#Rp snippets

[lettersnorth]

“We should go target practice sometime.” "Oh, fancy a competition, do ya? It would help test our aim." Luma joked, chuckling lightly. "A friendly wager could be partaken as well if you're up for it." Though he feared it would be a wager he may lose. Aislinn’s mouth curves up in a thrilled arc. “Come on now, I’m always up a little friendly wager. Especially if it involves my shooting.”

[barbwillbrb]

Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change. 

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back. 

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories. 

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin. 

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest. 

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces. 

And Mortimer lost him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far. 

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride. 

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart. 

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form. 

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea

[sergiusreports]

“Fine. You take off for one of them or one of them gets a hold of you, I’ll initiate shutdown hopefully before it can use you.” It went without saying Sergius didn't like it and it was a last option but given the alternative, he'd do it. August gets rattled out of this stupor by Sergius. He marches towards him with a thinly veiled rage, building and pent up and bursting, now. Out of control. “No. You won’t. Cuff him to the fucking bike, knock him out, I don’t care. Do what you need to do, except that.” August: “That’s an order.” Sergius turns his head to stare in Rema's direction as he approaches, unmoved in the face of the man's outburst or his attempt at issuing orders. If he needed the reminder, Rema was a pitch-perfect example of how emotions cast logic to the fucking wind every time. "I'll do what has the greatest probability of success. That's my job." So Rema could keep his orders. Arym goes on a start-stop-start-stop journey of trying to decide whether he should get in the middle, and he finally makes it close enough, "hey--!" His metallic fingers flex into the leather of August's coat, floundering as he tries to read August's expression. "…fuck, have a little faith, August. I'm not that easy to kill." “I want you to understand what life is supposed to be,” August manages. “And I want both of you to respect your own god damn humanity.” He may seem to be out of control, but he’s actually clinging onto what remains of it. He hasn’t lost it completely, and he doesn’t want that to happen while he’s with these two. It’s the last thing anyone needs. He inhales so sharply, it’s like something’s jabbed up and punctured his diaphragm. With that, on the cusp of being completely blinded by emotions he normally suffocates, he turns abruptly to leave. Sergius doesn’t try to stop him. It’s not the first, nor the last time people will confuse the fact that he wants any part of this humanity they claim to have. Acting as though it’s a fucking ideal he should strive for when he knows it to be anything but.

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-26): Break a Leg.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

The Temple Knights stationed on today’s guard duty inspected the newly-arrived wagon, their duties not sufficient motivation to restrain themselves from jeering at the heretic within.

“Stripped of yer stolen armor, are ya, Ser Bale?” one sneered, giving the Inquisitor a respectful nod.

“I didn’t steal it,” she replied quietly. “I earned it when I was knighted. Same as you.”

“Uh huh,” said the other, finishing his inspection and giving the driver the go-ahead. “Too bad they won’t let you wear it at Witchdrop; it’s said to give you a bounce or two after they, ‘wshht’!” He shoved her shoulder as he whistled, an onomatopoeia for pushing her into thin air. The pair snickered to each other as the Gates opened wide, the wagon rolling along the Steps of Faith towards Foundation.

Surprisingly, the words didn’t bother her much. She knew that the whole Order was still stinging from the reprimand they’d received; she’d walked among their number undetected for days, and the Inquisition was not happy about that. Another sin; to deceive those who were ordained comrades-in-arms. Of all the sins she’d committed, that one weighed second-heaviest.

---Previously, in Fallgourd Float:---

Morning banished the troubled cobwebs of dreams from the corners of Anne-Sophie’s mind. Though she had originally intended to return to the Gyshal’s Greens today, her extended flight had her saddlesore. Vendredi, too, was in need of a day’s reprieve. Figuring that one day’s recess in her second-favorite place in the Black Shroud would not hinder them much, she went through her morning sword forms, sans aetheric augmentation, bathed, and dressed. She was down to one clean set of clothing and armor, so she spent the rest of the morning laundering and oiling the other sets, hanging everything to dry in her rented room.

She took her late lunch out to the patio, enjoying the brisk air and faltering golden light of summer’s end in the Shroud. Though the sandwich was quite good---pulled, smoked wild boar meat with a sharp-sweet cheddar cheese and mead-poached pixie apples---she was only dimly aware of its delectability, lost as she was in the book she chose for her mealtime company. Faerie tales had arguably played a large part in her current unfavorable circumstances, but they remained a favored genre; this one, from Sharlayan, told the tale of a ghostly cactuar from the moon who’d befriended a sentient pile of leaves called the Green Gleaner.

Rae-Hann wandered across the bridge with a stare focused at the boards underfoot, eyes darting back and forth. Only when he nearly bumps into the first table on the deck of the Bobbing Cork does he look up. "Have you seen--" He paused, actually taking in the Hyur's appearance as he canted his head to the side. "Oh, you're that person on the poster."

Anne-Sophie stopped mid-bite, slowly turning her gaze from the book to the person near the table. "Mmrgh?" she murmured through a mouthful of food, then held up her right index finger in the hopefully-universal gesture of 'one moment'. Finishing her bite, she dabbed at her lips with a crumpled napkin, then tried again. "Hmm? I'm sorry, are you talking to me? I was so lost in my book that I confess I'm not entirely certain what you said."

The Miqo’te waited patiently, though he did take that opportunity to look under the table. Just in case whatever he was after may have been hidden away. However, at the other's questions, he nodded. "Yes, you. Normally I don't remember faces too well, but I did just come from Gridania. It mentioned something about heretics. Don't hear much about that sort of thing outside of Ishgard, so it stuck in the mind a bit better, I suppose."

She followed his gaze automatically, lifting her feet a few ilms as if she might be standing on...whatever it was he sought. Well-worn bootsoles fell to the wooden decking in short order as his words registered. "H-heretics? A poster? My, that sounds quite dangerous." Reaching up to pat her hair, a wide-eyed expression of dread crossed her face for a moment. "I forgot to wash it black again," she murmured, likely intending to do so for her ears alone, but his hearing was sharper than hers. "U-um. Can you tell me more about this heretic? I am travelling through, you see, and I would like to be on guard." Clearing her throat once, she turned her face back to the table, hoping the ginger-red curtain would better obscure her features.

"Possibly. I've heard of supposedly dangerous heretics in the past, but the few I've met have always turned out quite less so. I'm going to sit. Do you mind?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead lazily sliding over to the nearest empty stool. With a hum, the miqo'te propped his chin in one hand, considering her across the table. "If it helps, though, she's apparently rather reckless mage, of similar appearance to yourself. Couldn't be bothered to memorize the exact details beyond what the image showed, however." He pointed to her as if suddenly remembering something. "Ah, right. Has some sort of...shape-shifting sword. That was an interesting bit. I've never seen something quite like that before. Can you imagine?"

"Sh-shapeshifting? That does not sound heretical in and of itself. Recklessness, however...no, the Holy See would never allow recklessness among its aetherically-adept. Interesting. I shall have to ask...err, that is, I shall have to keep my eyes open. It should not prove too troublesome to find another that looks strikingly similar to myself on the road, should it? After all, some philosophers posit that we are all but shattered pieces of greater souls, and that would lend itself neatly to, um. To us having lookalikes," she finished rambling weakly, wincing. Anne-Sophie took a sip of her mead, and found herself unable to meet her fellow traveller's eyes; her own seemed to look anywhere but somewhere they might risk making contact with his.

"Maybe said recklessness is why this person is considered a heretic? I wouldn't know either way, of course. Ishgardian policy is hardly among my purview, though you seem to at least know a bit more than I." However vaguely amused he might be by her growing anxiety, the shift into talk about souls was sobering enough. He frowned. "Ah. Yes, I've heard those theories that we are but shards of something greater. Though, generally those shards should never meet, from mine own estimations. You believe they may look the same, though? Two pieces of a single soul? Even if they didn't, I wonder if they would still recognize one another in some fashion or another."

The Mystic Knight nodded, some of the tension she carried loosing itself from her shoulders. "Y-yes, well, Ishgard is known for pursuing its heretics, is it not? Common knowledge, surely!" Surely. "As to your question, I have wondered the same, myself! I am a wanderer of sorts, and have encountered many things on my journeys that some would labor to believe." She met his eyes as she eased into the topic, a cautious smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "What do you think? Have you ever met someone that might lend proof to that theory?"

"Mhm. If you say so." Though, talk of soulwork did let him put any further questioning to the wayside, at least for the moment. Rae glanced upward, drumming the fingers of his free hand along the table. "I feel people haven't really lived until they've had at least one such unbelievable story under their belts. Anyroad...I imagine souls are separated in such a way that they do not mix. Say you've two boxes. A shard from one cannot interact with one from the other. Unless there's an accident, of course. I've perhaps met a couple people who found themselves in the wrong box, so to say."

"Truly? And how were you able to recognize them for what they were?" Leaning forward, her gaze sharpened with interest; the absentminded professor in her element of learning.

"Well, they told me, of course. Amazing the things people will say when you listen long enough. Usually they can't help but talk about their homelands, for one. Simple enough to figure things out from there when those 'boxes' are so vastly different." He shrugged at that. "Have you an interest in such fields of study?"

"Yet they all knew they were born of one soul? I-I'm sorry, I do have an interest in that topic, among many others. I'm like a chocobo with a gyshal basket when it comes to aetheric theory." She laughed melodiously. "I haven't even asked your name, nor what brings you to the Cork."

"One knew, very fervently. She is how I learned that those separate spaces are in fact parts of one and the same, though at times I still struggle to believe it true." At which the miqo'te went quiet, lost in thought, though he was soon snapped out of it by the sound of laughter. He considered this for a very long moment before he shrugged. Well, since they were already talking about it. It would either make sense or make him sound half mad, and either suited him fine. "Rae-Hann. I lost a little glass lamp around here not too long ago, and I was trying to find it. Fae goods are not exactly easy to replace around here."

Ser Bale initially misheard his name. "R'hahn?" she confirmed, putting the Seeker emphasis on the moniker. "I wasn't aware that Seekers frequented this little corner of the Shroud! And looking for Sylphic goods, too?" Drumming her right fingertips on the tabletop next to her mostly-empty plate, she mused further, "And with a friend who could confirm this theory...quite an interesting fellow you are!"

"Just 'Rae' is fine." Curious, he pointed to his eyes. "Most people call me a Keeper, but I'll admit I've never really understood the difference." Still, he shook his head, not lingering on the issue. "I don't know if I could call the person in question a 'friend', though. In fact, I think she died? It was all rather complicated. Maybe her two halves became one in the end. Either way, I do enjoy seeking out such oddities. There's always something new to learn in aetherology when one finds them."

"Oh!" Reflexively, she made the Sign of the Spear, thumping her right fist to her circlet, then her chest. "My apologies, Rae. Mostly that I was speaking so callously about someone, um...departed?" Is that what happened? If he doesn't know, she doesn't, either. "And for mistaking your lineage, as well. Felix would never let me hear the end of such a mistake! Then again, that's why he's House Bale's heir, and I but a lowly mystic knight." She laughed again, and then, slowly, the color drained from her face.

Rae-Hann blinked owlishly, not entirely sure what she's talking about at first. Maybe if he'd bothered learning more about Miqo'te himself. Still, it doesn't really matter in the end as the lady herself seemed to walk right into a figurative wall. Very carefully, he laced his fingers together on the table, letting her words sink into the silence. "Well, I did mention it was amazing what people would say if one listened long enough. So, out of curiosity, does the lowly mystic knight have a preferred name or would Ser Bale suffice?"

Anne-Sophie’s cheeks went from dry-sand tan to blood-red in an instant. To her chagrined surprise, tears sprang to her eyes; she squeezed the lids shut, and tightened her fingers around the edges of her weathered tabard. "Fury strike me for a twice-over fool!" she exclaimed, or tried to; her voice was thick with unshed tears. "Anne-Sophie will suffice. Are you seeking the bounty, then?"

Rae-Hann actually smiled at that, either not aware that the gesture isn't always exactly comforting when coming from a Keeper (or what appears to be one). "Ah, no. I don't have a use for money, and I find it draws more trouble than anything. I was merely curious what sorts of things you could have possibly done to ruffle so many feathers in Ishgard. I'd thought they were more lax in their doctrine of late, but I was telling the truth when I said that I don't know much about the place."

The Midlander took a few moments to steady herself; a few shuddering breaths that resolved their roiling waves into one in, one out. Poor at espionage she might be, but she was still trained as a soldier, capable of wrangling her unruly emotions. As most of the embarrassed flush faded from her face, she took a small sip of mead, then fiddled with the glass on the table. One turn to the left; two to the right. It is unclear what alignment will suit her; perhaps it is unknown to her, too. "Is there anyone else watching us?" she inquired, her voice low.

The ‘Miqo’te’ cast a cursory glance toward the tavern entrance, but there only seemed to be a Wailer by the stairs, looking for all the world that he's half asleep already. "I shouldn't think so," he said after a moment before he looked back at Anne-Sophie. "Unless the trees themselves give you pause, but I don't think they care much for such things."

"Better them than a Wailer," she replied. That decided it for her; her mead glass remains with its handle aimed towards Rae-Hann, and she got to her feet. "I will tell you the truth, but...a few paces within the trees, if you do not mind overmuch." Her other Glass, currently aspected to Fire, floated neatly around the stool as she stood up in order to avoid scraping the seat with its blade. Something easily missed, or perhaps not.

Rae-Hann thought this over for a moment before he, too, got to his feet with a sigh. "All right, but I warn you I'll be very cross if you pull a voidsent out of your ear or try to run me through for my whole two gil." He glanced at the sword, more out of curiosity than anything, though its knack for moving on its own does seem to escape him. Maybe swords were just like that, after all.

"Fury forfend!" she decried the very notion, then belatedly realized he seemed to be joking. "Oh. Well, that is...fair enough, I suppose. I shan't be doing anything of the sort."

The pair wandered out of the eastern gate, passing a few Wailers who were busy keeping overeager wildlife away from the settlement. Anne-Sophie fought back her bizarre soldier’s urge to shout encouragement to the local soldiers; ‘break a leg, lads!’ died unspoken behind her teeth. Such impulses were a sign of mental exhaustion, she knew, and yet she had to press on. She and the mysterious Miqo’te stopped where a large boulder and larger tree partially shielded them from the road, yet encompassed enough open space so as to not feel claustrophobic.

Anne-Sophie regarded the large mushrooms that had partially-consumed the rock formation. "You know...I wonder what sort of fungi these are. Do you know? You said people usually mistake you for a Keeper, but...in sooth, I have only met a handful of Miqo'te in my time, and most of them were....err, nevermind." She was nervous. "A-anyway, I was hoping that meant you had some experience with these woods."

Rae-Hann followed her gaze to the mushrooms with a hum. "I'm not sure, I'm afraid. I'm from across the sea, so I'm not entirely acquainted with the local species as of yet." He paused. "Well, I suppose I live in Shroud -now-, but still. My experience is not exactly vast as of yet. Is this to do with your heresy?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No. Merely idle curiosity is all; my default state. Said curiosity did, however, lead to my heresy, as it so often does." She rested her left elbow on Glass's grip and turned her eyes back to the large fungi. "Perhaps I am just a foolish romantic, after all; enjoying seeing life where there once was only stone." Her right hand drifted to her chest for a moment; below her gambeson lay the tattoo of Amoracchius, the Knight of Voeburt's sword.

"Mm. That is often the way of curiosity. I would fear knowing more about the mushroom would reveal that it has some use, which in turn would lead to someone coming here and stripping the place barren." Though, from what he knew of the Gridanians they would not abide such, but still. It was always a careful balance, wanting to know and the consequences of the knowing.

"You may well be right. The elementals do not take kindly to invaders, but even they were subjugated by Garlemald. But...ah," she murmured in reply. “I can only hope I am not guilty of that sort of crime, too, though said guilt would have been accrued elsewhere.” She shook her head, then squared her shoulders, summoning her courage. "Before I fall too far into indulgent melancholy, R'hahn...would you care to hear a story?"

Rae looked back to Anne-Sophie, not bothering to correct her on his name this time. "I would like to hear one, actually. Do go ahead."

Telling her story twice in as many days; foolish, perhaps, but she felt it necessary. She was emboldened by Baron Rosaire’s response to what she’d told him; she’d add a few more details this time, seeing as ‘R’hahn’ seemed to be a fellow mystic. Anne-Sophie took a deep breath, and wove her tale once more.

((The prompts today and tomorrow include lightly-edited RP bits from a scene @yokasaris​ and I did a little while back. All of Rae-Hann’s dialogue and descriptions were written by them!))

(Continued here!)

[thorneyes]

[goldenbeastkeeper]

(Flicker trying to come up with excuses as to why they don't know what Halloween is)

[shinyramblings]

They had all been traveling for a few days now, moving farther south than Solana had ever been before. The snow she was so familiar with this time of year eventually gave way to green forests as the three gateon moved to warmer climes. Her parents still hadn't told her why they'd had to leave. The two spoke in hushed worried whispers as she trailed behind, going silent whenever she picked up the pace to try and catch what they were saying.

"...Mama, when are we going home? I'm tired." The cub finally spoke up before sitting down. It was true. This was probably the most she'd ever walked in her life- her paws hurt, the grass felt sharp against her pawpads compared to the cold snow she was so used to.

Her parents stopped their walking when they realized Solana was no longer following, both glancing to the other before looking back at her sympathetically. She was so young... This wasn't a journey they would normally make with a child in tow, but... "Home isn't safe anymore, little one. We had to leave," Her father murmured before leaning forward to pick her up by the scruff. "We'll make a new home. A better one than the one we left."

"But I don't WANT a new home... There was nothing wrong with our grove, I don't see why we have to leave." The cub pouted, her mother leaned forward to rasp a tongue over her ear reassuringly.

"I know, Sol. We didn't want to leave either, but we want to keep you safe. One day you'll understand..."

----

She hadn't understood at all, not until the sounds of unfamiliar footsteps reached her ears one day as they walked. Not until her mother grabbed her by the scruff in a panic to run at full speed while her father turned to stand his ground with teeth bared and hackles raised in order to buy them time.

"Stay quiet!" Her mother let out a hiss from around her fur, Solana hadn't even begun to open her mouth to ask what was happening before she clamped her jaws shut. Something was wrong.

It felt like they were running forever, with the sound of fighting drumming in both lynxes ears before it eventually faded somewhat with distance. Her mother came to a small clearing in the forest and slowed to a stop, dropping the cub from her mouth in order to catch her breath before glancing around feverishly.

"Mama what's happening? Is...is Papa going to be ok?" Solana finally found the courage to speak, pressing herself against the larger cat's leg in an attempt to stop her trembling. She went ignored, her mother frantic and looking for something.

"Mama..?"

Finally her mother moved, nudging her with her nose towards a bush. An old fox den sat beneath it, partially hidden underneath the greenery. "Hide in here, don't come out until I come back for you. No matter what you hear out here, don't move, don't make a sound, ok?"

Solana's ears pricked at the sound of distant footsteps again, felt her heart pounding in her chest. "But-"

"Promise me, Sol." A paw shoved her inside and she let out a muffled yelp before turning around to spy her mother desperately digging in the dirt for a moment to cover their tracks before speeding out of the clearing as the sound of footsteps and hissing grew louder.

Elven boots and gateon paws she didn't recognize ran past her hiding place, barely paying the bush she was hidden under any mind. Harsh voices and even harsher growling came from them and she pressed herself farther into the den until their sounds faded into a distant echo.

Night had fallen and the sun rose once again before she dared to poke her head out further, ears pricked to listen for any sign of her mother or father. She was greeted with silence.

She was alone.

[b0nelessdoodles]

i keep thinking im gonna like actually finish these but that ain't happening so have some gay people

[angeart]

burny burny <3

grian blinks, and the item is flying at him, and he reaches for it without thinking, catching it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. it's cool and smooth against his fingers, ready to cause havoc.

he glances up from it at the cabin, then at scar. casually, he throws it up and re-captures it, a tiny ghost of a grin on his lips. his hands are steady now.

"alright." his eyes twinkle with mayhem, with retribution.

--

by the time he steps outside, the inside is filled with thick smoke and flames. yet he emerges unscathed, eyes alight and intense and lips curled into a smile, flint and steel once again tossed and caught as its job is done.

grian takes only a couple of steps before he's swivelling, wanting to take it all in. wanting to see this destruction in the process.

he stands facing the building that's quickly being consumed by an uncontrollable fire, set by grian's controlled hands. his wings flare out, bright and violet, the burning cabin a backdrop of deserved destruction.

the giddiness in him tips over. his wings are spread, without fear, for all to see. the cabin is the beacon here.

grian laughs.

[bookished]

( a collection of fun and adventurous dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips, it's highly appreciated.

"Want to try sneaking into the movie theater?"

"There's this exclusive sky bar on the top floor. I bet if we act confident enough, we could just walk right in. Ready to blend in with the high rollers?"

"You know the 'Staff Only' areas in aquariums always look so intriguing. I've got an idea involving lab coats and clipboards. Interested?"

"There's a secret passage in this art gallery that leads to a hidden exhibit. I overheard the curator talking about it. Shall we go exploring?"

"I've always wanted to see a movie from the theater's projection room. I've got a friend who works here – you get what I mean?"

"So, that exclusive restaurant is fully booked for months, but I may have 'borrowed' a couple of names from the reservation list. Feeling adventurous?"

"The old amusement park's been closed for years, but I know a way in. Imagine having all those rides to ourselves under the moonlight."

"I heard there's an underground speakeasy in this library. Apparently, you need to whisper a password to the librarian. Wanna try our luck?"

"Remember that fancy pool party we weren't invited to? I've got two waiter uniforms and a brilliant plan. You in?"

"There's a secret rooftop garden on top of that skyscraper. I bet we could talk our way past security if we pretend to be lost interns."

"I know this sounds crazy, but I found a hidden door behind the museum. Want to see where it leads after closing time?"

"The local TV station does live broadcasts from that studio. I bet with the right timing, we could sneak onto a set during a commercial break. Ready for your 15 seconds of fame?"

"I discovered a hidden hot spring in the woods just outside town. It's a bit of a hike, but imagine a midnight dip under the stars."

"There's a secret room in the library that's usually locked. I copied the key while volunteering. Want to see what forbidden books they're hiding?"

"Remember that fancy cooking class that was full? Well, I may have found a way for us to observe from the kitchen's back entrance. Hungry for some culinary espionage?"

"I know how to get onto the roof of the tallest building downtown. The view of the sunset from up there is incredible. Shall we?"

"There's a masquerade ball at the governor's mansion tonight. I've got two masks and a wild idea. Care to crash a high-society party?"

"My friend works at the zoo and says we could help feed the penguins after closing time. Interested in a secret animal encounter?"

"I heard this old theater is supposedly haunted. Want to sneak in after hours and do some ghost hunting?"

"There's a secret beach hidden behind those cliffs. The catch? We'll have to climb down a rope ladder to reach it. You up for it?"

"I found an old map of the city's underground tunnels. Fancy a subterranean adventure date?"

[lettersnorth]

"We didn't carry that box halfway around the damn star to lose it now."

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-24): Vicissitudes.

(Continued from here.) (♪)

Her thoughts turned to that macabre pit as the wagon treads found the path, carrying its cargo towards the Gates of Judgment. Would she have time to behold the stiff corpses at its bottom before her eyes darkened for the final time? Would her soul be delivered unto Halone’s halls for its final weighing before being cast unto the aetherial sea, forever inscribed with the Fury’s decision? Was she fated to live her next life expunging the guilt she’d accrued in this one, perhaps as a Brumeling, or some mean creature of the woods hunted for sport after enjoying only a few summers of life?

Such fates were not hers to know; indeed, it was borderline-heretical to even think upon them. Though the Ishgardian Orthodox Church was changing nowadays, a thousand years of doctrine wouldn’t merely vanish from the hearts and minds of clergy and laity overnight.

A new Ishgard. A better Ishgard. But possibly not for her to see, in this lifetime nor the next.

---Previously, in the southwesternmost portion of the Coerthan central highlands:---

Like most other Ishgardians, Anne-Sophie fondly recalled the time before the Calamity when snows hadn’t fallen year-round. There had even been the odd heat wave here and there; days that saw commonfolk and nobles alike donning their lightest tunics and chemises, escaping stuffy stone dwellings to bask in the sun-warmed breezes. Some, like the members and servants of her own House, were lucky enough to own a country estate, and it was to those tree-shaded grounds that her family had absconded when such weather favored them, giddy with good fortune.

All a frozen waste, now; the river’s summertime sonata forever stilled within icebound banks.  Anne-Sophie shielded her eyes from the snowfall; perhaps she should have kept her Temple Knight armor on after all. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head, she patted Vendredi on his feathery withers. “One drink from the river, and then we’ll be on our way, all right?”

Vendredi wasn’t listening, his attention focused on the path that led back to the Observatorium. Though their night there had passed without issue, same as the night after huddled together by the fire in Monument Tower, the chocobo had been preoccupied with the road that now lay behind them.

Anne-Sophie dismounted, leading her willful steed to the riverbank. These waters, at least, still flowed; spared the worst of the Calamity’s wrath, despite large chunks of Dalamud still visible some malms from its northern side. The Midlander coaxed her chocobo to drink; he remained reluctant to comply. "Vendredi, choux! Please. We're right by the Shroud; you'll see your beloved Comtesse soon enough, mm?

Silvaineaux Rosaire’s approach was far from silent. The telltale sounds of armored man and bird came along the road, the padding footfalls of a quite substantial chocobo and the soft clank and chime of mail. Oddly enough those likely familiar sounds came not from the direction of Coerthas but from the Shroud. Another sound came along with them for a moment, the almost jaunty sound of someone whistling a battle hymn cheerfully to himself. But Joyeux’s head came up as if he noticed something and the whistling stopped. The bird’s steps slowed, and then stopped altogether. For a moment Silvaineaux studied the smaller figure and her fine bird, then gently patted Joyeux’s neck as he slid down from his own saddle.

The preoccupied Mystic Knight noticed neither man nor bird, despite their merry jingles. "Kweeehhh---", Vendredi protested, attempting to direct his mistress's eyes to the path. She, however, was too lost in her own little world to pay him the mind he deserves. "But you *love* this stream! We spent so much time here when visiting Noémie!"

Silvaineaux was no more silent on foot than he had been on bird back, leather creaked, plate clanked, spurs and mail chimed. Yet they did so softly, for he was placing his boots carefully on the snow as he drew closer, his head tilting slightly this way and that as he considered his quarry.  Joyeux followed obediently despite the lack of hold on the reins still looped up on his neck. When no response came by the time he had closed the majority of the distance and satisfied himself with what he saw, he cleared his throat. “Ser Bale?” He asked in his deep voice, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword.

"Yes?" she replied instantly, her eyes still on Vendredi, and then realization dawned. "I-I mean, n-no, I am but a humble squire in service to House Bale. I must have misheard! How do you fare, S-Ser?" She swept a bow towards the unknown Elezen, reaching back to try to nonchalantly push her hair beneath her cap; she hadn’t washed it with her sister’s shampoo this morning. Red locks refused to be contained.

'K-kwe-eeh....' Vendredi whistled; an "I-told-you-so" in any language. He dipped his beak towards Joyeux.

The Wildwood‘s lips twitched briefly upward at their corners with that absent confirmation of his suspicion, then his face settled back into its unreadable calm. He regarded her with that same calm, his odd-hued eyes perhaps unnervingly steady. “A humble squire with a very fine bird and a very fine blade, and a face very like that I have seen on posters calling for the arrest of a heretic?” he asked, just as calmly.

Ser Bale's eyes widened, and...her shoulders slumped in defeat. She stood her ground, though, narrowly resisting the urge to flee. "You've caught me, Ser. House Rosaire, unless I am mistaken?” She gestures in the direction of his insignia to illustrate her point. “Do you mean to take me in, then?"

Silvaineaux’s brows lifted slightly at the recognition. “You are not mistaken.” His hand shifted just a little on the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw the blade. Instead, his eyes left hers to briefly sweep over the wild country around them. Behind him Joyeux’s head dipped, his beak gently mouthing and smoothing the cape at his master’s shoulder before he offered the other bird a soft chirp of greeting. “Perhaps.” He said at last. “I should. But perhaps you might tell me what heresy it was you committed? The posters weren’t terribly specific.”

"I did not realize any posters still remained, to speak true. I-I thought they'd all been," she reaches up with her right hand and mimes curling parchment between her fingers to tear it down. "You know. Um. Well, I can tell you, if you...if you want to move somewhere else. Confessing my sins in the summer snows does not feel...um. Well, I don't much care for it."

Vendredi craned his neck to pluck at the ever-heavy burden of scrolls and armor-laden packs his mistress had strapped to his haunches. In chocobo-speak, his motions are meant to signify something to the effect of 'these people, right?'

Silvaineaux shook his head. “Not quite all. Or, not quite all before I saw one at any rate.” If the small denial of her reply troubled him it did not show by any darkening of his expression. But his left hand reached up, not for his shield but to absently pat the bird behind him. “And if I agreed to move with you, where did you have in mind?” he asked. “As a suitable place to confess your sins? Though I am not a priest. I cannot give  you absolution.” Joyeux let out a low whistle, his great head tilting as he regarded the smaller bird.

Anne-Sophie frowned, but accepted this new knowledge readily. "I see. Then they really *are* angry. Um...as to your question, I would have you pick the location. I prefer to not disarm myself, seeing as my Glass has a bounty all its own, but...if you have somewhere in mind, Vendredi and I shall accompany you thither." She mounts her much-relaxed steed; he’s always happy to see other chocobos, as he assumes they will all love him as much as he loves himself. "A-and," she adds quickly, her hands moving to accentuate her words, "if I must be disarmed to speak, I shall."

The Elezen nodded. “Someone is decidedly displeased with you,” he agreed. “I will not suggest you accompany me home. Yet, at any rate,” he glanced around them. “How far from our homeland do you wish to be before you can speak your truths? The border to the Shroud is not far. We could speak there?”

The Midlander released a sigh of relief, her broad shoulders rising and falling beneath her woolen mantle. "Yes. Are you familiar with Fallgourd Float?"

“I am,” he replied. “At least, I have passed through there a few times. Is that where you would prefer to speak? As to your blade…I suppose we will discuss disarming when I decide how likely you seem to attempt to use it on me.”

"I am disinclined to start a commotion, Ser, especially within neutral grounds such as the Float. If I must defend myself, I shall, but I will not draw arms otherwise, may the Fury strike me down if I lie."

He nodded. “I would expect no less, Ser. I also assure you I do not intend to offer you any violence unless it is necessary. To Fallgourd Float then?” He turned then and gripped the reins, planting a foot in the stirrup and swinging his armored bulk into Joyeux’s saddle with ease. “Lead the way.”

Anne-Sophie squeezed her boots against Vendredi’s sides; the group was on the move. "And here I thought I was...just another traveller. Your eyes are very keen, Ser! Or...or perhaps I should have remained in disguise?"

Silvaineaux‘s jaw briefly tightened at the comment about his eyes, though he said nothing of what in those words may have annoyed him. “I pay good heed to my fellow travelers,” he said. “So that trouble may not catch me unawares. And your bird is a very fine one.”

"I-I apologize if I have given cause to offend," she stuttered after noticing how his expression darkened. Too, however, she follows his example, not beleaguering the point before continuing. "It is good to pay heed to the road. So I was taught, and...well, I was only paying attention to said 'fine bird' without noticing that he had noticed your presence. Seven-and-thirty springs old and still ignorant as a babe."

Silvaineaux’s armored shoulders only lifted in a small shrug at the apology, dismissing whatever offense may have been given. “Perhaps you have met fewer unfriendly travelers in your summers than I have in mine,” he suggested. “Joyeux also noticed you first.”

A clever Knight and his observant steed. On paper, his qualifications may seem quite similar to her own, and yet...she hadn’t noticed them at all. She made for a very poor fugitive, it seemed; the moment she’d thought herself close enough to the North Shroud as to be beyond recognition and capture, she’d made herself a target by foregoing all attempts at disguising herself. For now, she would chalk it up to the vicissitudes of life on the road; the Fury knew she’d met with better and worse fates on her many travels.

Anne-Sophie and Silvaineaux took their ease on the benches of a waterside gazebo in Fallgourd Float, their chocobos standing ready. A nearby waterwheel availed itself of the falls, revolving in place with steady, ancient purpose. The Mystic Knight took a deep breath; the midafternoon air was already curled at its edges with the first hints of autumn, and it steadied her heartbeat until its pace matched that of the rolling waterwheel. She hoped her words would not give Ser Rosaire cause to break their negotiated peace.

((Today’s prompt and tomorrow’s both include bits from an RP session with @houserosaire​ ! All of Silvaineaux’s dialogue and descriptions were written by them. Some were lightly edited by me for clarity/to adjust to a narrative format.))

(Continued here!)

[lyhil]

The photo had been taken at dawn, no doubt by Lyhil’s own request.

On the left stood a pure white Sylvari, small antenna sprouting from the leaves decorating his gentle face. A kind smile lit up azure blue eyes as he stood politely for the photo, a similar blue glow patterning his skin. On the right stood Mannix. An eagerness shone in his eyes, despite the lack of facial expression. His hands clutched a book, suggesting he had been awake, or not slept all, far before dawn. And there in the middle was Lyhil. A taller Sylvari, dark purple in hue. Bright red glowed in streaks over his body and there was a serious smile on his face. The Sylvari's hair was laden with bright blue cornflowers, petals caught in the grooves of his Scholar uniform. He looked composed, proper, a young Scholar worthy of understudies. OC-tober 08 - Past I really wanted to draw a younger, eager Priory Scholar Lyhil with his two precious understudies ;;

Prompt

[goldenbeastkeeper]

(They don't know it'll be decades before they ever see each other again)

[ghostly-roses]

Not like there was any doubt the answer wasn’t an immediate yes. Zelda knew by the look in his eyes. He wore his heart on his sleeve but it now lovingly greeted her back.

‘My beloved fool~’