#Ritz Morningway

[mythriteshah]

Pg. 16 - Knight of Golmore

"What say you, Miss Isja?  Does Madame Ritz's attire intrigue you?"

"It does indeed, My Sultan.  Madame Ritz, though of the jungle, is still kin.  And this garb brings a touch of flair to the Green Word.  It is heartwarming to know that I am not the only Viera seeking to bring out the Power and Beauty of our race."

"Such a proud set deserves a name befitting such.  May Madame Ritz Morningway be forever known... as a Knight of Golmore.”  -Isja “Coldgaze” & Thiji Higuri

From the vast and thick Golmore Jungle, the ravishing Veena of the Pakshee - Doctor Ritz Morningway - strikes into the haute couture scene with attire both chivalrous and tantalizing.

The Knight of Golmore is the result of her mind’s work, and covers the wearer in a bodycon one-piece petticoat with a scintillating cape.  While the suit itself is meant to show off the wearer’s lower extremities, they are also protected with plated thigh-length boots, offering a bit of combat practicality to the ensemble.

The outfit also comes with a decorative sabre that can be sheathed just below the hip.  Thanks to the rather revealing design of this piece, the more martially-inclined seekers of fashion can further accessorize themselves with additional armor or coverings as they see fit without drawing away too much attention on the suit.

Whether you are spearheading a bold expedition through one of Ethierys’s many forests, leading a parade through your favorite City-State, or just trying to show off those luscious legs of yours in style, the Knight of Golmore shall cut a fine figure in the fashion realm.

  (Credit and thanks to https://twitter.com/pomonnart for the creation of this masterpiece!)

[kisskissrommie]

The Wedding of Doyi Mol and Ritz Morningway

Assistant Managers of @bandeepakshee

[kisskissrommie]

Lizardwife bought art from Dokinana~!

[kisskissrommie]

Into the Morning

This too shall pass. She needed not to fear, the dawn was going to come. She\d seen that night was a transient thing. She’d been under a night so long now, it hardly seemed to matter if the dawn was days or weeks hence, only that it was around the corner compared to, well, everything else. 

She sighed and leaned against the bars of her cage. At least the last time Eir was in a situation like this her cage was gilded. It didn’t have bars. That, of course, didn’t mean it hadn’t been a cage. Just the nature of the cage was different. As any pet removed from the wilds, there had been the advantage of safety. She missed the fall of Dalmasca. Who knew how many of her old friends had survived the Empire’s wrath, but she had. She owed that to a caretaker.

He was a kind caretaker as such things went. He rarely was moved to violence, and he even had given her books on healing. He took her flesh when it suited him, of course, but that was the nature of her servitude. That seemed almost banal compared to the things these Spoken-smugglers had done to others. A group that helped usher people across the contested border into Gyr Abania and, eventually, Eorzea had offered her their aide. She knew them by reputation -- the Corpse Brigade was a name that certainly conveyed their image well -- but they knew her by reputation as well. 

So far, her reputation had ensured her safety. But the difference between posing as a commodity and actually being one was, in the best of situations, a thin line. 

Honestly, she expected to have to do some sort of services along the way, as she wasn’t exactly wealthy. That she hadn’t caused her some concern; would they get their financial support out of her through auction? She had to imagine Eorzean caretakers wouldn’t fall for toxic arcanima as the aether-deadened collector had. 

Eir leaned against her cell door and closed her eyes. She could hear faintly the cries of some of the others she escaped alongside. The Corpse Brigade living up to their legends, she reasoned darkly. Still she was unmarred. Puzzling. Worrying. She took a breath, inhaling the putrid stink of blood, sweat, filth and sex all in one hellish bouquet. At least the last time she’d been sold, it had been a nearly-dignified experience. 

Was this really her lot in life? To escape once a life of a kept thing only to have that repeated, but worse? Was that better than her sisters who were buried alive under Dalmasca’s ruins? Their sacrifice at least served a purpose, grim though it was. Hers was a repeat of bad fortune. She had wanted to think she’d intimidated the brigands, but the more she listened to them sate their wicked wiles the more she doubted any could intimidate them.

No. Eir shook her head. This was catastrophizing. They had orders from their leader, some woman named Milueda, that Eir be brought to Eorzea unharmed. Whatever bargain she would strike with Milueda, she assumed it had to be either for the purpose of her original enslavement or the medical knowledge that enslavement imparted. 

New shrieks of pain joined the chorus. Even if she was to mend these monsters, for certainly if this was how they celebrated they would need a mender, she would need to find her escape. She couldn’t help them treat less valuable resources than her like this. The pained sounds of men and women. Some sounded as though they were dying. Some probably were. This was the Corpse Brigade after all, such a name did not come cheaply. 

She turned her gaze out of her cell, to the man who was assigned to be her warden. He was older, likely so he would be less able to take from her what was promised to Milueda, or to Milueda’s highest bidder. She met his eyes, and an odd gust blew the flame he sat beside. Odd because it was thick with aether, she realized.

Eir went to sniff the scent of magic on the air, but all she inhaled was her warden’s blood. She didn’t fully process what had happened before his head hit the ground. His look of confusion mirrored her own -- though his would be on his face eternally. 

From behind the warden, a woman stepped. She reeked of the winds, and they licked the blood from her blade at her command. She flicked it through the air as though she needed to splatter the blood away, like she didn’t know the wind scoured her weapon clean for her. She smiled at Eir, kicked the man’s head aside, and walked to the rabbit’s cage. 

“Hang on, this’ll take just a moment,” she sounded bright. Cheery. She leaned her blade against the bars of Eir’s prison and pulled two small pieces of metal from what seemed like special holsters inside her gloves. She went to the lock like a starved man to a banquet, like picking it sustained the woman somehow. It took almost no time to break open the lock and swing wide the gate holding Eir. By the time the woman had, though, the winds around her sword had fallen still. 

So the woman was the wind, not the blade. And she was a decent picklock besides. Though there was the matter of Eir’s own chains. It was an even easier matter for the swordswoman’s deft hand, though. Again, a lock defeated and liberation given. She placed her picks back within her glove and took Eir’s hand.

“See, not so bad. Can you walk?” She glanced over her shoulder and then back to Eir. “It’ll not be long now before Millie gets here. I wanna have you lot out before she knows what’s come to pass. Might leave her a love note. Owe her that much.” 

Millie. Milueda? Eir blinked but nodded to the strange swordswoman. “Yes.” Her accent was thick, her caretaker had valued it, and she held anything he valued to earn her more slack on her chains, that she could strangle him with them. 

The woman lifted her blade again and whipped it, as if she was flipping a great switch. A sheen of green light covered the blade and the air reeked of wind aether again. So much it was as though this woman had no idea of subtlety, or at least no concept of how much magic was needed to do any particular thing. Her emerald eyes appraised Eir and she drew a dagger with her free hand, offering it to the Viera. 

“Got a name?” the swordswoman asked. 

Eir took the knife and pried the last link off the chain around her neck. It was a meaningless thing, but it felt like a spite to the Brigade nonetheless. “Eir,” said the Viera.

“That’s Garlean for ‘spy’, isn’t it?” the swordswoman looked curiously over her shoulder. Hadn’t she just said hazard was coming? Was this really the time?

Eir gave a smart answer, quick and clipped. “It has not served me well.” That was true, at any rate. 

“Well, Airy, let’s get these guys and gals into the morning, hey? We’ll sort everything else out by daylight.” And like that was all she had to do, say the thing and see it done, the woman led the way into the break of day, butchering the Corpse Brigade in her wake.

When the woman led Eir back to her business, the Viera woman was greeted by a pair of ananta guarding their shrine to Sri Lakshmi. The purple-haired swordswoman waved to them and locked the business’ doors behind her. 

One of the giant serpents bowed her head, as if understanding an unspoken command, and she began to usher the other captives away. Eir turned to the savior with a skeptical eye. From her second cage to her third? No. That was not permissible. 

“You owe answers,” Eir declared harshly. To punctuate the point, Eir lifted the knife the woman had given her. She was used to striking down a caretaker with their own gifts. She’d do it again.

This stunned the plumhead. But she waved her hand in the air as if clearing smoke. “Yamini, it’s fine.” Eir hadn’t noticed the aggressive stance of the ananta behind her, but the snake relaxed at the woman’s command. “Eir, right? Hells, we need to get you a new name. I’d say just change to Air, but that’s taken by some Garlean conscript already... I’ll work on it.”

“My name is not yours to dictate,” Eir spat.

“Just so,” admitted the woman. “I’m Andromeda. Call me Rommie. This place is a sanctuary for people who’ve had a rough run of it.” Maybe she noticed something in Eir’s skepticism, because she added. “Also a pleasure house. Those two things are related, but not interdependent. If that’s not a life you want, you’re free to leave or seek gainful employment with us using other talents -- bartending maybe?”

Eir lowered the dagger, but her posture was still stiff as a rail.

“I have a lot of scores to settle with the Brigade,” explained Andromeda. “Particularly Millie. Saving you lot was just a day’s work. You’re free to go, but if you want you can get cleaned up here, and seen by our medical staff. We’ll also give you a change of clothes.”

“Why.” Her tone was level, giving nothing.

Andromeda lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s what I do.”

The plum walked away, and Ritz was escorted to get washed and changed. She’d skip the examination, she was uninjured. But she was intrigued. She needed coin, that much went almost without mention. She was flat broke. What little she owned was left in the hands of the Brigade. And, also, if this was what Mistress Andromeda did as ‘a day’s work’, that seemed worthy of her attention. And, if this plum was all talk and was just another caretaker to abuse their charges, then Eir needed to be there to do what must be done. Either way, she figured as she cut away the last blonde streaks from her hair, she needed to be in this place.

It was time to get a job.

[mythriteshah]

Pg. 8 & 9 - Molning Gown (Steppe & Golmore Variant)

Some summers ago, two of the Bandee Pakshee’s own staff had fallen in love with one another.  It had reached so high a point in their relationship that they had decided to become eternally bonded, and as such, the looming thoughts of what to wear for the wedding come to mind.   Thankfully the Pakshee has a powerful ally capable of creating something unique.  These very outfits have been added to the Bandee Pakshee Chayan in hindsight as a result.

Adequately dubbed the “Molning Gown”, this attire was the wedding dress of choice for both Doyi of the Mol, and Ritz Morningway, created by Lord Thiji himself.  The gown comes in two variants: the former, worn by Doyi, is made in the traditional Steppe aesthetic, and bears the symbol of the indigenous Xaela clan.

The latter that is seen on Ritz has a more Golmorran touch, sporting a cloak for ample protection from the elements, as well as allowing for more freedom of movement in the upper body.  The cloak itself can be worn over the gown for a more woodland guise – a personal effect made at Ritz’s behest.

Another score has been made for the Mol clan of the Azim Steppe, giving the fashion realm another taste of Othardian culture!  Whether you’re desirous of something befitting a Xaelic outing, or just want to represent your clan, the Molning Gown is your ideal choice!

(NOTE: The gown itself, while named after the Mol, can be used and colored accordingly with any other Steppe tribe.)

(credit and thanks to https://sapphrix.carrd.co/ for the creation of these masterpieces!)