#Priarch

[thedarknesssings]

Priarch is Now Hiring!

Priarch Enterprises is a group of adventurers that specialize in investigating strange things, be it occult happenings to unusual artefacts.  It is not uncommon for jobs to be sent their way when the local constabulary or grand company can’t or won’t deal with whatever weird thing is going on.  

Applicants can apply to Priarch Enterprises ℅ Edarien Secariot @thedarknesssings​.  Please message me here on tumblr to exchange discord info with me.  

—

OOC Information:

Priarch meets every Saturday night at 7 pm pacific time / 10 pm eastern time.  Meetups often run for 3 to 4 hours.

We are looking for two (2) full time players.  Players must be 21 years old or older as we do cover adult material, including violent combat, risque situations, and so on.  By applying you are agreeing you are that age or older.  Players must also be good with playing inside a medium-sized group.  Priarch when full is a 12 to 15 man group.  

Priarch is a mission roleplay company based through CWLS and not in an FC.  There is an FC on Mateus if you need one, but you DO NOT need to join the FC in order to take part in Priarch.  You just need to be able to join two linkshells and the discord.  We are extremely LGBTQIA+ friendly.

The missions are run as dice-rolled, dungeon-mastered adventures that follow a storyline.  There are social RPs between missions, so not every Saturday is a mission.  Sometimes it will be training, social events, or general meetings to exchange information and keep everyone up to date.  You will be required to make a character sheet for your character using the system we’ve devised for in-game mission RP.  Sometimes there are RPs throughout the week in smaller groups to fulfill a needed plot point or collect information, so some flexibility is nice.

We are interested in writing stories together, which means we do lean toward supporting the creative ideas people have. This does lead to some lore-bending and on the rare occasion breaking lore.  We do try to keep it so it makes sense in regards to the FFXIV world.  We will not be for you if you are a stickler about lore compliance.

The people currently in Priarch have been RPing together for a handful of years.  Priarch itself is in its 5th year of running.  So while this may be daunting to a new player, we will do what we can to help incorporate you into things, however you will need to be willing to meet us halfway in accomplishing that.  Help us help you.

We will be giving people who are interested a trial run to come RP with us as a group for the next few Saturdays, as this will give us time to get to know you and your character, and you to get to know us.  Compatibility and comfort within a group like this is important to us.  If at the end of the trial, all has gone well, Edarien or one of his siblings will present a contract of employment.

[houserosaire]

Junelezen Day 11: Day

Some days are just that kind of day everywhere you go and the only thing for it is to go hit something with a sword.

[liminal-storage]

Interlude: Rage in a Page

Prompt: Hackneyed

Characters: Kuni Muinvel, with mentions of Keldrin @roses-and-grimoires, Talia @zoetic-tome, Latika'a @latikaa-renaz, Silvaineaux @houserosaire, Inwa @blisteringstar, and Lyrin'a @hiraethwyl

Content Warnings: None.

"'While I must admit that the author of Occult Fan's primary articles does have a very distinct sense of voice, this writer finds that the subject matter is one which audiences are sure to tire of in good time.' He says this as if he himself isn't writing about the same topics!"

Latika'a's voice fell like a blow upon her ears. The dramatic reading set her to wincing, tail flicking in mild agitation. Really, it was her own fault for bringing in her mail and leaving it within his reach. The copy of a rival occult magazine sat taunting her with its glossy cover until Latika'a snatched it up.

Kuni tried to focus on her drink, picking through a small stack of letters with feigned interest. She watched Keldrin stalk across the room in a pair of ridiculously tall, ridiculously shiny heeled boots to lean around Lati's shoulder. He wanted in on the dramatic reading too.

"'Horoscopes and recipes are all well and good, but any reader of a more refined taste can recognize that the trite, repetitive verbiage Miss Umbral uses is a sign of a greater problem afflicting authors.' Oooh, he called your writing 'trite.' That's just cold."

Suddenly, the table beneath Kuni's hands bore a few more scratch marks. Latika'a continued with his turn to read.

"'Allowing writers of a feminine persuasion into the space was perhaps the greatest mistake a publishing house could have ma---' Oh that's wildly sexist."

"Enough," Kuni hissed, standing up to snatch the magazine away. "I suppose I should thank this guy. Having fanmail and hate mail in equal measure is a true sign of success."

That was to say nothing about one particularly long fan letter she'd received which had described in vividly explicit detail what said fan would do to her if they ever met in private. Kuni had borrowed a lighter from Talia and immediately turned those papers into a small pile of flaky black particles.

"Mm, that's true!" Lati chimed.

"Sure, but in the next paragraph I saw him going into a spiel about how even the recipes included in each issue are shit..." Keldrin said this with a smug grin, clearly amused at this whole thing. Kuni suspected he was trying to stir the pot even more.

"Oh, really? And does the magazine happen to mention anything about where the author lives?"

"As a matter of fact it does! Why? You're not thinking of doing anything drastic, now are you?" Keldrin sounded like that was exactly what he expected her to do, and that he expected to be allowed to watch.

"No, no! Perish the thought. I just thought maybe I'd send a gift to such a loyal reader..."

Over at the bar, Lyrin'a watched in silence, pulling a face. Over the course of the conversation, the tea he'd started out with 'magically' came to contain more liquor than tea. Kuni could almost see the pleading in his expression, along with the resignation of knowing nothing he could say or do would stop her from her mischief.

Silvaineaux shook his head ever so slightly, pouring more whiskey into his own glass before topping off Lyrin'a's tea. The liquid's surface rippled dangerously, surface tension alone keeping it from spilling. The knight didn't have to say a single word. She could tell what he was thinking, already mentally absolving himself of responsibility for any legal action that might come as a result of the others' shenanigans.

And Inwa? He'd long since given up on trying to insert any sense of logic or reason into the conversation. He lay like a starfish upon the pile of cushions near the fishtank, staring up at the ceiling and questioning every decision in his life that had led him to Priarch's doorstep.

"What kind of gift?" Lati had come to stand beside Kuni, his plush tail curling around her.

"I'm thinking...glitter bomb."

Here, Kuni's gaze snapped towards Talia. The redhead had not participated in the dramatic reading session, and in fact had seemed busy with typing away in her tomestone during most of the affair. Feeling Kuni's gaze upon her though, Talia peered up at her.

"Mm. Sure, I could make that happen for you. I can install a camera in the package too. Something remote so the footage uploads directly to my systems."

"And this is why you're one of my favorites~" Kuni grinned.

"Hey! What about me?" Lati pouted.

"I feel so unloved," Keldrin joked.

"Oh, shut it. You know I adore you both. So what color should we send? Do either of you happen to know of a brand that makes particularly fine glitter? I want to make sure our gift leaves a...lasting impact, so to speak..."

[avampyone]

Prompt #21: A long-awaited reunion

Characters: Hemlocke(Seraphine), Pierre Beaufort, mentions of Gloucent and Olivia.

Synopsis: Hemlocke has the opportunity to connect with his old tutor from when he lived in Ishgard.

Setting: During a mission in Sharlayan, The Last Stand.

Warning - none

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

It was well into the evening that Hemlocke was seen sitting across from an older elezen man with distinctly deep red hair and sideburns at one of the tables outside at the Last Stand. He was wearing the black robes of a Sharlayan professor, one of which that he himself could not help but to peer over to admire with a smile brightening his features, no matter how awkward he felt, “Teaching classes and married with two children, eh? It pleases me to see you so happy. And I happen to know personally that you are the best teacher one could ever wish for.”  He commented in all sincerity, taking another sip from his frozen coffee.

Pierre, always having been on the emotional side, brought up his handkerchief to press to his bright green gaze that was threatening to start tearing up again at any moment as he patted them delicately, “Yes, I have been incredibly happy! Although, I always hoped you would understand Gloucent gave me no choice but to leave…I knew it had been him all along. So, you say that he passed in the manor fire…good riddance.” He spoke in such a finality, like his spirits had been lifted from the knowledge he'd been right to suspect him, and that Olivia had been avenged.

“If only I had been able to take you two to Sharlayan  before it all happened…” Hemlocke reached to grab Pierre’s gloved hand in his own to hold in a gentle squeeze and shake his head, bloody depths glinting as if to plead him to think otherwise, “Please do not blame yourself. It was not your fault at all. Our lives were changed by your presence there, you know? Even after witnessing such unpleasantries, you still sought to stay with us…” He knew well now that Gloucent would have kept dragging them back no matter how far they tried to run.

“Our memories together are still those of which I think of fondly. And well...I also wanted to give you this. It was last thing I retrieved when I was running out of the manor. I know she would have liked you to have it...” Hemlocke had always been a clever kid, enough to know that Pierre had loved Olivia and the two had been a secret item for a time until the day of her passing.

Maybe it would have been wrong in the eyes of the church had anyone found out, but he hadn’t cared so long as to see the two happy. Taking a moment to reach down, he brought out a small white container from his satchel to open and present a wide tooth wooden comb decorated with an ornate gold filigree.

To see this, Pierre’s eyes widened when he carefully reached to pick up the comb to carefully brush the pad of his thumb over the surface – like he was reconnecting with those better times, “I still cannot help but hold love for her and for you, Seraphine. I’ve thought of you as my own son, and I still do...” He sniffled into the handkerchief with heavy tears threatening to roll down again.

Hemlocke was about to say something more, but suddenly felt those hands on his cheeks and groaned a little with a flush of embarrassment to feel Pierre’s fingers suddenly pinch them outward as far as they could go as if to inspect something himself, “And look at you now! Back then, I admit I was worried that you always only ever seemed a shade of a boy...but I think this travel has done you well! All grown up now too...”

A gasp of a little surprise escaped Hemlocke when he suddenly embraced him and brought him in close to sob suddenly against his shoulder. He was not sure how he would explain his wet shirt, but he chuckled out loud in amusement and patted gently at his back, “Oh come now...t-this is a little embarrassing you know? Eheh, still wonderful to know some things never change!”

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #9: Fair

Characters: Idristan, mentions of Spider @thedarknesssings, Talan @reddevil-xiv

The door slams behind him, the lock falling into place with a satisfyingly sharp click. The white-haired man takes a few moments to lean against it, his eyes closing.

Though he had fled the meeting into Faerie, his stop in his own grove had been rather brief, more of a means of getting away from everything and everyone than anything else. Beyond that, well... he found that he really didn't want to be found right now.

He strides across the room, picking up several bottles of liquor off the side table as he goes. Everything seemed the same as it always did; the looming statue of a gargoyle had not yet managed to break it's spellwrought bonds, nor had any of the other artifacts managed to cause more trouble than usual.

With a flick of his wrist, he sets the waiting timber to burning in the fireplace, then sinks down onto the plush couch. He sips at his drink, rather than throws it; some of that earlier fury had cooled, if not faded, though now it threatened to roar back up with a vengeance as he sat and mulled over the events of the day.

Despite the cheery glow of the fire, he can't help but shiver a bit as he remembers the sensation of webs covering his skin. He grits his teeth as he drags his nails down one of his arms; no trace of web, of course, but the feeling lingers nonetheless.

Damn him! Damn Spider, and his drinking, and his bloody "I can dangle whoever I want from the ceiling attitude". And damn the bastard who caused this in the first place.

"See how he likes it next time," the angry fae mutters under his breath, silver magic crackling dangerously around his fingertips before he exhales a sigh and swings his legs up onto the couch so he's laying upon it rather than merely sitting.

But Spider wasn't the only person who had drawn his ire that evening. He wasn't really pleased with the other victim of the webbing either, which was part of why he was hiding out here, in his office, instead of home in Faerie.

It wasn't really Talan's fault, of course, and he knew that. He knew, of course, that it came down to that bastard, like it pretty much always did. But that did not make it better, to hear his husband dismiss all of the ways that he had hurt him like they had been nothing, like he was nothing, when he had been trying so very, very hard to convince him otherwise.

And the worst part was, he didn't know what to do about it. Or what could even be done.

And that was the truly worst bit of it all. Feeling powerless to do a damn thing to fix any of it.

[reddevil-xiv]

-- Day 9, History

Mismatched eyes narrowed as Talia stared up at the place where a building had once stood, towering over the edge of the railing of the Mists. For the last several years, it had been one part of what she considered home. A place with friends, and family. It had been trials and tribulations and success and failure and first meetings and final farewells. A place where love had started, a place where love had ended. And it had been taken. The memories were still there, more sturdy than the stone foundations that the building had been razed to. Each brick was more stable in her mind than the memories of her childhood. More real. A hand lifted and fingers turned, as she tried to visualize what would be there in its place, later. The same, but different. Similar, but not identical. Safer. More secure. Something ignited in her blood. Angry. Priarch would never burn again. And whoever burned it the first time? They would learn. Despite her new longevity, Talia did her best to learn from history. She stood and turned, long strides carrying her up the beach, away from the vantage point that let her stare up at the rubble. There were plans to make before the reconstruction began.

[blisteringstar]

What's your role in the tragic play?

Tortured Love Interest

you're so hot. sorry about the horrors. you're the kind of person people immediately notice. whether you have a distinct style, are more outgoing, or are just plain beautiful, you make an impression. people usually feel the need to protect you, which probably frustrates you to no end. you're not weak! you're not fragile! you're not helpless! but the people in your life tend to disagree. maybe it's your lover, the protagonist, trying to keep you out of their own turmoil. maybe it's someone responsible for you in some way, keeping you away from your lover, while they head down an increasingly dark path. regardless, all you really want is a sense of autonomy! unfortunately, you're very likely to die before that happens. the audience will be so caught up in the grief your death causes the protagonist that they forget to grieve you as a person. you deserved better, but unfortunately, this is not your story. maybe it should have been.

Thank you @houserosaire for tagging me

Quiz here

[hiraethwyl]

Prompt one: Steer

He still wasn’t entirely sure how they flew. He’d seen them up close, both Priarch’s and the one the Ixal of Ehcatl Nine had fashioned, but Lyrin’a had never really delved into the inner workings of either airships. Or any airships for that matter.

They used balloons for lift, most of them anyway. As for thrust… he thought the Ixal used wind crystals- or at least they had in the design he’d seen. He wasn’t sure what Priarch’s ship used. Ceruleum, he assumed.

He’s seen a wheel to steer it, something to do with flaps and rudders but honestly at a point it all sounded like gibberish to him.

Al he really did know, was whatever combination of technology and ingenuity was used to give man flight was..

“Magical…”

The keeper stared out over the sea, watching one such magical marvel drift from Limsa’s airship dock off into the distance.

He had never chosen a boon of Ghost for holding one of his stones. If he had, he might have chosen some means of flight, like Idristan had. Perhaps to become a ghostly bird, though he doubted something like that was possible.

Oh, though to wing through the sky like that. If riding aboard an airship felt exhilarating, soaring with wings of your own must feel like freedom.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 6: Questionable Callers

Prompt: Ring - FFXIV Write 2023  Characters: Aramis de Xavalien, Briardien Dariustel (@roses-and-grimoires), minor mentions of Priarch. Content Warning: None

Aramis leaned back into the plush chair that sat near the fire. Beside him, resting against the leg was the book he had been reading minutes before. Now, his hands had folded on his lap, and his ears had perked to alertness, listening to his steward speak as Briar told him about the plans for the day while he went about the busywork of making him a cup of tea. 

Leisure was something rarely afforded the once very unbusy lord. Such was a thing that happened when you were denoted as your family’s spare instead of their heir. Especially when you labored under the particular disability that he did. He was not fit for military service, and all documentation had to first be passed through others─or through Briardien─to be either read or translated into the proper format so he could read it by touch.

His eyes had been like this since birth; rather than the brilliant silver that his mother and brother bore, his had been milky, white, and sightless from his birth, a limited range of vision in his infancy fading before he’d even reached his first year. At least that first year had been green and warm. He spared no thoughts for what the world might look like around him, used to existing in it without the same perception as others had. But it didn’t mean he was ever unaware. Footsteps crossed the room, shifting from carpet to bare floor and then carpet again.

“My Lord?” Came the inquiry after a moment, and without thought, he reached his hands out, prepared to take what it was that Briar had brought him. Tea. A missive. A venomous serpent. He could have placed anything into Aramis’ hands, and he would have taken it willingly. What he drew close in his gloved palms was a cup of warm tea on a saucer, and he leaned back into the chair as he tried to calculate the events for the day.

Other meetings and business would occupy his schedule today; arrangements for another shipment north to the relief efforts in Garlemald. Supply lines had always been what his family had done, after all. Merchants they were not, but freight and its passage? That had been how House Xavalien had earned its noble title during the course of the Dragonsong war. Just because his personal life was being roiled upside down by the yet unspoken scandal of his sudden inheritance of his family’s fortune and title, didn’t mean he would shirk his responsibilities.

His mind turned to those very accusations with all the wariness he could muster. It had taken weeks for them to sort through all of the documentation in the home. And eventually his household had located the invitations that had carried his mother, father and brother to the ill-fated party at Baron Ravendarke’s manor. Scant years ago, and it still felt like a lifetime had passed since he had taken control of his family as the last remaining heir. 

The disappearance of his family was one that left him concerned, but as time had passed, he let it go as a mystery that would remain unsolved. Until he had gone seeking help when he realized the Inquisition was growing perhaps too curious for answers he could not give them. And indeed, the explanation he had been given when he sought assistance at Priarch had been beyond belief. 

And if he believed them, it meant there would possibly be no hope of finding any of his family members alive. He had mourned their losses already, and so this was nothing new to him. A quick and painful reminder of reality, but nothing new. More importantly, he hoped that the members of that group could do as they implied. Find him some kind of information to prove his innocence before the Inquisition came knocking at his door and drug him away for murders he never committed. 

As though he had ever expected to become the Baron de Xavalien, much less wanted that position. More than one night he had nursed injuries cast upon him by his elder brother. No. He had never once coveted the position and power or responsibility that it had offered. He knew better, straight down to the broken bones meant to remind him of his place as his Alexandre's lesser.

Fingers tensed on his teacup, and his thumb drug down the side of it, sensitive skin protested the sudden heat, but he wanted that brief and quick burn to bring him back into focus. Otherwise his thoughts were going to start on a spiral that would do neither himself, nor any individual in his house and his care any amount of good.

“Briar.” 

The Steward who had been standing nearby turned his head down to gaze at Aramis. They were alone, and none could see the undisguised look that Briar bore as he stared down at the blind nobleman at his side. “Yes, my Lord?” 

“Make arrangements.” His voice was soft, but firm. “We’re returning to Vylbrand within the sennight. I’d like to call upon Priarch to deliver the letters we have found personally. And I still need to speak with their leader.” Aramis lifted his cup to take a sip. 

He didn’t need to issue commands a second time. But it wasn’t the signet ring on his finger─his great grandfathers given that his father’s had gone missing with him and one had never been crafted for him─that gave him that authority. Briardien had been taking his orders since they were both young men, not even fully grown into their ears. 

“Of course, my Lord. I shall see to it at once.” 

Aramis set his teacup on the table beside him, movements born of years long practice, before he pulled his book back into his lap, and cracked its cover once more. He could hear Briar’s receding footsteps already, and he slid his fingers across the raised notations in his book. He had half a bell before the man would come fetch him and his day would begin in earnest. He may as well steal what slim leisure he could, now, while his steward tended his errand. Fury knew he would have no more of it until the late evening bells rang.

[sohkatani]

Chains of the Chaghan - Part 1

A few days had passed since Sohka had attended the social gathering at Priarch and had reassured Silvaineaux that she would speak to Edarien about potentially securing Priarch's help with their rather one-sided war with the Chaghan. Being from one of the more hated tribes of the Steppe, she was sure that no other tribe would step forth to aid her, even if an alliance would be beneficial to both tribes - and, as she had expressed to the Baron, she had few friends to call on. Those she did have, she was reluctant to involve - they'd done nothing to incur the Chaghan's wrath and dragging them into the conflict would risk their life and limb.

Asking Priarch for aid was really her last resort. If they could bring a large enough show of force to the next wave of Chaghan that came for them, perhaps they could end the conflict for good.

So it was early one midweek morning that Sohka had seen Sai - her son - bundled up in bed with a snoring Altan and the tiny Xaela woman herself trudging the familiar paths back toward Thanalan. It was still too early to disturb Edarien, so she intended to go and have a bit of breakfast at the Quicksand and while away an hour or two, then head to the Mists where Priarch's headquarters were. Pre-occupied with her troubled thoughts, she barely paid any heed to her surroundings, eyes downcast on the path before her.

The first sign of trouble was the fallen tree.

A felled trunk and branches- One of the few which Thanalan even bore, and it had fallen- …

Or, been cut down, as an inspection of the harshly hewn stump would reveal.

The second, was the scent on the wind. Masculine and thick, it wafted past her nostrils- The aroma of a male in heat. The aroma of a man without control, without limitations, without anyone holding him back or restraining his choices. Heady, thick, laced with blood and earth and fresh-cut wood.

And the third- … The third was the voice.

“Early morning, out all alone, little Steppedaughter.” Came the rumbling intonation of the words from her side, where a quick whirl around would reveal the man.

He carried his axe across his lap- A twin-headed, chunky-bladed Labrys which he hefted up, before turning over to brace it against the ground.

And beyond that, he was big. It was hard to tell with him sitting down as he was- But he looked a good half a fulm taller than even the tallest of her mates, give or take an ilm.

Ebon-black scales glinting in the sun the Xaela moved to rise to his feet then, and- Oh, he was every bit as big as he looked. “The stories didn’t capture even half of how pretty you were- … Or half of how arrogant.” Came the breath from his lips then, as the man with his powerful jaw and forward-facing horns looked down to her, hefting his axe up, and over his shoulder. “They call you Sohkatani of the Dotharl. Don’t they? Born of Wildfire. Slayer of Chaghan.”

A tree down? She paused, fingers reaching out to touch the rough-hewn edges of it. Who would just cut a tree down across the middle of the path and leave it there? Unless...

... her head whipped up as she caught the scent in the air. Definitively masculine and certainly the source of the fallen tree. Novsh. It was a trap, one that she had distractedly walked right into.

Whirling around when she heard the voice from behind her, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the enormous, muscle-bound male Xaela. She took a small step back, but that was about as far as she could go, being as the trunk of the fallen tree now pressed to her backside.

Still, she was Dotharl - and Dotharl did not display fear. "I am the one of whom you speak. Sohkatani, Wildfire shaman of the Dotharl tribe, the Undying, most fearless tribe of the Steppe!" she declared boldly in Xaelic, ignoring his compliment... and following insult. "Slayer of the Chaghan, only because the Chaghan will not stop sending warriors to wet my blades."

With that, her two chakram dropped into her small hands and came up before her in a defensive gesture, clearly conveying that if he intended to attack her, she would not go easily.

The man was massive, a fact which only grew more and more apparent as he approached her. His head canting to the side, he cracked the vertebrae in his neck then. One by one in a slow, certain progression.

“Good.” He growled out, then. “Then I have not been led astray by my fool brothers.”

“Though, you’re wrong about one thing.” He uttered out then, as he leant in slowly. “Dotharl feel fear. I’ve seen it in their eyes as I crushed their ribs beneath my boot. Your people may not fear death- … But I have my ways. And with the Will of Karash? My kin know no such thing as fear. Only fury.”

His free hand shot up then, and he grabbed ahold of one of her Chakrams, his grip monstrously tight- Threatening to outright bend the metal as he pushed back, as if to force her right onto her ass, back against that tree trunk she was now backed up against.

And then, he ripped his arm back, aiming to pull that Chakram right out of her hand- If he hadn’t already crumpled it by way of his heavy grip. The man was a monster. Overbearing and overrunning her in a way which none of the other Chaghan had been- Like an oncoming earthquake, crumbling houses in his wake. “And you, little wildfire spark? You have done MUCH to earn my fury.”

"Do not come closer!" Sohka called sharply as he began to approach, but her warning went utterly unheeded, his coming seeming as inevitable as the dawn sun. Brothers? He confirmed her suspicions, then - he was Chaghan... which meant that she was certainly in danger. Where there was one, there were a dozen. Or perhaps this one thought himself able to take her out himself, there was no telling. If there were more, they were well-hidden.

Her bright blue eyes widened as he leaned in and rumbled to her, her teeth gritting in anger at his words. He had slain her kin. She opened her mouth to shoot back a scathing retort, but his hand jerked forward, faster than she had time to react. She stumbled backwards, pressing herself against the tree trunk as her steel chakram crumpled like paper in his grip. And when he yanked it away from her? Her choices were to either hold on and get her shoulder dislocated, or to let it go. Wisely, she chose the latter.

"Your fool tribesmen murdered my brother. Cut him down like a dog in an honorless ambush. I was deserving of my revenge," she spat, clinging to her remaining weapon. Her tail rose behind her, swaying sinuously, dangerously, the bladed tip glinting in the sunlight.

"Go back to your tribe, Chaghan. I have no further quarrel with you and yours." Adjusting her feet minutely, she grounded herself, allowing the solid feel of the earth beneath her feet to infuse her body. Calmly, she gazed at him... then jerked her own hands up, summoning a shield of solid rock to rumble upwards between them, and like a wave, go crashing toward him.

"Honor is a crutch." The reply came so fast, so harsh. A snarl upon his lips as he all but shoved the poor little thing onto her ass. One foot rose, armored and clad in thick leathers, scale and steel- There would be no quick slashes of /that/ limb, not without notable effort. That foot came slamming down, then, planting itself into the tree-trunk with such force as to embed itself an ilm inwards, the wood cracking, splintering around it.

And then, then that shield of rock rose, and for a moment? For a moment it seemed like it would force him back, part them. Right up until his own hand rose, and /caught/ the top of it. His fist curled in, shamanic magics flowing through his own arm, the earth answering his call, answering her own- ... Two opposing requests, two demands, and while it did not summarily respond to his own will over her own, the conflict between them earned something closer to a 'fizzling out', their wills clashing, and the magic simply falling apart between them, the earth stopping where it was.

And when the earth stopped- ... Well, that was when he tightened his grip, and /shoved/ his hand downwards, cracking and ripping through the stone as if it had been as soft as loam.

"Oh no. You don't get to get off that easy." He snarled to her, pushing through, that monstrous, grasping hand reaching for her throat, to catch to it and, if he got ahold, to thrust her back, against that trunk. Aiming to pin her right down in place. "I couldn't give less of a damn what happened to your brother. But you took five lives in place of one. You owe me a debt, Dotharl."

In the distance, she could hear the sound of hooves- Not Chocobo talons. That could only mean one thing, more Steppe warriors. More Chaghan, most likely. She was surrounded, more likely than not.

"And you've what, four mates? Three and a dog? That seems a fitting payment to me." As his men rode closer, he moved to heft Sohkatani up, into the air, lifting her skyward- She still had that bladed tail, and her chakram, and he was almost half-amused at the thought of how she might try to use them. "You and your brat can live, but I'll be taking the heads of each of the men you love."

Sohka staggered back hard against the tree trunk, her feet slipping out from under her and landing hard on her ass. Flinching as he planted his foot against the tree hard enough to nearly break through it, she watched the wall of earth rise...

... only for despair to write over her expression as the elements responded to his call as well as her own. To be as massive and musclebound as he was and also have mastery over shamanistic magic? That was simply unfair.

He shoved his hand down, breaking the wall of stone apart as easily as if it had been made of fine sand, and she raised her hands to shield herself from the falling rocks and bits of debris that rained down on her, blinking rapidly to clear the dust from her eyes - only to find her throat grabbed, thick, terrifyingly strong fingers coiling around that slender column.

Squirming and raking her claws over his hand in a bid to get free, she coughed, gasping for breath. "I owe you nothing, Chaghan," she hissed, her voice strained from the grip on her throat. When she heard the hoofbeats, though, a thrill of panic raced through her. Out-muscled, out-maneuvered and out-numbered, it didn't appear she'd be getting out of this. At least, not easily.

And then he spoke again, and her blood ran cold. Unbidden, the horrifying sight of him smashing in Altan's, Ganz's, Khel's, Naran's heads in came to her mind. No... no, she had to get free - she had to warn them that this was a trap to get them to come for her, as she knew they would.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she was being lifted by her throat and abruptly, she had no air. Kicking ineffectually, she desperately clawed at his hand, tail lashing wildly behind her. No, no, no! This couldn't be the way this ended!

Simply unfair was exactly the term for it. It was unfair. It was monstrous. This man. This beast. This horrifying brute.

He was a monster.

A towering mass of muscle, magic and mounting fury which she could almost taste.

It almost would have been arousing, had he not been who he was.

"You do not get to decide what you owe me. Dotharl." He snarled to her as his grip tightened in, and- ... He wasn't letting up. That grip, that hold. Curling in around her windpipe, constricting it-

He was strangling her.

"There it is." He breathed out then, even as her vision started to blur, a smile visible to her eyes. "That fear.."

And that. That reminder. That she, a Dotharl, felt fear, was his gift to her as her consciousness began to drift away.

And when it returned? It was not to the warm sands of Thanalan, but to the rocking of a boat underneath her, and the tight wrap of ropes to her skin, gripping so invasively as she was bound, hog-tied, and left upon a pile of furs.

Sohka swallowed against that tightening grip, adrenaline and panic running cold through her. Her head pounded, her lungs screamed with the need to breath, but he wasn't letting up. Her lips parted and she tried to gasp in even the tiniest sip of precious oxygen, but his grip was too tight. She kicked and she clawed as she swung from the brute's grip; blood dripped from the back of his hand from her nails, but he didn't even seem to feel it.

Fear? Oh yes, she felt it. But it wasn't fear for herself. She wasn't afraid to die, not even like this, if it would save her mates. She knew it would not, though - and that was where her fear came in. Fear for their lives, not her own.

Darkness began to hover at the edges of her blurred vision and her limbs felt heavy, all the sudden. She gave a few more desperate kicks... and then everything went black.

She had no idea how long she was out, but it had to have been for a considerable amount of time, if they were already on a ship. Her eyes fluttered open and she immediately closed them again against the glare of the sun. Her lungs ached, her head throbbed in pain. Being strangled into unconsciousness was not a pleasant way to go, but at least she was still alive. At least she still had a chance.

Squirming, she tried to move her tail, to use the sharp edge of it to saw the ropes that bound her. If she could get free... well, hopefully they were still close to shore.

(Collaboration between Ganz Avagnar and myself. With mentions of @houserosaire and @thedarknesssings)

[marius-vieremont]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Prompt #7: Noisome

It didn't take long for Marius to return home from Priarch, once an update had been gained from Edarien, Talan, Idristan and Kuni. Opening the door, he shed his coat, leaned his staff against the wall near the hat rack and called out for his husband. "Sebastian... I'm home!" he called... only for silence to greet him.

Curious, he stepped into the hallway that led downstairs, only to encounter an absolutely noisome stench. He coughed, covering his mouth, and carefully proceeded downstairs, wrapping a sleeve over his nose. Growing concerned as he found no Ghost still, and instead found an oven from which black smoke was still wafting from, he took a trepidatious look inside, only to recoil. Whatever lump of meat was in the oven was nothing more than burnt ash and inedible flesh from whatever animal it had come from.

Opening the windows to let the stink out, Marius prowled into the bedroom, where he finally found his husband, sitting on the bed, pouting with his arms over his chest. With a gentle smile, the mage sat next to him and touched his arm. "Took a nap and forgot you had something in the oven?" he asked fondly. Ghost flicked a sullen look at him.

"I was trying to make dinner for you," the other man rasped out. Marius leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against Sebastian's lips, then leaned his forehead against the other's as well.

"I forget too, sometimes. It's okay. We'll go out and let the house air out a little. Then we can come back and I'll help you forget alllll about it. How does that sound?" Never one to resist on the rare occasion Marius flirted, Ghost leaned in and pressed his mouth to his husband's in a more thorough, demanding kiss.

"Noodles?" he asked hopefully, drawing away after long enough to ensure that Marius was addle-brained enough to grant whatever he wished for. It worked. Marius was breathless and blushing by the time the kiss was finished, even after being wed all these years. It never failed.

"Anything you want, love. Anything you want."

(Ghost belongs to @thedarknesssings )

[thedarknesssings]

Edarien with Priarch Enterprises (which is pretty much half elezen and half miqo’te.)

---

Junelezen 20: Dungeon

[houserosaire]

Junelezen Day 5: Job Silvaineaux has a lot of jobs. Here are two. At Priarch, delving into dangerous things and  with his  birds, training.

[liminal-storage]

🌟 - do they enjoy being at the center of attention?

I want to say no, but the real answer is something like "it really all depends on the situation."

When it comes to her companions and people she trusts, Kuni prefers to be part of things going on rather than to stick out overmuch. She actually prefers to ask others questions about themselves rather than talk about herself too much (granted, some of this is a defense mechanism to keep people at arm's length).

If she feels she has something important to say of course she'll want people to be attentive, but she doesn't need to command the entire room or anything. If a situation would naturally put her at the center of attention of course she'd adapt, but for the most part Kuni tends to be a supporter or will operate independently.

Other particular cases, such as more intimate and sensual situations, need no elaboration.

[avampyone]

Junelezen Day 18: Evening

Hemlocke enjoying the evening hours in a recent trip to Kugane~

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #30: Sojourn

Characters: Idristan, Caedh @thedarknesssings​​​​, mention of Talia @reddevil-xiv​​​​

He was flying.

The wind soared beneath the silver feathers of his wings, the world laid out below him like the green and brown and blue squares of a quit, the sky above him stretching out into a sea of darkness speckled with stars.

He was flying; or rather, he was always flying, the Moon circling the world along with the Night, heralded by Twilight, shepherded by Dawn, and followed distantly by Day. But it wasn’t something he was usually aware of, merely a fact that lingered in the back of his mind.

Now... now he was aware of nothing else.

“Caedh!” he cries out, his voice ringing across the void of space, the bond that linked them all together. He had been blocking his feelings from it before, silence reigning while he... he...

Feathers brush against one of his wings, the motion gentle but enough to break him out of the spiral his thoughts were starting to take. He turns his head and is met with the sight of the large, looming raven with stars in his eyes.

“It’s only a sock, Idris,” Caedh murmurs, the words gentle. “Only a sock. And you are not your sock.”

That was true; if he were, he wouldn’t be here right now. And yet, he can feel grief and anger and pain bubbling up in his throat, threatening to choke him.

But then a wing brushes against his own once more, followed by Caedh’s voice ringing out: “Look at me.” The words are an order, one that he snaps to obey without thinking. “Fly with me, Koray.”

His back was bared in offer, leaving room for him to settle in against his dark feathers, an invitation that Idristan takes with relief. For tonight, the Night would carry the Moon on their journey.