#Miyasuke Ietada

[yzareenxiv]

#26 - Not a Weapon

A letter, delivered to the Yosai mansion, to be opened only by Miyasuke. It is sealed in wax with no discernible stamp on it and the lettering with Miyasuke's name (first and last) is very, very carefully written.

Within, the words on the page are just as deliberately formed- every letter crafted with the meticulousness commonly seen in children trying to flex newfound literary skills. Written in ink, there are places the pen clearly sat for too long, saturating the paper with ink blotches like a sort of written pause in speech- an ellipses implied but not specifically described.

Miyasuke,

I write this not as a worker but as a person.

It has been a long time since we last spoke and I have deserved your silence. I have said and done things that are I am ashamed of. I acted like a scared animal and from the beginning lashed out at you because I feared you would hurt me. I did not think that you, too, might be scared, or alone, or angry at coming to Eorzea away from home. You seemed so certain of yourself and, at the time and for many moons after, I felt so lost. Maybe I was a little jealous. Mostly, I was scared.

I tried to understand and to learn, I swear to this. But I am sometimes stupid and the more I tried to understand you the less I understood it was my own self that stood in my way. I should have known much faster. I took away the wrong lessons.

The next paragraphs are less carefully crafted, written more in haste or emotion.

I am so very sorry. I am sorry for treating you the way I did. For talking too much and not listening. For letting my fear hurt you. For mistaking being distant as being uncaring. I have been a fool and I have acted unforgivable. I regret this and I do not deserve forgiveness for it, but I beg you know it is not hatred or a wish to hurt you that led to my actions. It was ignorence, blindness, and my own thoughts on how people act for certain reasons.

I am sorry I offered you the hilt and blade of a weapon and not a hand in friendship. While you may have needed my sharpness, you deserved my kindness much more. You have risked much and I have failed to understand it until too late. I am so sorry.

There is a large splotch of ink here, the pen clearly resting for some time and bleeding in veins across the surface of the letter before the next words begin, partially obscured by the marred paper.

Plea--orgive--id not mean to ov- hear. But I did. I know what you face and even though we are very different, I know you might be heartsick. I was, when I was faced with a very similar choice. If I was a better woman, it would not have taken this to finally open my eyes to all I have done. As it is, I have ruined so much with working for the company, so I am offering this as just a person. I want to help you, however I can. Not as person who works for you but just as me. If I cannot, if you do not wish this or trust me for this, I understand. I do not know if I could do this if I am you. But the offer is true.

Again, the next paragraphs are less careful. Shaky.

I do not know if it is too late and too much after these moons of misunderstanding, but I wish to be not a weapon for you now, if you will allow it. I offer my hand as maybe not a friend, if there is too much hurt for that, but at least as someone who wants to help. Who knows this pain and would help you through it.

If you prefer not to have this, then the other offer, too, stands. I will be a weapon if you need.

~Y'zareen

((Tagging @miyasukeietada, since this is written ICly for her.))

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt #16: Bond (Makeup)

The little ring turned around, around, around, the sparkling gemstone set in its delicate band throwing rainbowed hues as it went. Michishio had heard of diamonds, but hadn't had the opportunity to see one until now. Now, she had one of her own and the promise that accompanied it.

She wasn't sure how she'd be received when, quite stubbornly, she'd requested an engagement ring for a nameday present. After over a sennight insisting she didn't need anything and her nameday ought not be celebrated, her fiancé had abruptly turned the tables on her by insisting their friends might be offended if they discovered she'd had a nameday to which they were not invited. Were namedays such important events here? She suspected he was merely pushing her buttons, something he'd become distressingly adept at, but couldn't discount that he might be right. Even now, nearly two years in Eorzea, she encountered little customs and quirks of culture that caught her by surprise. She'd acquiesced, grudgingly, and penned invitation letters on the condition that gifts were not to be brought by anyone, and attendance was not at all expected.

Several guests had ignored her request and brought gifts anyway. Dunrai, a member of the militia and sometimes-cooking-instructor, had brought an absolutely mouthwatering Steppe dish he referred to as Buuz... Although that was less a gift and more the act of a consummately considerate guest. Miyasuke, her employer... friend? She pushed the thought away. No, that was arrogant to assume. Her employer, with whom she was on friendly terms, had brought a flower vase whimsically crafted to look like a subspecies of mandragora. Some time earlier, she'd also gifted Michisio with a wall lantern surmounted by a jauntily perched porcelain otter. The Raen was never quite certain if it was Miyasuke's tastes that ran towards the unapologetically cute, or if she'd somehow divined Michishio's did.

She held her hand up to the lantern now, wiggling the ring back and forth to throw sparkling motes of light. She was being stupid, and she didn't care. She was alone, she was allowed. Wearing such a flashy thing perfectly suited the loud, at times ostentatious culture of Eorzea and it seemed to the Easterner almost pompously immodest. Were not weddings to be quiet affairs between friends and family? And yet, she felt she understood the tradition. It would be inexcusably shameless to go boasting over such a thing, yet if she were not permitted to shout her happiness then her finger would do it for her.

A sudden weight of disgust settled into her gut. Had she just excused herself of showy pride? She had. Too long spent in Eorzea had begun to subtly erode some of her more delicate sensibilities, a trend which was beginning to worry her. Already she'd begun to speak her mind too freely and too often, lulled into brazenness by those around her. She would wear the ring, it was custom. But she would stifle any unseemly pride it tempted forth. It was... a mark of association. Yes, that was alright. Pride had no place in her heart. It was a fine thing from a fine man. But wasn't thinking of her fiancé as fine a little arrogant in itself? To think somehow, she'd been chosen by - was worthy of - a man a cut above others?

Michishio sagged in her seat. It was late, she was tired, and her mind was beginning to run in circles. Besides, she'd practically thrown herself at him from the start. Or had she? His constant teasing and suggestive comments might have just been a joke, or they might have been testing her responses. She'd hardly been free from pointed comments and leading phrases herself, though for her half, it was most definitely to take his measure. Was he the slovenly lecher he strove to present himself as, or something nobler? Their friendship had begun, bizarrely, as a long and wary mutual circling and sounding-out of each other's intentions. To Michishio's pleasant surprise, he'd shown himself a considerate gentleman. A considerate gentleman with a most regrettable sense of humor.

A considerate, gentlemanly, vulgar, foolish, brave, clever, loudmouthed, maddening, handsome idiot to whom she was engaged to be married. Maybe he was still awake. Maybe he wanted tea. She sprang to her feet and padded over to the counter on the far side of the room. She didn't really care if he did or not, to be perfectly honest. He was getting some.

[varyinglevelsofdisaster]

Prompt #7: Serendipitious

“Volunteered to serve drinks?  I was just making conversation you smarmy bitch”  Berric muttered under his breath as he threw punches in what was then the Aureate Ward’s training room. “I’m a goddamn envoy and you treat me like a servant? Good fucking luck getting any favors from the Company now.”  He growled as he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside before throwing a series of blisteringly fast punches at the air. He was breathing hard already, 

Miyasuke’s attitude having driven him away from the gathering in the yard to try and blow off some steam away from the others. He had thought this would be a simple job. Just come in, make nice, maybe throw some gil around, easy peasy. Instead he has to contend with that shark-lipped thunder-cunt. It took all of his composure to not tear into her right then and there and remind her just what his relationship to the company was. He wasn’t a servant. He was there on loan.

He spun around and threw another punch before a figure caught his eye. The redhead he’d just met, Ravija. Arden’s sister. She walked through the door way was about to make his day a hell of a lot better. Miyasuke may never know it, but her bitchery caused a meeting that would change Berric’s life forever. She had earned that fruit basket.

[lolahbajhiri]

Infamy

“Hey, did you know...? Your name is in papers all over Eorzea. Menphina’s tits, you’re famous!”

Lolah looked down at the crumpled newspaper sheet thrust at her with a note of interest. Sure enough, splashed across a column was the headline that had sparked it all: HANNISH AMBASSADOR’S DAUGHTER JAILED FOR KUGANE HEIST.

“Ah...heh...” She grins slightly, but doesn’t say much to the woman who eagerly watches her expression as she reads on.

--

Shock rippled through Kugane as the coveted sword of Kaien, the last king of Doma before its occupation, was stolen from its display at a museum in Kugane. The frantic search turned up no sign of its whereabouts, but the thieves curiously came forward in the days after and made themselves known. Ashley Stone and Lolah Bajhiri, daughter of Ihsan Bajhiri, an official ambassador to Kugane from Radz-at-Han, confessed to the crime in full to shock on the international stage.

In a curious twist to this most unusual tale of a young married couple, they have invoked a peculiar and somewhat obscure law of diplomatic immunity and ownership rights that prevents Hingashi from reclaiming the Doman relic that was in their possession. However, this is not the end of the line for the relic. Officials feared the duo had sold the priceless artifact for money, but instead it seems to have taken yet another turn.

In recent days, Yanxia native currently operating as the head of the Aureate Ward, Miyasuke Ietada, presented this ill-gotten sword to Lord Hien, son of Kaien, proclaiming it a gift not to him, but to the rightful heirs of Yanxia: the people. The move has been viewed as controversial by some, but the locals are repotedly fascinated by the gesture. Some view Stone, Bajhiri, and Ietada as local heroes, going to great lengths to restore a land torn asunder by Garlean occupation.

Finally, the story has taken a dramatic new path as Ms. Bajhiri was arrested by former Brass Blades officer Elia Hext on unrelated charges consisting of suspicion of murders dating back several months that have gone unsolved, brought to light by the news of the heist that launched her to international infamy. Bajhiri has yet to be tried on these charges.

--

Her smile faded slightly. Luther and Ashley were taking far too long.

[double-threnody]

The Long and Dark

The first time I entered Doma it was as a boy. I fled the broken, simpering men of the Iriq and the clutching claws of the Borlaaq behind them. I was yet untrained, stupid enough to take any mercenary work that presented itself and gave me an opportunity to kill for coin and blissful, momentary relief. I was used and discarded just as surely as I was on the Steppe. My learned lessons were swift, brutal; I was as well, after a time.

The last time I visited the Doman coast it was under the letter of my contract. I was to safeguard my employer from harm and escort her through Yanxia on a supply train. It was the first time I performed protection duties as part of a personal entourage. I remember vividly the gunshot that threw her to the ground, and my most immediate reaction: I sought to find someone to blame. My failure was absolute, embarrassing, and enlightening.

This time I enter Doma to set an example. To learn, I am sure, but also to send a message. Miyasuke traveled alongside me to Kugane; as stiff and abrasive as she can manage to be - traits I have learned to expect from the people of Othard - she was pleasant enough for the trip. We get along marvelously when I am not currently rearranging her companion’s facial features, and she was gracious enough to avoid mentioning the reason for my pilgrimage. She is doing me a favor, and I am giving her an opportunity.

It took me a full day at the time to accept my misstep for what it was. Ashley will live, at least, though the precedent I set is worrying. Hardly a year ago I would have murdered him for his disrespect and found another line of work in another city. Now I find myself paying the Ruby Price with a Doman shrinemaiden for the opportunity to absolve my sins with community service. I am not sure yet whether I should be alarmed, proud, or fucking disgusted. There’s time enough to feel all of the above, I suppose.

Miyasuke left me under the supervision of one of her “sisters.” A volunteer, apparently. Judging by the atmosphere of quiet professionalism and respect that she commands when she enters a tent or a smokehouse or the shoddy lean-to that serves as my quarters until I can find some proper canvas, she is one of the elder shrinemaidens. She directs me to lay bricks, and I make trips from the oven to the walls from dawn to dusk. She tells me to gather debris from the impact site, and I work my way through the shattered foundations and scraps of Garlean shrapnel with a chain fall and a heavy wagon. When the day’s work is complete, she wanders through the fire pits where the other laborers - men and women - gather to eat, and laugh, and share stories. She leaves them to find me in my shelter, carving wood and tanning leather and shaping bamboo to try and make my lean-to a little less fucking pathetic. She tells me to meditate and consider my accomplishments. She is courteous enough to avoid telling me to thank the kami, but this is still the task that I dread the most.

Not once have I been directed to kill somebody. I have not been told to torture a man, or slaughter a village, or hide a body beneath the mortar. Instead I am told to build, to meditate, and to sleep.

These things are difficult.

[thatsadorbsyo]

this is so fucking good liana

Lustration, ft. Miya

[strigwrites]

[LFRP] Miyasuke Ietada, the Priestess

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Miyasuke Ietada Blog: @miyasukeietada Gender: Female Race: Midlander hyur Current Residence: Gridania

GENERAL INFORMATION

Sexual Orientation: Conflicted bisexual Relationship Status: Engaged Occupation: Priestess, political consultant, philanthropist Physical Appearance: Miya is a classic Doman beauty, dark of hair and eyes alike, built slender and willowy, and comports herself with dignity and distance. She favors rich textiles that she often sews and tailors herself, and ample amounts of religious jewelry that is almost entirely made of gold and semiprecious jewels. Her overall aesthetic choices tend toward the ethereal, and even when she is dressed with practicality in mind, there is always a touch of beauty and elegance in the form of a simple chain, ring, or a flower tucked into her hair.

Though she gravitates toward a Doman wardrobe, her time in Eorzea has seen her slowly assimilate to more Eorzean styles and mannerisms. She can be loud and forceful and speaks with her hands. She wears her displeasure on her sleeve and her mannerisms can be predictable to those who have spent enough time around her to notice. Personality: Miya is not the gentle, soft-hearted faithful. She is fiery in her beliefs, alight in her conviction, and uncompromising in executing the will of the spirits as she sees it. She follows a philosophy of valuing righteous actions over empty social niceties, which is to say that although her moral arc may be just, her interpersonal skills could use some refinement at times. When she wants something, she does not hesitate to stand up and demand it, and her blunt, outspoken nature can be divisive among those who come to fear it, hate it, or admire it.

In spite of this, she does have a peculiar sense of humor and seems to enjoy subtly messing with others when they least expect it. There are times when her jokes are amusing to only herself, and she doesn’t bother to explain the punchline to others. But Miya is not impervious and in fact can be quite hypocritically sensitive. She can and does open up to those who learn to accept and even manage to soothe her fiercest impulses. She is a woman whose militant faith was forged in the Garlean occupation, but whose foundation yearns for belonging. She’s suffered profound loss and been ostracized repeatedly, suffers bouts of deep and troubling doubt, and though she would never admit to it openly, craves the feeling of family and friends who love and appreciate her as she is, or will be.

HOOKS

The Kami Miya is foremost a priestess and takes her duties seriously, above all else. She is available as a spiritual consultant, a counselor, an officiant, and even a warrior. She has delivered sermons and presided over wedding ceremonies, as well as actively selling omamori out of her quiet shrine. Her particular brand of kami worship has its oddities that may not be in step with others, especially as she has been indelibly influenced by a complicated and now-deceased mentor.

She often speaks of hearing the will of the spirits; other characters can take this as literally or metaphorically as they see fit. She takes this claim very seriously regardless of whether or not others believe her to be telling the truth.

House of Cards Miya has a reputation in Yanxia for assisting extensively in the country’s ongoing reconstruction after the Garleans were driven out. This has led Miya to seizing on an opportunity to serve a local philanthropic group in Gridania who utilize her as a consultant in creating and managing their ambitions in the region. Naturally, this can lead to some sensitive and uncomfortable situations when it comes to maneuvering politics, and navigating a culture that is not her own occasionally presents a challenge. She is still learning the ropes and trying to strike a balance between her aggressive style of dealing with problems and the subtle touch required to play at the same level as seasoned bureaucrats. If you are part of a political or charitable organization out of any region, Miya would be interested to get involved as friend or foe.

The Void and Other Scaries The priestess has taken up the fight against the Void and other supernatural nasties as a matter of religious purpose. She has communicated with it, banished it, and sees it as part of her duties as a priestess to continue the fight against encroaching oblivion. Though she isn’t half as well-trained as her partner Ezen, she is a sound conjurer whose combat skills are comically more well-honed  than her healing. She can also use a bow with a respectable amount of proficiency, but generally prefers to take up a support role in any military situations. No voidsent problem is too big or small.

Sacred Gold Goldsmithing is a passion she has taken up on the side as a way to supply herself with beautiful jewelry that has religious significance to her, as well as to aid in making money to send her widowed mother in Hingashi. She is skilled in eastern crafted styles and also sells explicitly blessed pieces that are said to be suitable vessels for attracting kami to the wearer. Pieces can be tailored to try to lure specific kami, whether it’s to help ward off darkness, bring riches, or other reasonable benefits. Suppliers and buyers alike would be welcome contacts.

OOC

Server: Mateus/Crystal data center Timezone: CST / 6:30PM-midnight M-F, most of the day and late nights Sat/Sun. Type of RP: Political, dark, mature, religious, romance, intrigue, action Contact: Discord - Strigiforme#3953, Tumblr DM, in-game under Miyasuke Ietada or Katarina Dorne

[miyasukeietada]

Mother

(Art source)

Practicing what she preached was turning out to be a rather complicated affair after all the sermons she’d delivered on just such a topic. Like a game of roulette, she kept spinning and landing and spinning and landing, fishing for the outcome that felt most like a winner. The trouble was, they were all uniquely miserable and unsatisfying.

“I will never forgive you.”

“In accordance to the wishes of the spirits, I’ve decided to forgive you.”

“I can’t forgive you for what you did.”

“I know why you did it, but that doesn’t make it better.”

“I want an apology.”

“I’ve thought about everything and I’ve decided that I forgive you for what you’ve done.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Finally, the true potentials stopped surfacing and all that was left were statements that could only be soothed by a past that had already been decided. “I needed you and you weren’t there.”  What did it matter now? None of them could go back and choose differently. All that remained was what had come of it all, and what that looked like was a packed dirt path distinctively devoid of flowers leading up to the front door. It was not nearly long enough for Miyasuke to adequately settle on what she needed to say, but then, no path she could have walked along in all the land would have sufficed for such a monumental decision. The stage was not the one she had practiced on; the house was modest and plain like the others around it, and the air smelled only of woodsmoke and animals. She set herself up for disappointment every step of the way and she knew it, committing the grievous sin of living too much in fantasy. Worst of all, the door opened before she could knock, leaving her without even that much sense of order and expectation in a sea of ambiguity.

It was a man who greeted her, one who was instantly familiar and yet distant. A mirror world version of herself who had grown tall and broadened, angled where she was soft, but who was no less her own flesh and blood grown before her eyes. They both possessed the same dark and sober eyes, the same full mouth that had a natural tendency to frown in a thousand nuanced ways more than it knew how to smile.

“I’m here for—”

“I know. Come in.”

If she weren’t so terrified by what waited on the other side of the threshold into the house, she might have laughed. The response was so very much like her that to hear it coming from the mouth of family itself should have felt immediately gratifying and soothing to the ache that persisted, but instead it only felt jarring. Tsunemasa was his name, only a few years her junior, and to say his name even in her thoughts felt like breeching a forbidden space that had been closed off to contact ages before. It was downright profane.

“Mama...? She’s here,” he called out into the house with Miya at his heels and only when the latch clicked shut behind her did two worlds of past and present overlap into a striking new pastiche. Old paintings hung on the walls with a masterful hand that could only have come from her mother’s cheerful imagination, depicting pastoral landscapes of an unmolested land, a Yanxia that was and maybe could still be; vases full to bursting with sagging and saccharine pink blooms looked fit to tip over from their place on the canvas, and portraits of the two Ietada men both young and old stood as proud and regal as any king or conqueror in the sitting room where at long last she laid eyes on the creator herself.

“You still look exactly as I remember” her mother remarked with a voice that gave away the years that had passed since the last time they’d spoken, though the older woman still comported herself with an undeniable sort of elegance she had always possessed. Her eyes set to Miya as though a glance away would send her scattering like dust to the wind. “But grown into a lovely young woman. I’m happy to see it.”

She was at a loss, a terrible loss for words as she ambled forward and dropped to her knees instinctively at the table where her mother had arranged teapots and small dishes of snacks. She didn’t recognize any of the china anymore, down to the spoons that had been clearly purchased somewhat recently. Her willowy mother from whom she had inherited her long and graceful limbs had begun to succumb to the recession of age and sat shrunken under smooth cotton robes. Say something. The silence was not yet as painful as saying anything at all.

“I thought you might be hungry after your trip here. I know it’s not the most convenient...” her mother began, pleasant but with an undercurrent that said she, too, was just trying to get through this. “But it’s nice out here, isn’t it? It’s quiet, away from the bustle of Kugane but close enough that I can still go to the markets early in the day and be home before sundown.”

The mantra was pounding into her now. Say something. Say something. Say something.

“We’ve got pleasant neighbors and we get together a few times a month to share food and talk about things.” the woman bantered on, leaning to pour a cup of tea for each of them in turn. “We share what we grow in our gardens—” Say something. Say something. Say something.

“Enough,” Miya interjected abruptly. The word tore through her like a jagged knife without so much as a warning. She had no clue where it came from or where she would go from there, but a headache was just starting to set in behind her eyes and throb without mercy and one more word about this foreign life that happened without her was going to be one word too many.

This was a mistake.

[thatsadorbsyo]

Maya: The Antechamber

29th Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon

If we begin with a hypothesis that tempering is a stain on the body and not a permanent mark on the soul, then it stands to reason that it may be possible to cure tempering by purging the aether from the body and reconstituting it elsewhere. This is, of course, a purely theoretical and, well, extreme approach to a very complicated problem, but I firmly believe in entertaining even the most frivolous means to an end, as long as they carry even a mote of demonstrable merit. Fortunately, the Flames agrees with me, and has given me leave to pursue this potential thread to the most satisfying conclusion that I can determine.

My research at the Luminaire Scholasticate and Priarch Enterprises has taken me down some strange paths, but I’m starting to form an idea on how this purge and reconstitution might be possible. A few accounts in very old documents carry rumors of a place in the Shroud where the veil between our world and the aetherial sea is thinned, possibly thin enough to cross over physically. These rumors are sparse, both in number and in how they’re spaced out in time, but they do appear to corroborate one another with some degree of fidelity.

There are, of course, several such areas where the aetherial sea might be entered, though they are well documented and typically sealed or heavily guarded. The Antitower in Dravania may be the most well-known of such access points, but if this place in the Shroud--a place I’ve taken to calling the Antechamber--is real, then it would represent a heretofore undocumented back entrance. I should very much like to be the first to publish about it, if such a place truly exists, regardless of whether it pans out in my research on tempering.

I’ve spoken with the Conjurer’s Guild about the Antechamber, and asked for their help in locating such a place with the assistance of the elementals, and while the conjurers were amenable to my request, the elementals are categorically enigmatic and would only respond with vague riddles about a woman in white who crosses between worlds in the Twelveswood. Lacking anything concrete to go on, I enlisted the help of some mercenaries to help me investigate this so-called woman in white by asking around at an adventurer’s tavern in the South Shroud to see if anyone had seen anything fitting that description.

While there were some rumors floating around the tavern of, ah, personal interest to me, specifically regarding Evette Blackstone’s orphanage and the fate of a certain promiscuous employee of hers, whose name I will not invoke here so as not to mar the sanctity of these pages, most of it seemed unrelated to the mission at hand. There was also some tell of a compound of Doman refugees who have taken up residence in the Twelveswood as of late, and this is where the plot thickens, as they say.

One such adventurer claimed to see what he believed to be an embodiment of the kami walking through the deep woods near Bentbranch some few weeks ago, an “Eastern” woman in a nightgown walking along a creek at dawn. This account was corroborated by a bereaved family of midlanders who, well, who disrupted the proceedings by--there’s no delicate way to put this--by storming into the tavern with a gun, taking several of us hostage, and demanding that someone take them to the Doman priestess who murdered their husband and father.

I suppose I can now cross being held hostage at knife point during a mission off the bucket list of new experiences during a mission. Perhaps someday I’ll even have time to unpack the lingering trauma from the ordeal, but today is not that day!

Anyway. Disregarding the ensuing scuffle, which was unpleasant and ultimately not of importance to my research, the grieving woman and her sons managed to divulge that a priestess came to them without warning one morning about a month ago, claiming that she could cure the woman’s husband of the consumption that he suffered from a lifetime of working in the mines. The woman said that the priestess touched her husband and healed him with a surge of aether, giving them hope that the man would live, even though they had all accepted the finality of his death.

By some cruel twist of fate, the man did die, in a rather horrific manner. His body was purged of a rush of aether and ichor quite suddenly after several weeks of seemingly good health, after which he died in a gruesome withering, skin going leathery and white, desiccated but without decay. This is greatly concerning to me, especially given Inwa’s account of a vision given to him by the elementals of a barren grove, which is somehow linked to this priestess in white.

Sometime soon I plan to gather a party and head to Bentbranch to try to find the location along the creek where the drunken adventurer had seen the woman walking. Mayhap this will lead us to the Antechamber, which I can only assume is where the priestess crosses between worlds, as the elementals have so mercifully teased. Mayhap nothing will come of it at all. Mayhap it’s all unrelated, an unfortunate crossing of circumstances that appear to be a pattern just because my hopeful heart would like to see a connection. Mayhap, mayhap. It’s still worth investigating, is it not?

I know I should be focusing on the facts of the story. I should be tracking down details about the priestess and her compound, I should be looking up autopsies of anyone who died in a similar manner to the man’s forceful expulsion of aether, and researching how this, somehow, seems to be linked to the same aetherically barren grove that is fully dead but without a trace of rot. I should be looking into these things, and yet.

What my mind continues to return to is the woman’s grief. How it wracked her, how it made her mad with the desire to take revenge on this priestess for daring to give her hope after she had come to peace with her husband’s imminent death. It’s cruel, is what she said. How cruel that this woman had given her the spark of hope, only to steal it away a month later.

Despite being objectively the victim of a crime at this woman’s hands, I can’t help but to pity her. I wanted to say something to help, to calm her down, but I simply didn’t know what to say. What can you say?

I am no grief counselor.

I wish Miyasuke was here. She would know what to do.

[vibrantstillness]

📝Pick whoever you like, from whoever you like.

Michishio > Miyasuke!

Their first impression:Who is this pompous, demanding- … but no, if she is the mistress of this house then so be it. Such is her right. I fear for our future, however. She seems the most imperious sort of cultural hardliner and if she remains unwilling to yield, I do not think the Eorzeans among our number will suffer her long. There will be… adjustments in the future. She will need to learn to navigate the fierce independence of Eorzeans, and they will need to learn that showing respect does not diminish your pride.Perhaps… Perhaps I might be able to educate them. Both of them. That may save us all a great deal of strife…

Their current impression:What ironclad faith this woman holds. What will, to hold fast against the torrent. Though we have been pulled into her trials, ever has she remained the bedrock upon which we may stand. She is a conflicted creature with the instinct of a warrior, the wisdom of a mother, and the hesitance of a child. She has strength, but lacks unity within herself. I do not know if she will ever find peace, but her restless calling draws her on regardless. I follow gladly in her wake.

What they like the most about your character:She is kind, though she seems to think displays of such show weakness. Her kindnesses are casually tossed from a careless hand, refusing to acknowledge them or claiming they are nothing so that she may distance herself from the act. It is an odd, girlish sort of shyness that is both strange and endearing.

What they dislike the most about your character:It is perhaps the way of a priestess or perhaps simple personal inclination, but she holds herself a trifle too far apart from those she leads. To lead spiritually, one must be hallowed, sacred, more a part of the world of spirits than of man, an envoy to those who seek truth. To lead a company of men, one must be among them. She has not mastered this art, and the friction creates misunderstandings.

What your character is for them ( Friend, lover, rival etc.):An employer. Who is quite friendly. We have exchanged gifts and although I am encouraged to speak freely, the last time I did so was met with disciplinary action. I am uncertain if she knows quite what she desires, or if this is some bizarre sort of teasing. I would like to be friends, but I fear aspiring to such is quite above my station… I will be to her what she desires, and arrogate no higher.

A general opinion of their relationship:It’s refreshing, in some ways, to have someone who treats me as I am. Who does not ceaselessly demand I be someone other than myself. I am a servant. She accepts this. I may simply serve, and not argue endlessly over whether or not I should be pushy and demanding like an Eorzean. She values what I am, and does not force me to be otherwise.…At most times. She has begun to seek me as an advisor also. I pray my foolishness does not lead her astray.

If applicable, something they wish to reveal:The way of wisdom is peace. Peace comes from acceptance. Too often she wars within herself and with others. She seems to me a nightingale raised to be a hawk, awed and frightened of the talons she must now bring to bear. Be what you must in this moment and know it does not shape all of your future. Death is also a path of man. It need not be walked in perpetuity.

[strigwrites]

[LFRP] Katarina Dorne, Teknocrat

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Katarina Dorne Blog: @fromtheburn-withlove / https://katarinadorne.carrd.co Gender: Female Race: Highlander hyur Current Residence: La Noscea

GENERAL INFORMATION

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Relationship Status: Single Occupation: Tinkerer, programmer (for lack of better lore-friendly term; specifically magitek systems/security), expeditioner, thrillseeker Physical Appearance: Katarina has the body of a woman who can conquer her environment and most of her physique is built from years of being on the go nonstop. She has a few signs of wear in the form of faint scars, but has a shockingly clean palette considering her risk-seeking lifestyle. She’s no stranger to having people talk down at her chest or remark on the sight of her walking away and is like to take it all in stride to a point. As a creature of pragmatism, she keeps her dark hair tied back in a no-fuss ponytail most of the time. She has an olive skin tone that trends toward pale when she’s spent too much time locked away in her workshop, and a pair of garnet-red eyes that are perpetually amused. Her style of dress is not what anyone would describe as ‘classy’. Personality: She may well be the patron saint of nonchalance. She’s quick to flash an easy smile and seems to genuinely enjoy the company of others regardless of familiarity. She’s happy to strike up a conversation with just about anyone, but has a thick skin and will gladly respect a blunt ‘fuck off’. She gravitates toward lively scenes and doesn’t tend to kick up a fuss when insulted, nor does she seem to enjoy petty violence or scraps. Kat has a few odd passions that she is more than happy to talk about at length, but tends to quickly shy away from or outright flee from people who require a lot of emotional investment or are prone to emotional volatility.

Kat enjoys a thrillseeker’s lifestyle and does not seem to have much concern for her own mortality. She’s a big believer in high risk, high reward scenarios and as such has seen both massive triumphs and catastrophic failures. She’s got a chaotic kind of dumb luck that’s probably going to get her killed.

HOOKS

Teknophile This is not a plot area I can spoil, but if you are a character with a passion for technology, whether it’s creating it, using it, or admiring it from a distance, there’s a chance that there’s a lot more you can find out about Kat than what most can access, given time and enough interest/trust.

Teknophobe Who has time to understand when things stop working? You don't. But Kat is probably absolutely delighted to take your broken tek and baby it back to health. Just be prepared for a bit of pushback if you bring her any firearms. She’s got Opinions™ on that subject.

Allagan research and acquisition While she'll be quick to tell you that nobody really has a good grasp on Allagan technology, she does know enough to sift around in less-complex machinery and bring it back to life. This makes her an invaluable resource for expeditions into Allagan ruins, especially thanks to her host of homegrown gadgets that make all the magic possible.

There's exploration to be done It's dangerous to go alone. Here, send Katarina. If the coin is right, you're in luck. She's got experience on solo expeditions as well as working with a team. Climbing skills? She's got 'em.

You're a Confederate Pirates are a girl's best friend and Kat knows a few of 'em. If you have been sailing around the Ruby Sea within recent memory, maybe you remember a peculiar hyur and her strange little book...

Have drugs, will travel Katarina is a recreational user who freely enjoys life's offerings regardless of dubious legal standing. She'll try just about anything once or twice at most, though if you're willing to sell her a certain something to smoke, you're about to see a lot of each other.

One night stand Kat's no stranger to brief flings from continent to continent, men to women. If you'd like to have a history for the sake of your own story or just sheer hilarity, hit me up to talk. Note that this is not a ‘seeking ERP’ hook; if something comes of it later, I’ll allow it, but this is mostly for an established history only, as a way for our characters to pass each other in a room with a cringe or a knowing smile, if you will.

OOC

Server: Mateus/Crystal data center Timezone: CST / 6:30PM-midnight M-F, most of the day and late nights Sat/Sun. Type of RP: Action, adventure, intrigue, dark, mature, fantasy sci-fi, romance, disaster romance Contact: Discord - Strigiforme#3953, Tumblr DM, in-game under Miyasuke Ietada or Katarina Dorne

[miyasukeietada]

A gift for Eleonore

( @ninth-threnody )

A pair of soft, tawny gloves with delicate silk thread stitching is wrapped in simple and neatly-creased brown paper and left at Eleonore’s desk in the infirmary with firm instructions that they reach her unscathed. A small notecard is tucked inside with elegant writing, the message characteristically curt.

Eleonore,

May these guide clean hands in righteous deed for years to come. Pray you find them of use.

Miyasuke Ietada

[miyasukeietada]

Jewels

"You'll be safe here. You can meet other girls like you, smart girls. You won't have any young men to distract you anymore. Now go on. Write home as soon as you can."

A thin-limbed girl stood at the wooden gate to the farm stead staring after the cart that had brought her, her thick plait thumping lowly against her back where the breeze carried it. She clutched a lacquered wooden box to her chest with her mother's farewell on her heart and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand clasp on her shoulder that wasn't like the one that had sent her away so many malms before.

"Come, child. There is plenty of time to cry inside."

Her eyes darted up to the weathered-looking woman with immediate disdain. "I wasn't crying," she protested sharply, her dark eyes indeed bereft of moisture and her expression devoid of warmth.

"If you aren't now, you'll feel it soon enough. What's your name, girl?"

"Miyasuke Ietada," she responded crisply, with a curtsey that came more out of habit than cordial feeling for her elder.

"You won't be doing any more of that around here. You may call me Sister Hatsumine. Follow me."

Eyes followed her wherever she went from the day she arrived with her mother's jade pendant hanging from her neck. She was the only girl who jingled when she walked, the thin bangles shifting and clinking around her tiny wrists and threatening to fall off when she held them at her side in aught but a balled fist. You can meet other girls like you. What sort of cruel joke had her mother played? She felt the sting of betrayal as girls dragged dirty hands over snotty noses and spoke in rural cants unlike her own crisp intonations. They whispered and dared one another to touch the spoiled new girl until one got bold and pushed her and half a stack of bracelets went spilling into the dirt as a reward for her daring.

Miya heard her crying later after the elders made short work of discipline with a fresh-cut switch and smirked with satisfaction.

[thatsadorbsyo]

📝- Your choice, whoever sounds most interesting to you for this

Maya –> Miyasuke

Their first impression:

“You know, it’s hard to remember which thoughts are my own from that time and which are just regurgitations of my coworkers’ anxieties. I remember thinking she was cold and ethereal. Untouchable.”

Their current impression:

“I still think she’s cold, ethereal, and untouchable. I’m just not quite as afraid of her as I used to be. I’m still afraid of her, uh, disapproval, but not of her as a person.”

What they like the most about your muse:

“She has deep wells of resolve, which I guess is almost as good as actually being educated, even though she’s very often extremely wrong about things she professes to know a lot about. I can admire that, in a weird way? If you can’t be right, at least be confident that you are.”

What they dislike the most about your muse:

“She frustrates me. Every time I try to get close to her, she ices me out or turns to someone else. She only has like one friend, and she needs better ones than him. I can tell it hurts her to be so isolated, but… She seems to want it both ways–she wants friends without having to reveal herself to anybody. That’s not a friend, that’s an underling.”

What your muse is for them ( Friend, lover, rival ecc.):

“I’m her employee and occasionally I get to play the mouse to her cat. Which is fine, really, I don’t mind it. Just forget everything I said before.”

A general opinion of their relationship:

“I don’t think we’ll ever be anything other than employer and employee. I’d be a lot happier if I stopped trying to be more than that and just focused on being the best employee I can be, and she’d probably be relieved at not having to turn down my overtures anymore. Maybe it’s too awkward for her, given what I’ve seen. Yeah… I’ll probably do that.”

If applicable, something they wish to reveal:

“Sometimes we’ll be sitting in the middle of a long meeting and I’ll have this intrusive thought where I wonder if she’s wearing that pair of panties. The one I, uh, you know. When she catches me zoning out, that’s usually what’s going on. Gods, I don’t know. Maybe I should keep trying.”