doing after Endwalker-

He's starting with changing his hairstyle from the long braid with bangs to a shorter ponytail/shaggy bob cut after Endwalker because it feels like. The end of an era. And he's mourning losing his friends' constant presence, a little (even if he and G'raha are now courting and being idiot catboys about it). It's just. Cutting away what was out of grief. He's losing the Scions, at least ostensibly, because they're all splitting up and going different ways, and he's. A lot lost without them.

But also the haircut is because he doesn't want to be some folk hero and only that. Like he's cool with it, but also- he wants time to be Corrain, to figure out who Corrain is. He became the Warrior of Light when he was seventeen and has been that ever since, and before that was just a Keeper foundling in Gridania trying to complete a conjurer apprenticeship so he could get citizenship - he hasn't had the time to figure out what he wants. And sure, being adopted by Edmont and House Fortemps helped - he had a home and a family and a nation finally, even if he's sort of in the same sort-of son category Haurchefant was - but he's got little snippets of Azem's memory bleeding through, he knows there's a wanderlust in him that won't settle, and he needs Corrain de Fortemps to be someone who has the space to find out who he is. And for that he can't be clocked as the WoL everywhere he goes!

So he takes a knife and chops off his braid and then Y'shtola and Krile find him sitting in front of a mirror with this awful fluffy mess and help him shape it better, and when it's long enough to put up he just ties it back in a ponytail. And he just- wanders aimlessly. He helps G'raha a lot, they're definitely dating in a Halone-sanctioned way lmao, and he trails around visiting Scions.

And he's almost invisible. The people who know who he is know Corrain and not just the Warrior of Light, and now the bards' stories don't describe him perfectly and- he's got space to breathe. Space to discover he genuinely likes archaeology and researching bygone eras and writing about them, space to go around and record the mechanical particulars of his forays into ancient ruins and alternate worlds and etc, space to polish his knowledge about foraging and botany and learn how to travel with cookware only and make meals from the land rather than carry food with him-

And all of this to say he finds that - outside of being the Warrior of Light - he genuinely likes the kind of adventuring that comes with learning opportunities. He likes studying the things he's found, likes the challenge of discovery in the first place. He likes the kind of work the Students of Baldesion do, likes working with scholars. (especially G'raha. Nobody saw that coming 🙄) And more than all that- he's genuinely good at it. He gets to realize a lot of his own archaeological/adventuring skill, while supplemented by time-period experts, is in fact it's own branch of knowledge.

So by the time Dawntrail kicks off - I think he's fully considering trying to write a thesis on it, and maybe try to see if Sharlayan would give him an Archon's mark about it. Sure- he's not a Sharlayan citizen, he has strong ties to Ishgard in the vein of being an adopted son of one of the four high houses. But he's also openly dancing circles around G'raha and Artoirel is definitely interested in having a no-inheritance-threat adopted baby brother with a foothold in Sharlayan and- well, House Fortemps approved of G'raha already anyway, they're expecting that to happen.

He's definitely found himself in a lot of ways by the time the next expansion will kick off. Of course part of that is being an actual adult and a twenty-something instead of a teenager, but also- coming to terms with being nine-fourteenths of Azem, coming to terms with defining himself rather than letting what he can do define him, coming to the realization that he's allowed to like what he does and who he is.

That the hope he found in Ultima Thule is actually allowed to feel like his own, and it's not selfish of him to feel that way. That he's allowed to live for himself.

And. Like damn. Finally! but also I'm proud of him. He turns out alright in the end.

Excited to start Dawntrail with this version of Corrain. He's just so much less- desperate to prove something. He proved everything he needed to prove to himself already. And now he finally just adventure for adventure's sake.

[morganaux]

LEGAL NAME: Morganaux Diamante de Dzemael, legally on paper. Prefers to go by Morganaux de Roulemet (his birth family's name) unless he's using his High House status to his advantage.

NICKNAME[S]: Morgy. Strongly prefers that people he's close with refrain from calling him nicknames.

DATE OF BIRTH: Eighth Sun of the Sixth Astral Moon (November 8)

SEX: Trans man

PLACE OF BIRTH: Ishgard (The Pillars)

CURRENTLY LIVING: Feeling uncomfortable being tied down to one home, he has multiple places he stays depending on his mood.

He has a room in the servants' wing of the Dzemael Manor, choosing to remain there as a reminder of how his adoptive father never accepted him as a true part of the family until his rise to fame as the Warrior of Light. He acquired a small cottage in Shirogane during Stormblood, retreating there whenever he grows tired of dealing with High House shenanigans. Lastly (for now, at least) his adoptive uncle Tarresson arranged for him to have his own manor constructed in the Empyreum post-Endwalker. He spends most of his time in the latter.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Without use of the Echo, he can only communicate in Common Eorzean, but he learned how to read in the old Elezen tongue so he could read Ishgardian faerietales and scripture in their original language.

EDUCATION: He received a formal education at Saint Endalim's Scholasticate, achieving the equivalent of a PhD in Halonic scripture and graduating with the Trinity at the age of 18. Outside of his studies, he would also make ample use of the scholasticate's library, especially its restricted section, to learn about alchemy, aetherology, and a variety of other subjects that caught his interest.

Outside of a formal education: Before he left Ishgard to start adventuring, he had a tutor in "advanced conjury," which is just a totally not-at-all suspicious alternative way to describe white magic taught outside a traditionally-approved setting. He also studied arcanima at Mealvaan's Gate, picking it up with ease and almost immediately teaching himself advanced, master-level techniques simply because he wanted to make his carbuncle pink.

And then there's all his, uh... Other education. He knows a whole lot about tempering, anatomy, and the effects of aether on the body for... Reasons. He would love to talk about it, but he also Does Not want to talk about it. ...Also for reasons.

HAIR COLOR: Long, snow-white curls that fade into pastel pink toward the ends. It's naturally that way, sort of.

EYE COLOR: White left eye, pink right eye.

HEIGHT: 5'9". he smol by elezen standards.

FAMILY INFORMATION 

SIBLING[S]: None

PARENT[S]: Lady Olivine de Roulemet and Diwata (biological mothers), the Count de Dzemael (adoptive father), Tarresson de Dzemael (actual father figure, adoptive uncle), technically Peony (his faerie, partially fueled by a fragment of Diwata's soul and aether)

CHILDREN: None for now, aside from a few from personal AUs who for the most part don't have solid designs. Here's Reinette from my personal, non-RP Morgy/Laha AU:

PET[S]: None, not even a chocobo. He doesn't keep pets because he knows he doesn't have the proper time to devote to caring for them. He treats his carbuncles like pets, but understands that as simple arcane constructs, they aren't truly sentient. (...Or are they?)

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION 

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Gay, open to polyamory

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Verse dependent, single unless otherwise specified

SINCE WHEN:- N/A

Tagged by: @seatedsacrifice (thank you!!!! :D)

Tagging: am eternally too babby to tag anyone directly but if you see this and want to do this i am tagging you in my heart

[melimatters]

FF14: Dramatis Personae and Timeline

Final Fantasy Wrtite 2024: Dramatis Personae and Timeline

I figured it would be a good idea to provide a dramatis personae and timeline for my writing since I don’t post really outside of FF14 Write. I am going to change that over time I think, but anyways, this should help for now!

So I work on a time bubble of 11 years from the start of ARR to the end of EW, all ages in the encyclopedias I view as of the beginning of ARR so I calculate NPC ages from there. This means that the twins in this timeline are in their mid twenties, I only mention that as I do ship Alisae and wanted to make clear how my timeline works. 

Melisande Atteron [Latia Ursis]: My original WoL, born in Garlemald as a Hyur woman she eventually rose to the rank of ‘Sas’ in the XIV legion under Gaius van Baelsar with whom she had a relationship. She was eventually used as a spy during the dying days of the original invasion to try and get further information to the Eorzean Alliance about the fall of Dalamud which Gaius did not approve. She was present on the ground at Cartenau when Bahamut emerged and was caught up in the sending of the original Warriors of Light five years into the future. Upon arrival she didn’t remember anything of her former life and ended up in Gridania. She would remain unaware of her previous times in Garlemald until the events of the Burn where Gaius would use her actual name, unaware she didn’t have her memories, it would be a shock to the system from which she recovered, able to merge both lives into one inside her head. As of the end of Endwalker she is married to Y’shtola Rhul.

Melisande is a Hyur woman of small height and an athletic build, she has long bluish white hair that on occasion appears to have the shadows of feathers in it, results of the light poisoning from the first. Her skin is pale and she has striking silver eyes and dark red lips. She was known as “The Winer Witch” during her time in the Garlean military as her hair was viewed as a bad omen amongst the rest of the legion, and a terror tactic with their enemies. She is trained as a dragoon as well as a dancer. 

Altani Mol [Xaela]: The first of Melisande’s two adopted daughters, she left the step at twelve thinking she knew better than the rest of her family in the Mol tribe. She got herself kidnapped and taken to Eorzea where she served as a domestic servant in Ul’dah for the better part of a year before she was able to escape and spent her next while as a street kid, thieving and panhandling to survive, she also took in a young Miqo’te girl K’yla Mitran as a little sister. Eventually she made the mistake of trying to pick the pocket of Melisande and ended up in jail for her actions, Melisande decided to meet with the girl and was taken with her ferocity and independence, but also saw a young girl desperate for love and affection. Melisande bailed her out and over a number of long conversations the two bonded, and Melisande took her on as an adopted daughter. She began to call Melisande mom almost instantly, but made it clear she wouldn’t leave without her sister, which is what led Melisande to also take in K’yla [see below] Altani trained ever since the middle of HW as a paladin, wanting to protect those around her from the evils of the world, which she saw firsthand at the bloody banquet, she served in the wards of Ishgard after the final battle with Nidhogg and ended up taking up the vow of the healer though she still serves Halone. She was present during the battle with Hydaelyn and Ultima Thule, having had the Echo and blessing of light awake in her sometime during ShB. As of the end of EW she is in a long term committed relationship with Allie Baelsar whom she met at the end of Sorrow of Werlyt. Currently she splits her time between Werlyt and wherever she and her sister along with their partners are needed.

Altani is a tiny Xaela woman with long white hair not unlike her mother with piercing blue eyes and a yellow umbral ring. She has a mostly athletic build almost that of a gymnast. She fights with sword and shield as do most paladins but has a pair of javelins strapped to the inside of her shield a nod to her training in Ishgard, she is also versed in short spear. 

K’yla Mitran: [Miqo’te Seeker of the Sun] Very little is known of K’yla before Altani found her wandering the road outside of Ul’dah, knowing the trouble a young girl would end up in she took her to her hideout and began taking care of her. She was taken as the second adopted daughter of Melisande when Altani refused to leave her, though Melisande would never have allowed that to happen after meeting the young girl. Through much of ARR and HW she was basically mute speaking only very rarely and even then with few words. It was her time with Edmont late in the nights that brought her out of her shell when he would sing lullabies to her when Melisande was away. She fell in love with those stories and by the end of HW had begun to learn to since and play the violin/fiddle, a fine piece of craftsmanship given to her by Y’shtola around her fourteenth winter. Since then she has become known as one of the finest bards in all of Eorzea, her stories and songs are both legendary and infamous, she is willing to both sing your praises and your faults should you upset her. She like her sister was present at the battle with Hydaelyn along with her sister. As of the end of EW she is in a relationship with Alisae having stumbled into it during the events of the expansion, much to Fourchenault’s chagrin. 

K’yla is a shortish curvy Seeker of the Sun with long chestnut brown hair with pink highlights as a personal affection, her eyes are the color of emeralds and those who have felt her glare never really forget it. She is trained as a bard, dancer, and a viper, the latter being taken up when her sister suggested she learn melee combat during EW. K’yla can most often be found wielding her two triskelion glaives as a dancer, able to do considerable damage at range. Her viper blades are unique as they were a gift from Gaius whom she has spent considerable time with in Werlyt since she is often there with her sister and Allie working to help rebuilt the nation. The blades are made out of a reforged Heirsbane imbued with magic from Alisae the nine marks glow with a blue faerie fire when the blade is used. 

[mealvaan]

Vicissitudes

Loathe as she is to admit it, Imogen has begun consulting her Deck of Sixty every day.

Once she had finally connected with the pillars of each major arcana, all else under each suit fell gracefully into place. The result was something of novel mystique — each card claiming dominion over its own parcel of life, the lines drawn elegantly and never overlapping. The serendipity of the deck either indicated the simplicity of living, or more aptly, the complexity that the deck’s design was founded upon.

Now, she has found herself turning to the arcana for all matters of inquiry as a clergyman turns to prayer. The deck is accessible, light as a pocketbook when stacked together. It’s of beautiful make despite its age, dulled foil crystallising each detail of the Gods’ visages. Most of all, when she asks questions, it answers. The answer is wreathed in riddles and keeps its intent between its teeth, but it answers with sincerity.

They answer, period. 

Between lazy digits, she twiddles her quill from tail to head but barely pays it mind. Her head is cast out the window, watching frosted glass paintings of noblemen walk across the square. Light snowfall barely besets their journey, deterred by parasol and soon to be forgotten in the gentle hearth glow. Further down the steps, others are not so blessed. Under roof and behind key, lowborn can only warm their hands atop the cooking, if that.

Idly, she runs her three middlemost fingers along the top of her neatly stacked deck. She bestows aether upon the cards as one would spread butter upon toast. Second nature to the point of sedation, but not laziness. She spreads to the corners because that’s how she’s done it all this time. As she offers herself to the Twelve, she lets the question refract within the mirrors of her mind. 

Why do bad things happen to good people?

A card presents itself to her fingertips, guided by a low pulsing pull. She accepts it with eagerness, the bottomless well from which she��s drawn a dozen times this sennight alone. She can feel the weight of a major arcana, its constellation’s power surging through her, but it is not the aetherial blessing she seeks — it’s the sentiment of the art.

The card is turned.

The Spear.

Only now, it strikes her as odd that this card hasn’t stepped forward over the past sennight. It’s a rare draw. There had been a healthy smattering of pips from the irons suit, and the other major arcana had all emerged at least once, but the Spear is reclusive. Ironically so, considering Halone’s visage hangs above her bed. The Fury makes Herself known in every corner of Ishgard, but not in Imogen’s spreads. Had she realised the Goddess of War was missing from her fortunes, she would have been fending off deep guilt that She did not approve of her practice, but now she is validated.

Validated for a moment, until she ponders further.

The superficial interpretations flit by her, summoned and dismissed with ease. For example, the Spear presides over the dominion of ice, implying that the star is an inherently harsh climate to live in. Alternatively, the Spear heads a suit of irons, which lends to the message that misfortune is merely a chain to which one is bound. All shallow interpretations brought about by basic associations, and none satisfactory to her needs.

The true interpretation is this: the Fury commands and the Lover entreats for contrition from their people. To maintain the realm of ice, an element of fragile stagnation, all must be considered holistically. This world is a den of sin. 

To atone for the misdeeds of the wicked, the righteous must suffer. Thus, all must remain as it is.

The young astrologian examines the depiction of the Fury. Her stance is decisive, springing into action with spear and hoplon in tow. Her expression is placid. She fights for it is all she knows, not for passion. 

She frowns.

Without the aid of aether, she manually shuffles the major arcana back into the deck and lays it to rest for the eve. The answer had been pertinent, but not what she had been looking for.

The once fortuitous act of the draw that had blessed her sun-to-sun decisions with clarity now clouds her mind with pall and leaves the bitter taste of smoke on her tongue.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

heavensward- encounter

(a year and a half before Riven's arrival)

CW: Illness, more specifically a city-wide epidemic. I also riffed slightly off Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic book 4, Briar's Book, which is a heavy influence on Mathye's conjury.

---------

For a mercy, the plague currently raging in Ishgard was affecting all levels of society. Otherwise if it had just been in the Brume alone, Mathye knew Charibert would have already been setting the afflicted's homes to the torch. The illness itself wasn't fatal, save for one major problem. The fever that started after the pox cleared was magic-resistant. That had to be fought with poultice and and potion.

Or in Mathye's case-dragonfire. For some unknown reason Hrist's magics could break the infection. And while she and him were willing to scorch the disease from their charges, they had to be careful. Charibert and his minions prowled the sick-houses, waiting for any opportunity to send them up in 'cleansing flame'. And while the Inquistion wanted to question him about the handful of months he'd spent in the Vault, Mathye knew he had some level of protection in being Ishgard's first white mage in some time, plus being a master healer in the Temple Knight infirmary, assigned to the Knights Dragoon. If he couldn't use what power he had to aid those who needed it, then what good was he?

So Mathye had taken a stand, along with getting into a fight or two. He'd shamed several wavering healers and priests into doing their duties, and the misbegotten flames of the Inqusition were now staying away from the Brume sick-houses. And if the poor were recovering faster than their 'betters', well, Halone's eyes were fixed on the most vunerable of her children. That was Mathye's story, and he was sticking to it.

But Fury be good, he wanted to kill Charibert. Wipe him and his ilk from the face of the earth. It said something when he- an apostate!-was more faithful to the Fury than one of the Heavens fucking Ward! Or was it that he was more open minded?

Mathye didn't know.

Or maybe it's because you've seen the rot and swore to have no part of it...

"You've been the one making the medicine here?" Jolted from his dark musings -- he hadn't eaten since breakfast, Mathye glanced at the speaker. Charibert had decided to suddenly pop in, with Haumeric accompanying him. More than likely the other priest of the Ward had also taken offence to the Grand Inquisitor's leanings and had shown up to offer support... if not tact approval of Mathye's stance.

"I volunteered to make this particular batch, aye." Making the feverbreak potion was the best way to add in his dragonfire, and thankfully it didn't require much. But with Charibert and Haumeric watching, Hrist had gone dead silent in his mind. Not that Mathye minded. He was extremely keen on staying clear of Charibert's dungeons. And keeping his baby brother safe...

"Every time you visit a sick-house, the number of patients who break the fever and recover successfully rises." Haumeric continued. His eyes widened slightly as Mathye withdrew a butcher's knife from a wooden block. Charibert remained unruffled.

"Don't know anything about that." Mathye lied, reaching for a clump of chamoille plants with the other hand. With a single chop, he cleaved the flowers from their stems.

"There are many singing your praises." Haumeric was not giving up.

"You mean more like cursing me." Mathye countered. Keep your hands busy. Focus on the plants. He chopped off another bunch of chamoille flowers. Evading or at least muddling a Halonic truth spell required effort.

"In this case, the praises are outweighing the curses. Though for you, that seems to be the norm." Charibert said silkily.

"Is there any reason why you've decided to darken my doorstep, Hot Lips?" Mathye wondered aloud. He selected a Gil Bun to chop next, bowing his head just as Haurmeric choked back a sudden bark of laughter. Charibert's eyes flashed in annoyance.

"As Ser Haurmeric stated, the number of patients who recover when you're present is high. There are... questions."

"Are they about my healing-practice or about the fact that it's the poor that are recovering so quickly?" Mathye countered, lifting his head. "If it's the latter, just imagine how upset the commonfolk will be that the Vault would have preferred them to die in comparison to the noble born-"

"Healer Bishop." Mathye snapped his mouth shut and picked up another mushroom. He could feel Haumeric glaring at him.

"The Archbishop cares for all of Halone's children. Poor and nobleborn." Now the glare was turned to Charibert. "His Emenience would like as minimal loss of life as possible. Which is why the sick-houses were approved and permission to use any means necessary to save the ill."

"You add magic into the feverbreak potion." Charibert ignored Haurmeric, eyes fixed on Mathye. The white mage fell his stomach lurch. However he forced himself to look up and cooly met the High Inquistitor's gaze.

"I do."

"The fever can't be broken by magic." Haurmeric stated, furrowing his brow.

"You're right. What I do doesn't last long, and fades the moment the potion starts to brew." Mathye picked up a handful of the chamomile heads. The petals on some were drooping, while others looked completely whithered. Then suddenly the flower heads seemed to spring back to life, white petals practically glowing around their bright yellow centers. Mathye moved the handful of flowers over to a pot, dropping them inside.

"A revitization spell?"

"We're not so lucky to get fresh herbs and the sort down here." Mathye replied. "Plants hold memories just like man. I just give a little coax for them to remember life, to renew their power." Then mischievously, he added; "A priestess of Nophica showed me this while I was in training. I figure her and Halone would be willing to work together in this fight. Nophica to bless the plant life, and the Fury to grant a body the strength to endure." Oh wow. Charibert had actually physically twitched. Haumeric looked a little worried.

"You are not...practicing hedgewitchery, are you, Healer Bishop?" He ventured. Mathye narrowed his eyes.

"The last time I checked, I wasn't the only one doing such a thing." He began. "Our builders still burn copies of their plans to Byregot for His favor, our martialists blood-pledge to the Destroyer, doubly so since He is Halone's father, and we're not going to discuss all the love-charms made from the snow by Memphina's godstone, she lives in Halone's palace! And I'm certain you don't want to discuss the amount of childless couples who slip away to Gridana in the spring to celebrate the rites of Nophica, and find themselves blessed with babes nine months later. Nobody complains about hedgewitchery then, so why complain now? If a bit of it's helping my charges here, and Halone hasn't expressed disapproval, then I see no problems."

"I see why you're permamently such a low rank in the Church, Bishop. Such a...provencial mindset." Charibert sniped. He tilted his head.

"Ah but by the way, how is your half-brother doing?" Rage-and fear--screamed to life inside Mathye, and he could feel Hrist spasm. It took everything he possessed to not react, to keep his voice level, to shrug casually.

"I wouldn't know. I think he's on out on a heretic hunt. There was a dragon that your Inquisitors were having problems with, wasn't there? I'm surprised you're not out there with your men." A barb for a barb, and Mathye took some satisfaction on seeing Charibert glower. Haumeric glanced between the two men.

"Gentlemen. I see that there's no problems here." He said firmly. "Healer Bishop, I would advise that you keep your...dabbling to yourself. While your points are valid, there are many of your betters that are not as... open-minded as you are. Brother Charibert, there's nothing problematic here, unless we count Healer Bishop's overall attitude as a heresy."

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2022 //ffxivwrite info//prompt list//character info//master post//

Prompt thirteen: Confluence | noun; a gathering together, especially of people | Word count: 707 Characters: Syren Ligeia  CW: None  Notes: this word gave me such a hassle for some reason so I saved it for make up day XD Syren took over for this one, so it seems my new alt is getting a lot of love for this year’s write which is fine by me cause he is very fun to write for I’ve found! Once again set pre-arr Ishgard, Syren is just shy of 16 here. This one again loosely follows the prompt but it went in an entirely different direction than planned but I am still satisfied of how it turned out. He lived a very different life compared to Kien so it’s been fun to write the differences.

——

“Stop fidgeting my sweet, you look fine.”

Syren had to resist the urge to retort back at his mother, knowing full well the woman would not hesitate to put him in his place, even in front of a crowd. He didn’t exactly want to make a scene at the ball when he already stood out to begin with so he instead lowered his hands and tucked them under his arms with a huff.

“I’m not worried about how I look,” Syren muttered as he kept his focus in front of him, scanning the crowd of Highborns laughing and chatting as a small string quartet played in the background. He was thankful to be tucked in the background away from them all but it still didn’t improve his mood. “I just don’t understand how all these people can gather together to throw a ball when we’re still in the middle of a war.” He paused and moved a hand to loosen the collar again, finally satisfied that it didn’t feel as tight anymore.

His mother pursed her lips. “Trust me, I don’t quite understand it myself but this war has been going on since long before you were born or before I even came to Ishgard after marrying your father. I suppose this is a way to feel like they still have control of things.”

Syren finally turned and shook his head with a frown. “This is supposed to be a ball to honor our Temple Knights but the majority of them cannot even be here to enjoy the festivities because they’re on the front lines, father included. How is any of this fair?” He kept his voice low but the anger was evident.

“I know my sweet,” his mother turned to face him, a sympathetic look crossing her face as she grabbed his hand and gently squeezed it. “I wish your father could be here and not out, risking his life against the dragons every day. You know as well as I do that he was the one who chose to forgo this ball to continue to lead his unit. I pray to Halone he is safe and there will one day be a day where he can be with us again.”

“You can pray all you want, mother,” Syren began slowly as he pulled his hand away. “But praying alone to the Fury won’t be enough to end this war sooner.” He gazed out at the crowd again, watching as his little sister Willow happily waltzed around to the song as he continued to speak. “When my nameday comes around, I’ll be joining the Temple Knights. I want to prove myself worthy to fight by father’s side and end this war.” His ice blue eyes locked gazes with his mother’s, pleading for her approval. “This was never some silly childhood dream.”

His mother bit her lip, turning away for a moment as if to gather herself for her answer. The buzz of chatter filled the silence between them before she finally drew a shaky breath and nodded her head. “If that is your wish, then I won’t hold you back.”

Syren nodded firmly and his mother turned to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I knew it was never a silly childhood dream, I just thought I had a little longer before you were ready to leave the nest.” She took up both his hands and squeezed them again. “You’ve got a good heart Sy, your father will be proud.”

“Thank you,” Syren began to say but before he could finish, the moment between them was interrupted by Willow bounding over with a giggle.

“Sy! Come on! Come dance with me, please?” She tugged insistently on his arm with a grin. Syren glanced at her pleading expression and rolled his eyes with a smile, knowing there was no sense in trying to say no. He looked back at his mother and they exchanged a quiet nod in understanding. It may not have been a ball for the best of reasons but might as well enjoy the time together while they still could.

“Alright, come on,” Syren offered his arm to her and together they submerged into the crowd of people as the next song began.

[potassium-pilot]

FFXIVWrite2022 Day 6: Onerous

Though he wasn’t sure who allowed it, it was morning in Ishgard, and Aymeric would simply have to deal with it. Halone preserve him, he didn’t want to get up, not when his bed was warm and soft and had the love of his life sleeping in it soundly. He could even hear the forceful winds of a blizzard rushing through the streets, and he would have to leave his own home to deal with that? Sometimes, it was easier when he just slept in his office when Dia would be on a sojourn to save the world, and it seemed especially so this morning. Alas, time and weather were sadly out of his control, and so Aymeric rose to face the day.

One session of quietly fighting his armor later to avoid waking Dia, he was dressed and on his way downstairs where his steward greeted him with some breakfast he knew he would have to grab and eat on the way to the Congregation and, with a quick thank-you, did just that. Upon nearing the door, he pulled up the hood on his cloak, and took a deep breath in and out to ready himself to brave the cold.

Upon arrival to the Congregation, he was immediately greeted by Handeloup. “Good morning, Lord Aymeric.”

“Good morning, Ser Handeloup. Pray, tell me of our morning.”

“You have three guests awaiting you claiming they all have appointments with you.”

“Mognifeau, Lariaie, and Chifunaud, I presume?”

“Most likely, my lord. I can’t say I know the faces of any of those characters. Afterwards, your assistant in the House of Lords sent by a stack of paperwork to file before your next meeting, where she also mentioned your presence being required for more appointments, though I suspect she would know better than I.”

“Thank you, Handeloup.”

“Oh, and the quarterly budget has been drafted for your review and approval, and you and I are due to talk promotions for the year.”

“Of course. Come by once you have a moment and we can discuss these matters.”

Handeloup saluted and stepped away while Aymeric continued onto his office. Mognifeau, Lariaie, and Chifunaud were absolutely the last trio of people he wished to discuss anything with, but he had little choice. Not when he relies so heavily on them for training strategies. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad, but they all love the sounds of their voice so, especially when they decide to bicker in the middle of an official meeting, forcing him to play mediator in whatever silly dispute they come up with during a meeting with the highest of command.

“Good morning, Lord Commander!” The trio greeted.

Just get through this one meeting, and you’ll be fine, he thought.

What could have been contained within a half-bell became an hour and a half long, which is why he always blocked out two hours for that particular group and rushed them out of the office as politely as he could. From there, he started in on the pile given by his assistant Blisaie, including budget reviews for the whole of the city-state, farm reports for food supply, and far more exciting material that continued until his next appointment, barely having made any headway in the work he started.

He used the aetheryte from the Forgotten Knight to The Last Vigil and ran up the stairs to his office where three people waited outside with his assistant.

“Good morning, my lord”, Blisaie greeted, “You have 3 appointments, one with the leader of the Ishgardian botanists, one with the leader of House Manseauguel, and one with Lord Francel.”

“Good morning, everyone”, Aymeric greeted, “I believe my first appointment was with you, Lord Francel. Please, follow me.” Aymeric opened his door and allowed him passage and Francel took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. In his arms were papers with all sorts of information not only on the Firmament Restoration efforts itself, but with the popularity of Empyreum with the adventurers, many of whom helped rebuild the Firmament in the first place.

Ranging from the pleasant meeting kept nice and tidy with Lord Francel to being yelled at by an angry farmer from the Sea of Clouds settlement for lacking tools, all in all, he used his time accordingly, with just enough to make it the House of Lords session comfortably when Lord Charlemend entered. “Good day, Lord Speaker.”

“Good day. I’m afraid I haven’t long to chat before session.”

“Not to worry, this won’t take long at all. In short, Ser Vaindreau’s Grace is in critically short supply, and I would like your support to ensure a prompt and plentiful shipment of supplies. While Mistress Sito has been quite helpful in procuring smaller supplies, much more vital equipment is wearing and needs to be replenished.”

“Dia has been helping you procure supplies?”

“Not just procure, my lord. She creates them seemingly out of thin air. She’s been a boon to Ser Vaindreau’s Grace, but even Dia cannot provide what we need here.”

It did, in fact, take long. So long that Aymeric had to sprint to make it on time, doing everything in his power to keep everything organized on his person while Charlemend simply waltzed in casually to take his seat about five minutes late to session. After debating a measure to increase airship routes to Radz-at-Han, agreeing that it would be up to Vrtra in the end to review their proposal, and introducing a sudden and Durendaire-backed measure to fund increased medical supplies, the measures was tabled until the next scheduled session. Aymeric dismissed the meeting, releasing all the lords to go back to their business while Aymeric had a meeting he had long waited for in the Congregation.

“Oh, Lord Speaker!” One of the lords representing the Jeweled Crozier appeared and asked, “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Oh, well…”

“Ah, I’m glad we found you, Lord Speaker!” Another lord walked towards him with his son, who worked in the House of Commons as an assistant to the Commons Speaker.

“Lord Speaker!”

“Lord Speaker!”

“Ser Aym- Lord Speaker!”

Thus did crowds of expectant people come up to him who all desperately needed his attention for some matter or another, and who was he to refuse? He created this system in the first place, he thought, so he should take care of what would be needed of his fellows in the House of Lords and Commons. After herding all of them to his office and tending to each one individually, the swarm seemed to slowly fade and eventually, he had a moment for himself.

Lunch time.

There was an extra spring in his step as he walked back to the Congregation for the far more pleasant part of his day. Just as he entered, however, he noticed that the one he would be dining with was nowhere to be found in the lobby. She did have a tendency to let herself into his office every now and again, so he walked towards it and opened his door.

He showed himself his own empty office.

Aymeric walked back out to the lobby and approached Handeloup. “Ser Handeloup”, he called.

“Lord Aymeric”, he saluted.

“Pray, did Dia come by at all?”

“Yes, my lord. She arrived when you were scheduled to have lunch three hours ago.”

“Three hours?!” Aymeric gasped as he fumbled for his pocket chronometer to confirm what his commander just told him, and to his credit, he was correct. He read 3:00 PM.

Halone save me, I stood her up, he thought.

“She would have waited for longer, I bet, but Mistress Hilda requested her aid for something related to the Skysteel Manufactory, and believing you had more important things to take care of, went off to do just that”, Handeloup explained.

The way he phrased that last bit made Aymeric raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “Is that supposition or did she say that?”

“That you had more important things to worry about? Yes, that is what she said.”

Aymeric, doing his best to keep his self-hatred contained, asked firmly, “What were her exact words?”

Handeloup took a moment to think and remember exactly what was said, then answered, “Mistress Hilda approached her and asked for her aid. After that, Dia contemplated, then told her, ‘I may as well. I’m sure Aymeric has more important things to worry about than me.’”

His heart sank. Not only did he stand her up, he hurt her too. After thanking Handeloup, Aymeric slunk back into his office and fell back into his chair as though he weighed a tonze. After a deep and centering breath, he did what he could to place that aside and focus on some work when a knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

It creaked open and Handeloup entered. “Forgive me, my lord. I know that I just broke some sad news to you, but…we still need to review the budget. ‘Tis still a necessary duty to perform.”

After a breath in and out of his nose, Aymeric replied calmly, “Agreed. Present it to me, if you would.”

Handeloup pulled out the stacks of paper and placed them on his desk, then sat across from him to begin the review. Before the Ilsabard Contingent was formed, this was performed by Lucia and not Handeloup, but shortages where they are, Handeloup graciously agreed to take on her role while she’s away. They spent the hour buried deep in numbers and debates over where certain things could be cut or expanded, only to spend another hour debating performance reviews and who deserves what position if there should even be a vacancy. Once it was done, Handeloup stood up and saluted to leave.

There, Aymeric sat back and pondered for a moment. Albeit, a short moment, because what he pondered was, “Should he take his work home?” and what he answered rather quickly was “Yes.” He gathered what he needed, and made the trek back home. It was still a blizzard outside, which made him glad he decided on the manor, because of all the places he would rather be snowed into, the last place was the Congregation. Hood up, he huddled into himself as he rushed home to escape the cold.

He approached the manor and opened the door to enter as quickly as possible. Once the door was closed, his steward Angelbert came by to greet him before moving out of his way so he could change. Up the stairs, he removed his pauldrons and everything down to his smallclothes and put on a blue sweater and some black slacks with slippers. If we was going to keep working in his home, he would do so in comfort.

It hit him once he finished, however. Dia was nowhere to be seen, neither in his room, nor in the parlor on his way upstairs. He climbed back down and approached Angelbert, who was placing a cup of tea and a plate of food down on his table, and asked him, “Angelbert, has Dia come home?”

“Yes, my lord, but I’m afraid I’m not able to tell you where in the manor she’s gone. My most sincere apologies.”

“Naught to forgive, Angelbert. Thank you.” The elderly steward bowed and left the room, leaving Aymeric to sit alone. Yes, the work needed to be done. Yes, the people needed him. Yes, he knew all this. But he sat back, and told himself, “If I should seek re-election, I can only hope someone will be kind enough as to toss me into a sanitarium.”

It was then that he felt two gentle hands lay on his shoulders and start rubbing them with a green magical healing glow. “I’ll make sure the Conjurers take great care of you”, Dia said softly into his ear.

Doing the exact opposite of what she expected him to do, he stood up and stared back at her in shock. “Dia!”

“Hi”, she greeted with a smile, leaning into the back of the settee.

“Please, forgive this fool for skipping our lunch time. I was careless in the Vault and completely lost track of time, and-and… ‘Tis easy for me to get carried away in my work, but—“

“Relax, my darling, relax”, she approached him and placed her hands once again with a green healing glow. “For whatever reason, I fell in love with one of the busiest people I know, and with that, I accepted that there would be times where work needs to come first. I helped dismantle the old, so I let you focus on the new. For the good of all of Ishgard.”

Aymeric bowed his head. “I don’t want you to ever believe that I think you beneath my work. You’re just as important to me as anything I do in that office, in the Vault, anywhere. Mayhap more.”

“Mayhap?”

“Every now and again, I wonder why I go to such lengths, and how I could possibly go on. Then I think of you. The sacrifices you’ve made, the time we spend together. It reminds me that if you can boldly face the end of creation, even at the cost of your life, I can- and must- continue to put forth my best effort. As you said, we dismantled the old. As I once told you, I owe it to my people to see this change to its very end. I can only hope that when my time is through, you will still be there, and I will find my rest with you. Though I sought change with no thought of reward to myself initially, when I ultimately give up the seat of Lord Speaker, I would take great pleasure in sharing a changed Ishgard with the most important person in my life. I cannot do that if I continue to shirk my responsibility to you. You’re not deserving of that.”

Dia pounced him. Holding her close, he sunk into the settee while she continued to kiss him. Soon, she pulled away and reassured him, “You’ve shirked nothing. Not yet. Here, I had thought that I had been shirking my own responsibility to you. I’ve been going off on adventure after adventure, sometimes having left for days at a time with no contact, and here I thought you deserved better.”

Aymeric laughed. “I never thought that for a second.”

“So we’re in agreement. We’re worrywarts.”

“We’re worrywarts.”

She gave him a quick kiss and said, “And I would be happy to share this improved Ishgard with you, and so many other days.” Dia stood up and went behind the settee again, preparing the same healing rub on his shoulders. “Now, if I should catch you worrying further, I shall simply have to massage you deeper until I completely incapacitate you.”

“Mmm, how cruel of you”, Aymeric remarked facetiously.

“There is one thing for which I won’t forgive you, though.”

That made him tense up. “What would that be?”

“Did you not eat lunch at all then? Just because you missed our weekly lunch?”

Suddenly, his hunger hit him hard. “Ah…well…”

“Eat, damn you. I even made sure Angelbert brought you dinner here in case you would be working yourself to death.” She stopped massaging to let him grab his plate. “Let me grab my dinner from the kitchen, and I’ll join you.”

Aymeric watched her scamper to the kitchen with a smile on his face. He considered himself lucky that even when difficult days should rise that someone like her would be there with him, then and even after.