#Tales of Minfilia.

[toadeyes-miqote]

Taking inventory 5

Yes Kitchen duty scene. That fleeting moment of happiness. If you skip flavour text, you'll kinda miss it.

If you see F'lhaminn and Thancred making eye contact with each other. It was an accident and I kept it.

[faragonart]

"Alas... I can no longer walk this path with you... so promise me this. Tell me you will live your life, make friends anew, share your heart with someone special...

...for this is only the beginning of your long, long road..."

[anneapocalypse]

On Urianger in ARR.

I'm not sure I agree with what seems to be a popular opinion that Urianger is more cryptic in ARR. I think he's actually just not as cryptic as the reputation the precedes him, period. Pretty much everything he says in ARR has a pretty clear intended meaning when you understand the language he's using to say it.

The times I think he truly comes across as cryptic (as in, what he's saying does not have a clearly discernible meaning and is open to some kind of interpretation) is when he's quoting someone. When we first meet him in the Waking Sands, he greets us with a quote from Louisoix, which while maybe a little overly formal or socially awkward relative to the other Scions, isn't really inappropriate to the situation. Nor is the quote he chooses especially cryptic, though he doesn't get through the whole thing because Minfilia gives him a Look and he swiftly course-corrects and says, "The words of a dear friend. I am glad of our meeting," which is a pretty straightforward greeting. His diction is archaic and poetic, and sometimes a bit verbose, but that's not the same thing as cryptic. (Compare this to the verse he quotes in Stormblood to see the Scions off the Far East, which is far less clear in its meaning and how exactly it's supposed to aid you.)

When Urianger is indirect in his own words, there is usually a reason for it beyond just trying to sound mysterious. I think a good example of this is his dialogue in the Waking Sands as the Scions are preparing to leave for Revenant's Toll, and Urianger will be staying behind:

Urianger: Thou art ever welcome, Forename, but I require no assistance. Pray take thy leave unburdened by concern for my well-being. Urianger: Verily, thy countenance bespeaks a desire to quit this place without further delay. Hm. Mayhap thou thinkest this chapter of our tale concluded─that these halls should rightly be consigned to the annals of history...? Urianger: In man's eagerness to seize the future, how readily he doth set down the past. Urianger: Full many a proud pioneer hath bravely stridden into the great unknown, only to find there the banner of his ancestor, faded by the eons. And still man glorieth in his discoveries. 'Tis through his pride that wisdom doth ever give way to ignorance, while they who lurk in shadow remain hidden, lost no sooner than they are found. Urianger: <sigh> Be not offended, Forename. Thy conduct hath ever been beyond reproach. Despite thy surpassing strength, and all thy many victories, thou hast never been so convinced of thine own greatness as to imagine thyself above the failings of thy forebears. Mayhap it is the Echo which hath opened thine eyes to the lessons of history. Would that the same could be said of─

Here, he is concerned that the Scions are ignoring the lessons of history and heading down the wrong path, though he assures the Warrior of Light that he finds no fault with their actions. The object of his criticism is pretty clearly the decisions being made by Alphinaud and Minfilia--both of whom he respects too much to directly tell them he thinks they're fucking up, and yet he comes really close to saying it directly to the Warrior of Light here, before he's cut off by the scream from the Solar. I don't see this moment as him being cryptic nearly so much as him wanting to share his concerns directly but stopping just short because he feels it improper to do so. That he confides even this much to the Warrior of Light to me really speaks to the fact that he already places a lot of trust in them.

But beyond that rare moment, most of the time in ARR, he's just... answering questions, providing information, or asking the WoL to do stuff.

Urianger's writing in parts of ARR and particular the early primal quests has some oddities in its own right--there's multiple places where modern English conjugations slip in, and a rare instance of Urianger saying "Yes" rather than "Aye" (if you know of others, I'd love to see them!). And the writing is really inconsistent about using "thine" before a vowel instead of "thy," sometimes even within the same paragraph. It's kind of all over the place when you really look closely at it. I can only assume the English writing team at the time was shaky on Early Modern English and whoever was writing him wasn't getting consistent direction and editing.

But what I wouldn't call any of it is cryptic. His dialogue about the primals tends to be a bit long-winded, and peppered with effusive praise for the Warrior of Light, but it's not cryptic; in fact, it would be counterproductive for him to be cryptic, because he's trying to give you intel. He doesn't even really do much prophecy quoting at all; he likes to cite that particular Louisoix writing about "primal desires" and the "blade born of light," which I think he definitely sees as prophetic and the Warrior of Light as fitting that appellation. But his meaning is never obscure or ambiguous. Frankly, I wonder if the writing team was struggling with what to do with him now that the mysterious doomsayer persona he was playing in 1.0 was no longer necessary for the story, and the new role chosen for him was one of conveying fairly straightforward information. Perhaps this is what led to the idea of having him play a deceptive role in post-Heavensward, in order to bring some mystery back to the character, though I can only speculate.

If he seems more straightforward in later expacs, I venture to say the reason is twofold. First, you're just more used to hearing him talk; you've picked up on some of his speech patterns if you were previously unfamiliar with them, and his meanings are easier to parse. And second, as the story proceeds, Urianger's role in it grows both larger and more personal. While his dialogue in ARR isn't actually cryptic, you might not have much investment in it and be inclined to hastily click through without reading it as carefully, leaving the impression that it was more impenetrable, while in later expacs, you might be more invested in him as a character and thus listening more closely to what he has to say.

[wilanserulia]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Prompt 24 - Bar

“Would you put that godsdamn drink down and LOOK AT ME!?” It was more than a little uncharacteristic for Wilan to lose his temper like this, but his mounting sense of urgency was clashing violently with the relaxed atmosphere of that peaceful beach bar, cradled by the gentle waves of Costa del Sol’s beach. The burly veteran, however, didn’t seem to share the same urgency.

He was a Roegadyn by the name of Wheiskaet. Nowadays he was a personal guard to Gegeruju, but Wilan remembered him from before the Calamity as a member of the Company of Heroes, a group of adventurers who worked independently from Minfilia’s organization to slay Primals. They weren’t even blessed with the Echo. While he had never met them himself, he remembered one time when Nessa and he had hiked all the way to O’Ghomoro to slay Titan, just to find out that by the time they got on the scene the Company of Heroes had already dealt with him.

Wheiskaet took his sweet time gulping down his ale. The more Wilan fumed, the more he seemed to enjoy testing his patience. It was only when he could see the bottom of his tankard that he so much as glanced in his direction. “Oh, it’s you again.” he acknowledged him, as if he had just noticed him. “What was it that you wanted, again?” “TITAN!” Wilan screamed furiously, making even the bartender flinch. Wheiskaet, however, was nonplussed.

“Ooohh right, right” he said, irritatingly drawling the words “You’re that hotshot adventurer trying to take a shortcut to fame and glory. Wilian or something.” “Wilan.” he corrected him through his teeth. “And look, as I’ve told you before I’ve spent the last eight years of my life adventuring, believe me I’m not in it for the fame.” “Right.” He replied sardonically “You’re a veteran, I can tell. No doubt many basements can claim to be free of vermin thanks to your heroic intervention. Your mother must be proud. But this is a Primal we’re talking about.”

It had only been a few weeks prior that Wilan had learned that in the wake of the Seventh Umbral Calamity the island he hailed from had been erased from the nautical maps. His mother, his brother, his father, and everyone else he had known back home were dead, victims of Bahamut’s fury. He hadn’t yet allowed himself time to grieve. And now it was not the time, either. He pushed that pain back down into the depths of his soul.

“Look,” Wilan said through clenched teeth, in a considerable effort to remain calm. “I’ve slayed Primals already. I know how this works.” “You have certainly claimed so.” Wheiskaet said, slouching come comfortably on his stool, with the face of somebody getting ready to enjoy a performance. “Ifrit, was it?” “And Garuda.” Wilan growled in response. “And King Moggle Mog the Twelfth.” The Roegadyn snorted. “You’ve made that moogle one up, didn’t you?” He turned around to loudly laugh with the barman, who awkwardly joined him. He became serious all of a sudden though, leaned forward and inquired. “As for Garuda, well... that’s an interesting tale. I’ve heard no reports of the Ixali attempting a summoning.” “Not recently, you idiot. A couple yea–“ he caught himself as he was saying it. “I mean, some seven years ago.” Wheiskaet lifted an eyebrow, as if he had heard a really good joke. “Seven years ago? But I thought you have been an adventurer for eight? What, you claimed a victory on the Lady of the Vortex in your teens?” …Gods damn it, Louisoix.

Granted, he could have told him about being at the battle of Cartenau Flats, the day Dalamud Fell. He could have told him how Louisoix Leveilleur invoked the power of Althyk to spare him certain death. And he could have told him of how he was propelled five years forward in time from that fateful moment. Somehow, though, he felt like saying the truth was going to make Wheiskaet even less likely to believe him. Still, Gods above, this condition had been nothing but traumatic so far. Before today it never felt so... utterly infuriating.

“Look, all I need to know is how to reach Titan’s lair. Instead, all you’ve done is sending me on fool’s errand after fool’s errand, running me ragged, all while people’s lives are at stake! What the fuck is wrong with you!?” At this, Wheiskaet stood up, his Roegadyn build towering over Wilan’s. “Aye. People’s lives are at stake. Including yours.” he growled, his voice sounding more serious than it had their entire conversation. “I’m not going to send some untrained fool to die under the heel of the Lord of Crags.” “Untrained–“ Wilan’s blood started to boil. “Who the fuck are you calling an untrained fool!? I was part of the raid to take Castrum Novum!” He screamed confrontationally, pointing a thumb at his own chest. “I joined the Grand Companies’ operation in Rivenroad!” One step forward, his voice rising even louder, his eyes screaming bloody murder. “I killed Nael van Darnus myself!”

Wheiskaet regarded him with his arms crossed, never backing down a single step, waiting for him to finish his speech. Only then, with a smirk, he said: “If you’re such a big deal, how come I’ve never heard of you?”

Wilan choked a frustrated scream into his hands.

[sayonaramidnight]

Hmmmm maybe Aymeric about Rinoire? Or Minfilia about Helvi?

He was pleased to see that the tales of her skills with pole-arms were not exaggerated - not that he would ever doubt in the words of his old friend or the Champion of Eorzea - and yet he could not help but wonder about her reasons for becoming a dragoon. She was already sworn to her Grand Company in Ul'dah, and much as she had been eager to join the battle at the Steps of Faith, it was plain to see she treated it as... well, a job, rather than a holy duty.

She did not seem to worship any deity in particular, not just the Fury, and refused to talk to any clergymen.

"My relationship with religion is pretty complicated," she admitted, when he asked her about that, "The thing is, my parents were an inquisitor and a heretic, assigned to spy on each other," she spoke in a flat voice and her uncovered eye did not express anything, "I had to watch them fight to death at the tender age of two".

As she finished speaking, she gazed at him in silence. Expectantly.

"You're..." He swallowed the first word that came into his mind. "You're jesting, aren't you?"

"You've noticed. Well done," her smirk seemed mocking, but there was no malice in her voice - he might have even trace a shade of appreciation there, "Actually, I have my reasons not to trust the men and women of the cloth," she winced and gave out a small huff, "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the higher powers who may not even care about my opinion. Just the people who claim to speak on their behalf. I was raised in Gridania, after all".

He nodded thoughtfully. Little did Ishgardians know of Gridanian religious affairs, it would do no harm to look closer at them at a later time. Right now, he had an opportunity to test her, just like she was testing him. "Still, you agreed to help Ishgard against the dragons. Does it mean you trust us, Lieutenant Noirterel?"

"After I learnt you rely on a bloody ancient dragon to gaze at your knights and pick his own slayer? Not in the slightest".

To his own surprise, he gave a small chuckle. "Pray, do not... Wait, which of your parent was an inquisitor?"

"Let me think... My mum".

"Pray, do not say those things in front of your mother's brethren".

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

I meant it when I told her she was my pillar of strength. Then why did she look pained?

True, I know she does not enjoy going into the fray - but still, she does not hesitate, when that is what it takes. That is, however, not the reason why I told her that - why I allowed myself being weak with her, which I hardly ever do, even with Thancred. Perhaps especially with him.

She is my pillar of strength not because she slays Primals, but because she she works towards alliance with the beast tribes - even though she insists she's "simply helping a little" - which has long been a dream of mine. Because Lhaminn has some fond memories of her. And because I can watch her work and chat about gemstones whenever we have time.

We may be Hydaelyn's chosen, but we must remember to be people beside being heroes. That is what she reminds me to be when she is around - which does not happen often enough and I am the only one to blame for it.

I hope she keeps doing the same for the others, when our Mother calls for me.

NPC PoV asks!

[mimble-sparklepudding]

02. Has your OC ever made a conscious decision to make a fresh start? Or have they even reinvented themselves completely? What did they hope to leave behind? Was it truly possible to do so?

When Humble first joined the Scions of the Seventh Dawn he had a vague sense that he needed to reinvent himself as a noble hero to fit in with his illustrious new colleagues, putting his past as a mercenary caravan guard behind him. He wasn't entirely sure what this would involve, and he was rather unsure if he would be able to live up to the role.

From the limited knowledge he had gleaned from campfire tales and tavern balllads, it seemed to require things such as slaying dragons and owning a sword with a name. Since Humble had never seen a dragon, at least not close up, and only really had experience fighting with his fists or an axe (which didn't have a name beyond "axe"), he felt somewhat unqualified for the task.

Fortunately Minfilia was able to reassure him that, as a man who already tried his best to help others and protect the vulnerable, he was already more noble than many of the warriors in the Sultanate - and that he could continue conduct himself much as he had previously, albeit now as guardian of something far larger than just a caravan.

Thank you for the ask @kikisqueaks!

[redwayfarers]

survivor - for the random word generator prompt!

hello! sorry for the wait, real life got the better of me and i didn't write, but i was reading gide and this came to me like an angel, so i had to write it! if it reads like les faux monnayeurs, i'm so sorry lmao, this is why they tell you not to write immediately after reading (affectionate)

a flickering light, or a tale of two survivors

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Cassander/Stephanivien (implied), Nika/Minfilia Characters: Cassander Inteus (aka a Cass AU), Nika Perseis (WoL), Stephanivien de Haillenarte Rating: Gen Words: 1759 Spoilers: ARR patches, if you squint. dividers by @saradika

Set during early Heavensward.

The Skysteel Manufactory gets stupidly creepy at night. It’s not lit by torches or something, like some parts of the city - Stephanivien saw to that, he’s too avant-garde for torches, how dare the world not use every technological advancement ever! - and there’s a few of the lamps that go on and off, like a broken clock. Stephanivien is too busy to see that of all things, and we’re all far too enthralled by the creepiness to tell him. 

Some of us have weird tastes. 

The workshops on higher levels are a mess of metal parts, wires, cogs, magical devices and whatever the fuck machinists need. There’s a beauty in that too, in a way. It feels lived in, like a childhood bedroom you can’t yet leave even though you’re getting married tomorrow. Except that I was an adult when I first saw this room, and that I’d have no idea what a beloved childhood room would look, let alone feel like. My childhood bedroom - or the room where I spent a large part of what people call a childhood, anyways - is pristine, devoid of personality, rich, opulent. It’s a stage more than anything. Only thing remotely lived in in that whole fucking room - no, the whole shitty house - is the bright, orange pillow with Dzemael sigil sewn on it. 

It was embarrassing, packing your childhood pillow, the first time I left to spend the night in the Manufactory. But maybe I am embarrassing, deep down, so I get to keep my little pillow with me and go freeze in the messy, lived in workshops overnight. The more I got used to that, the less embarrassing it felt. 

One day, I might even go take it to Coerthas and drown in a river there. I’m sure my mother would be happier for it. She found the pillow rather tacky anyways. 

“It was very.. Kind of you to let me in,” I told Stephanivien one night, seated beside him to watch him work. His eyeshadow bore the signs of wearing, a little messy at the edges. His forehead gleamed with sweat. The lamp was dying, but he was too engrossed in his work to notice and I was too engrossed in him to tell him. 

“Kind? Cassander, your mother is an absolute bitch. Even if you weren’t as pretty as you are, I would have taken you in regardless. Between us, darling, you’re wasted in that house.” He smiled, widely. “You look much better with a gun in your hand, I will say.” 

“You will,” I laugh, looking at my hands. My cheeks were burning. “I think I like guns. Long ones in particular. Elegant. You may think I’m referring to something else, but no, I am referring to metal objects you use to shoot things with.”

“You’re funny,” Stephanivien shakes his head. “I can make you one, if you’d like. Golden, to match the pillow.” 

“My future gun has a bed now, who would’ve thought.” I reached out and grasped his gloved hand, dirty from the work. Stephanivien smiled, and it seemed brighter than the dying lamp above our heads. 

Maybe I’m also a little fond of that struggling, dying thing. I go up sometimes, when it’s cold, or rainy, or everyone’s simply too busy for me and my jobless ass, sit beneath it and look at the gun Stephanivien gave me. A nameday gift, engraved with a little dagger. It’s in pristine condition, but I clean it anyway, with all the care you afford a priceless, porcelain vase; the light flickers, on and off, but I don’t need it to see the little dagger engraving, the nooks and the crannies and the long barrel that feels like something my mother would hate. 

That, too, brings me joy. Theokleia de Dzemael hates machinists, on principle. The fact that I not only own a gun, but can shoot with it, is a kind of pleasure I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of some 5 years ago. 

This particular evening, I climb up the stairs to the workshop, coffee in hand, ready to clean it from the last practice from earlier. A curl that the goggles aren’t holding up tickles my temple, but I’ll be damned if I let my coffee spill just because of one stray piece of hair that refuses to sit still. I kick the door open. 

“I like your gun,” someone says before I can fully register them. A pair of mismatched eyes moves from the weapon to me and my coffee. “Did you also drink the last of the coffee?” 

“I’m not a coffee maniac,” I grumble, frowning. “I can’t drink all of it. What kind of question is that, for fuck’s everloving sake?” 

Nika looks at me with an equal furrow. However, that’s his MO, and mine is decidedly not. I have been known to grin maniacally once or twice. “One that needs answering.” 

The light flickers above our heads. It casts a sudden light onto his face, and shines a weak light onto the hazel eye and the scar on his nose and cheek. Ouch. His lips are pulled in a tight line, his short, black hair in disarray, a stark contrast to the finery of the clothes he’s wearing - courtesy of his hosts here in Ishgard. 

For a Warrior of Light, he is very gloomy and dark. An asshole, too. You’d think the Warrior of Light, of all people, would be a hero, but no, we’re stuck with a perpetually frowning asshole. What a joy. 

“What do you want? Move, I need that desk.” I place the overfilled cup down as roughly as I can. “There’s no fucking coffee here except the one on the table, and that’s mine.”

“I paid you a compliment,” he says, unmoving. “You could at least say thank you. You nobles should have manners.” 

“Je suis plein de gratitude. I know you paid me a compliment, but the question later made no sense so that had to be addressed first.” 

Nika looks at the gun again. He taps his fingers against the wood in a rhythm, three taps forward, one tap backward, three strong, one a glide, then in reverse. He then looks at his feet and takes a deep breath. “Minfilia is better at this sort of thing. She knows how to talk to you higher classes.” 

“Minfilia?” Who the fuck is this Minfilia woman? I readjust my goggles, and push the tickling curl away from my skin. Is she his lover, his sister? His friend? I can’t imagine him caring about anyone, including himself. From what little he’s been here in the Manufactory, a stray taken in by Stephanivien’s brightness much like me, all he did is make nonsense sentences and antagonize everyone. 

“Someone very dear to me. But she isn’t here, and neither is Alphinaud, so you’re stuck with me.” 

Alphinaud? Oh yeah, one of the other wards. The elezen kid. Whoever did his braid deserves to be fired because it’s needlessly messy and terrible. “Which would be fine, if you stopped speaking in riddles. Now can I sit, Warrior of Light, or will you clean my likeable gun for me? I’m not making you coffee.”

“In riddles? I’m not–” Nika frowns yet again. “Have your gun, whats-your-face.” 

“Cassander. Cassander de Dzemael.” 

“Cassander,” he says, like he’s testing the name. I look down at him. 

The light flickers. Something crosses his face, and his eyes look painfully vulnerable for a moment, and he’s tapping his fingers in the same rhythm again. 

“Why are you here, Nika?” I ask. I don’t know why my voice becomes so gentle. Maybe because I’m towering over him, and if I kept the hard edge, it would scare him off, not that I care about that. Maybe if I spoke gentler, he’d buck less under every question. Maybe he’d even start making sense. 

Or maybe the images of my mother’s hard voice echo in my head, like a hammer to the anvil. Now it is my turn to grip the table until my nail beds go a little pale. Her shouts and her yells, her derisive comments, her hard eyes and her pointed anger, and her looming, Halone’s ass, the looming! Do I sound like that? Do I sound as rough as she does? 

Nika’s quiet for a while. He keeps looking at his hands, rough and harsh. “That’s none of your business,” he rasps, but moves so that I could sit. “If someone needs me, they don’t know where to look.” 

I sit and take a long sip of my coffee. “Just mind the pillow, then. And try not to interrupt. This is something of a sacred ritual, you see. Halone-ordained. When you go to church, they tell you you must clean your gun or else she will smite you, or something.” 

He huffs. 

“Or so I hear,” I add with a shrug. “I’m not frequently in church.” 

The light flickers. 

“Minfilia would also laugh at that,” Nika says. I still have no idea who this Minfilia is, but she’s welcome to laugh at my jokes, wherever she is. “Will they fix the fucking thing?”

I take a sip of coffee. “Don’t think so. It’s rather cute. On and off. We all like weird things, I think, and my particular weird thing is this broken little lamp. Besides, I’m sure Stephanivien will notice at some point or another. When it dies, probably.”

“He’s the one making these guns, I’d rather he didn’t make me a faulty one,” Nika shrugs. “But if he sees, it’s whatever. It’s just annoying. You asked me earlier why I’m here. I was drawn to the gun. I think it has a nice shot.” He pauses. “I’m sure that the Fortemps family can pay for one of these.”

“Pretty sure they can, yeah. This one’s mine, though.” 

“I’m not in the habit of stealing people’s weapons.” 

I lift a brow. “Never said you were.” 

Nika shakes his head and heads for the door. The light flickers and he looks up. “Someone should really fix the damn thing,” he says, a little less angry than before. He’s then gone, tucking his waistcoat tighter for warmth, and I watch him go before he’s part of the shadows and I can take out my tools. 

We all like weird things. Some of us like long-barreled guns. Some of us like women named Minfilia, and speaking in riddles. And who knows? Maybe this broken little lamp refuses to die because it likes us, too. 

Halone works in weird fucking ways. 

[snotsloth]

FFXIV Write Day 3: Tempest

Orion’s gaze drifted over the scene of the Ondo performing their devotions and up into the ruin over their heads. It was pyramidal in shape and made of the same pale substance as the other ancient ruins that dotted the sea floor. An archway took up most of each of the four sides of the structure, leaving the inside hollow. They gleamed in the low, blue-shifted light like slivers of moon, pulled into the depths by the titanic magic of the Ancients.

“I’ll go fetch the others,” Kendra said, breaking him out of his enchantment.

“Oh,” Orion tore his eyes away from the sight and turned towards Kendra’s retreating form. “Alright. Shall I come with you?”

“No need,” she waved him off without turning back to look at him.

“Enjoy your archaeological musings or whatever. I��ll be back shortly.” Orion shrugged to himself and turned back to continue watching the Ondo ceremony below.

He did not have much time to enjoy his solitude however. The amber warmth of Ardbert’s presence bloomed in the back of his skull and his shade flickered into Orion’s peripheral vision. “That crystal you showed the artisan. Was it — did it belong to Lamitt?”

Orion chuffed a quiet laugh. “Miss that, did you?” he asked. “I thought you saw everything.”

Crossing his arms, and looking away, Ardbert pouted, “I try to give you a measure of privacy. No one wans a spirit looking over their shoulder every moment of the day.”

Orion turned to smile down at him, “I genuinely don’t mind, Ardbert. I know you’ve literally nothing else to do. It’s alright for you to watch most of the time, unless I ask for privacy.”

Appeased, Ardbert returned his smile. “I will keep that in mind,” he said. “So tell me, if you would. How did you come across that crystal?”

Just the thought of Giott pushed Orion’s smile off kilter into something more wry. “So, it all started when I met this dwarf in a bar…”

It took a while for Orion to tell the entire tale of helping an alcoholic dwarf take out the sin eater Sophrosyne, his visions of Lamitt’s past, and the crystal he found after Sophrosyne’s defeat. At times the story brought Ardbert to both laughter and tears, but at the end he looked wistful. “Strange that I should learn such things now, after she’s long gone. She was my best friend, the first to travel at my side and — ” his voice cutoff. Staring off into the distance, he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over where his breastplate still shielded his unbeating heart.

Silence hung heavy in the stagnant, humid air, only broken by the susurration of the Ondo’s prayers in the distance. Orion found himself thinking of his own lost companions, Minfilia’s smile, Moenbryda’s laugh, the way Haurchefant would sweep Kendra off her feet and bring a blush to her button nose, the fire of conviction in Ysayle’s eyes, and G’raha. Bright and curious and bold G’raha who had loved him. Who had essentially died, believing that love completely unrequited. He sighed heavily through his nose.

Ardbert shuffled closer to Orion’s side, the ephemeral sensation of his spiritual presence was like a campfire, seeping warmth into Orion’s bones. “I didn’t expect death to teach me so much,” Ardbert said, breaking their mutual melancholy silence. “About Lamitt, about Seto — about you. About the hope that lies at the heart of this world. I’ve never been one for idle chitchat, but if by some miracle I could see them all again, I doubt I would never stop talking.”

“It is the curse of those left behind to dwell on all the conversations left unsaid,” Orion said. “If I could — ” he cut himself off with another sigh, struggling to put into words the mixed feelings of grief, affection, and regret that gripped his throat whenever he looked up at the Crystal Tower. “I have lost my fair share of comrades in my travels. Each one’s absence aches differently, but the sharpest pain is the memory of a boy who loved me, and who I couldn’t love back. In idle moments, I catch myself wondering; would I have returned his affections if I knew how little time we had — he had? When I’m honest with myself I answer no. Not in the way he would have wanted. Not in a way that would have changed anything.”

Orion shifted to look down at Ardbert, meeting his eyes. “You loved Lamitt with all your heart in the way that you could. She knew that. It hurt, but you didn’t hurt her, Bear. You meant the world to her, even though she knew you would never look at her the way she wanted you to. She chose to stand at your side to the end because the way that you did love her was more than worth the pain.”

Still staring up into his face, Ardbert brushed his spectral fingers through Orion’s. It felt like the pins and needles of a limb falling asleep. “I’m grateful I got to bend your ear at least,” Ardbert said. “And just for that, I reckon I’ll stick with you.”

“Just for that?” Orion teased, hunting for flattery.

“Well, that and I’ve nothing better to do,” Ardbert rolled his eyes.

“I hate how you’re stuck like this,” Orion said, “but I’m selfishly glad to know you’ll be there at my side, whatever awaits us in the depths.”

“I’m here,” Ardbert said, “to the very end.”

[shiratamako]

Sends you Minfilia to write from her pov :3c

“I had no idea your passion was in mining, Minfilia,” Shira said.

Minfilia invited Shira for tea after having reunited her with her adoptive mother — it was the least she could do to thank the fellow Scion. F’lhaminn had baked soft and tender tea biscuits to go with some freshly brewed tea. Shira paired this with some rolanberry jam she preserved and high-quality butter that she had kept for cooking. 

“Yes, it’s a passion since my formative years,” the Antecedent beamed at Shira with her clear grey eyes, her voice light and soft. “It was not my intent to hide this from you, though there scarcely seemed to be an appropriate time to bring it up.”

F’lhaminn encouraged both of them to take time to rest. Hearing her mother be so proud of her made Minfilia more aware of how tireless the scions were working. She also realised how distant she must have seemed to the tireless warrior she sent on constant errands and missions. Not once did Shira seem to complain, though she knew that she had endured much. 

She frowned. As another one blessed with the Echo, she felt she wanted to be closer to Shira, yet during their time together, she felt they grew more distant. With a hand to her breast, Minfilia confessed her apologies as sincerely as she could. 

“I realise perhaps I have shared very little about myself with you. Nor you with me, doubtless due to the tasks I’ve beset upon you. I would like to correct this, now that we have some respite.” 

Minfilia looked at Shira, wondering how she would take the apology. Instead, the Au Ra shook her head with a smile. Through this wordless exchange, Minfilia understood that Shira forgave her. The Antecedent smiled in relief. 

Shira extended her hand. “Can I see the Tiger’s Eye that F’lhaminn gave you?”

“Of course. I have it here,” Minfilia took the gem stashed safely away in her pocket, passing the small stone to Shira. She took it in her fingers and rotated the round, smooth gemstone in the dim light of the Waking Sands, seeing its striated surface with its luminous bands. She did not think Shira would be as taken with gemstones as she was. When she passed it back into Minfilia’s possession, she had to ask.

“I understand that your vocation is in fishing, Shira. Did you have any interest in mining?”

“I did join the Mining Guild in Ul’dah. What for…” Shira put a fist on the side of her cheek as she searched her memory. After a long pause, ruminating over bites of rolanberry jam-covered tea biscuits, Shira finally remembered. 

“Oh, right. I needed components for enchanted silver ink, obtained in the South Shroud by mining. I needed it to repair a faded copy of an orchestrion roll I found. Then when I managed to synthesise it with alchemy, I found out I lacked the Master Recipe to repair the other orchestrion rolls I found.”

Minfilia was astounded. This seemed almost highly impractical. “I had no knowledge you were crafting alongside adventuring. Could you not have found someone to repair it for you on the market board, or through your retainers?”

“The what? Marred Debt Horde?”

“Oh dear…” Minfilia remembered Shira was quite directionless, especially in large cities.

“One of these days though, you should come fishing with me, Minfilia. You really do get to experience the natural beauty of Eorzea, sitting still with rod in hand, listening to the sound of water, the wind in the trees and the call of animals.”

Shira spoke with a fond, captivated smile that Minfilia felt happy that she could at least find some common interest with Shira. She knew when Shira was not adventuring and at the Waking Sands, she was pouring over a hefty volume known as The Fisher’s Guide to Eorzea, among other tomes dedicated to fieldcraft and tradecraft. 

“You sound like you have many fond memories of fishing. Did you fish much growing up?”

“No, not much.” Shira shrugged, taking a swig of tea before indulging in a fisherman’s tale. “It all started on my journey to Limsa Lominsa. It was the first time I was out on the open ocean. I saw fish leap up from the surface, seagulls and dolphins. Then, when I ate at the Bismarck with some friends, I tasted Ash Tuna for the first time. I was hooked on the taste! I remember thinking to myself ‘So this is what ocean fish tastes like.’” 

It was true. Many esteemed nobles and patrons of the Bismarck would pay top gil to dine on the bounties of the sea, whether they were caught in La Noscea or traded from beyond. 

Shira continued, embellishing her tale as best she could. “As soon as I established myself with the Marauder’s Guild, I went straight to the Lower Decks to apply to the Fisherman’s Guild. The rest is, well… as you know.”

Minfilia chuckled. “Perhaps we do need to have a fishing trip together. Rarely do I hear you speak so passionately.”

“If you can help me with mining Mythrite sand, we can then go fishing for cliones in Western Coerthas!” 

Thinking of the blistering cold and sleet in Coerthas, Minfilia shook her head in horror, realising she had spoken too soon. “Pray that we find some more suitable winter clothing first before embarking on such an expedition!”

[myreia]

wip wednesday

tagged by @lilas, ty beloved! 💕 tagging @roguelioness @tsunael @fourteenthz @ardberts

@birues @impossible-rat-babies @galadae @thevikingwoman uhhh so this fic which was supposed to be a quick prompt has spiralled and is now a three-parter. anyway. ARR setting, aur just joined the scions and what should be a happy moment is devolving in her and thancred having a fight disagreement. she's prickly and dragging her trauma around like someone in an airport who packed an excessive amount of luggage she's fine she's fine she's fine.

“You certainly know how to make an exit,” a familiar voice behind her says.

Aureia stiffens. No matter how frustrated she is with him, she can’t stop the little bubble of hope from rising in her chest. That he came to find her in the midst of everything means something she can’t put a finger on. “I needed some air,” she replies.

Thancred chuckles. “And, once again, I cannot fault you for having the right idea. A touch suffocating down there, is it not? I daresay Minfilia could do with some sun, but alas, she is as glued to her work as Urianger is to his books.”

The bubble pops. “Bookworm, is he?”

“You could say in abundance, aye. Incorrigible scholars, the lot of us. Fervour for knowledge and understanding knows no bounds for the typical Sharlayan, but for archons? Consider its intensity thrice fold.”

The lot of us… She hates how the phrase stands out to her. He has never spoken so candidly of his origins—or the people involved in them—before. For all the months they have known each other, he has been tight-lipped about his involvement with this organization. Perhaps he didn’t trust her yet. Perhaps he did but was instructed not to tell her. Regardless, it would be hypocritical to blame him for that, gods know she has kept a number of her own secrets, and yet this irks her. After all these months in Ul’dah, considering him a close friend…

It hits like a slap to the face.

“You never said you were from Sharlayan,” she says.

He shrugs. “I’m not.”

“Then where?”

He nods in the direction of the sea. “You’re looking at it—or in the direction of it, more like.”

“Then how…? Never mind.” Folding her arms, she shoots him a glance, her gaze lingering on the marks on his neck. She had wondered about the symbols, but never struck up the courage to ask him. “Do those make you an expert in aetherology, too?”

“No. I assure you, my area of expertise is not so abstract.”

“Not so abstract, hm?” she prods, trying to keep a straight face. “I wonder what that could mean. Of all the subjects that could attract your eye, what would you choose?”

He catches her eye, an amused smile on his lips, and bows theatrically. “My lips are sealed, fair lady, and you will never guess.”

“Unfortunate. I shall have to defer to process of elimination, then.”

“Oh?”

“I know what it isn’t. Music and bardship for one. Philandering, for another.”

He wheezes. “Oof,” he says with a painful wince. “I’m no stranger to low blows, but I didn’t expect one from you.”

She grins. “You should know better by now.”

“I should.” He returns her grin, hazel eyes bright in the seaside sun. Her playful jibes never seem to bother him; if anything, he seems to enjoy it. She has a sneaking suspicion that he sets himself up on purpose. “But enough of me. Here you are. Vesper Bay. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Now you know the truth of it.”

A lump forms in her throat. Nothing has changed between them—if anything, one could argue that they can only grow closer because of this—and yet she feels so unsettled. She would give anything to be back in Ul’dah, walking the Gold Court or wandering the Sapphire and Ruby Exchanges, moving to the rhythms of the city. She could talk with him about anything then. Now, out here in Vesper Bay, she feels… limited.  

Stuck.

“Here I am,” she murmurs. “And here you are.”

“I am glad for it. And I am glad that you and Minfilia have had the opportunity to meet. She has been so eager. Charmed, one could say, by the tales of your exploits. I may have overexaggerated certain events in the moment, and before you give me that look, I can say it was all in good faith and spirited storytelling—”

Aureia bites her tongue.

“But all that aside, you should get some rest. We have quite the task ahead of us. And I do believe it would do you well to get to know the others. You should speak with Y’shtola when the opportunity arises. I am certain she would appreciate it.”

The suggestion chafes. “Why?”

“Overlapping interests, for one. And I suspect you will get along well, for another. I can think of no mage as well-versed in the practice of arcane arts as she, save for Papalymo. I’m sure she can provide a guiding thought or three.”

“You think I need help? More training? Better training?”

“I—” He pauses, caught off guard by her tone. “Certainly not. I merely thought—”

“Because right now you’re implying I do.”

“That was not my intent.”

“I’m sorry my non-Sharlayan education doesn’t live up to the standards set by Minfilia’s brave and noble souls. Then again I don’t need tattoos on my neck to tell the world I have mastery.”

“And I know where your talents lie. I’ve seen them first-hand. You have nothing to prove, not to Minfilia, not to the others, and certainly not to me. You do not need to be an archon to have a place with us.”

Aureia forces back a grimace, her jaw clenching painfully. On any other day his words would be comforting, but here and now they fill her with dread. Anxieties creep across her mind, irrational and persistent, their spiderlike touch feeding her discomfort. 

“Then tell me this honestly, yes or no. Would I be here at all if not for the Echo?”

The question is blunt. Forceful. She’s given him no room to maneuver, no way to escape. There is only one way to answer this.

Thancred closes his eyes. “No,” he says finally. “I do not believe that would be the case. It is the gift that sets you apart. It is what caught my attention. Without it, you would not be here, for without it—and a long line of other convoluted coincidences—we would never have met.”

A lump forms in her throat. “And I’d be just another adventurer on the streets of Ul’dah.”

“Aye. I suspect as much.”

A wave crashes against the dock, throwing up a spray of salt and water. Aureia turns away, her eyes stinging. She can feel Thancred’s gaze on her, watching closely.

“That is not the answer you wished to hear, was it,” he says.

It’s not a question.

She wets her lower lip and tastes brine. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Would you have preferred I lied?”

“No—”

“Then why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry!” She turns sharply, rounding on him, and meets his eyes. Most would step away from the look she gives him, but not him. He knows her well enough not to be intimidated. Not that he was ever intimidated by her. And judging from his expression, just as she is unwilling to put up with his bullshit, so he is with hers. “I am...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seems to me the word you are looking for is angry.”

She curses.

He smiles.

“Don’t,” she says bluntly. “Just… don’t. Please. I’m not in the mood for this.”

[feliciadraws]

*SPOILERS FOR FINAL FANTASY XIV*

I had to split my recap of the last part of Through the Maelstrom into chunks because Tumblr wasn't letting me save larger posts or something...? Truly a functional website, Tumblr pls🙄 With Leviathan defeated and turned back into aether mush, Limsa Lominsa was free from the big watery snek boi's watery wrath, and the Warrior of Light and the Scions headed back to Limsa to speak with Merlwyb. Yugiri, still looking to pay back the Scions for how they had helped her and her people after having to flee from Doma, suggested she could offer her services by way of teaching martial arts in Eorzea, with Thancred making mention of a secret organisation which may or may not be a thief's guild right there in Limsa Lominsa, to which Y'shtola made mention of Thancred's...rather interesting past; Thancred used to be a petty crook on the streets of Limsa, and if it weren't for a chance encounter with none other than Louisoix, he never would have received a proper education or even joined the Scions, and he likely would never have left a life of petty thievery.

Also his reaction when Y'stola mentioned his criminal past was hilarious, like he was all like "YOU JEST!" and momentarily morphed into a human version of the monkey puppet meme, like that was freaking SENDING ME ANYWAYS- It was later that Merlwyb requested Y'shtola met her in private, and the two had a little heart-to-heart about the conflict;

The two came to a minor conflict over their viewpoints, namely their views regarding the conflict between the Eorzeans and the beast tribes and their summoning of primals- Y'shtola spoke of the Sahagin acting in self preservation, and in a way offered her sympathy towards the beast tribes, reasoning that they have every right to live and thrive as Eorzea's people, while Merlwyb took a harsher viewpoint, stating her desire to put her own people first and defend them no matter the cost, even if that means killing the beast men, adopting a kind of 'survival of the fittest' mindset (or that's what my reading of this was telling me) in her justification of it.

Yugiri, hidden in a corner a little way away from Merlwyb and Y'shtola, overheard their conversation, and reasoned, perhaps with a dash of melancholy, that maybe the Domans and the Garleans weren't so different after all, herself having seen and been involved with a great amount of the kind of bloody conflict which involved the kind of killing so that one's own people must survive, just like Merlwyb was saying. Later, Yugiri met up with the 'secret fraternity' (which may or may not be a rogue's guild) in Limsa and made good on her offer to teach her martial arts skills to the locals as payment for the Scions allowing her and the Domans to see asylum in Eorzea. I do hope we get to see more of Yugiri, because holy frick she is so FREAKING COOL.

Later after that, the WoL headed back to the Rising Stones to speak with Minfilia, who herself had come to some...rather chilling realisations; while the Scions were fighting the Sahagin while they were summoning Leviathan, the Sahagin priest was actually using the Echo while he was doing so, and not only that, but after Merlwyb gunned gunned him down, his consciousness, his soul if you will, left his dead body, which seemed to dissolve into aether, and then went on to possess one of his minions, who then seemed to turn into the Sahagin priest himself...very much in a similar way to how Ascians possess human bodies. Not even Minfilia herself knew such a thing could be done using the Echo, but recognised it as the kind of 'immortality' that the Ascian emissary Elidibus spoke of. But there was a somewhat hopeful takeaway from this; even though he had technically been made immortal through this, the Sahagin priest was still able to be absorbed into Leviathan, and it was this that gave Minfilia the hope that despite their immortal nature, the Ascians can somehow be destroyed. It was then she thought of a fairy tale she had heard, about souls being reborn upon the cusp of each 'Calamity' event (hmmmm, interesting that this also implies that there has been more than one Calamity in the past...), leading her to think that this legend/fairy tale could actually be describing the Echo, and that the Echo might actually be the key to defeating the Ascians once and for all. Minfilia stated she would be seeking Urianger's help on this matter, but no sooner after she said she would, Urianger himself ran into the Solar, with grave news; the Students of Baldesion, who he had been trying to contact, had been wiped out, the isle where they were based, the Isle of Val, having been destroyed by an aetheric power...similar in power to Ultima. As in the magical nuke spell Ultima. Holy FRICK. Just as Urianger had dropped that chilling bombshell, there was an abrupt switch to a meeting of the Syndicate in Ul'Dah, which seemed to have little to do with what anyone in the previous scene was talking about...or so we thought;

After the meeting was adjourned and everyone had left, one stayed behind- the lalafell Teledji Adeledji, the one of the Syndicate members who seemed sympathetic to the plight of the Doman refugees, stayed behind until dark, and as he sat in darkness, he was approached by his aide, who said, rather ominously, "it is done, my lord." DONE?! WHAT IS DONE?! It got more ominous still; the aide questioned the purposes of Teledji's orders, and the lalafell gave only a single word in reply; "revolution." Wait...orders? What orders?! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?! Oh...you don't think he did what I think he did...? Is Teledji a bad guy?

- Wow, that was a freaking RIDE. I really do hope we see more of Yugiri, she is so cool. Also, what was interesting is that Yugiri, although seemingly unfamiliar with the concept of primals, made mention of beings worshipped as deities in her former home of the Far East...hmmmm! Also of all the people who could be a surprise antagonist, I was not expecting it to be Teledji, especially after he had seeminly been sympathetic to the Yugiri's plight. IF he is one, that is. But it seems very clear that the game is setting him up as a villain, especially given how it cut to his ominous utterance of 'revolution' after Urianger gave the news that something akin to Ultima wiped out the Students of Baldesion.

Also, bonus monkey puppet Thancred;

[digeethegenie]

Sunday without Hydaelyn

Day 22 - OD3 - Ribbon Endwalker - Endwalker

CW - PTSD, PTSD resulting from "In from the cold"

Paring - wol x Haurchefant (Sort of)

On a quiet mana holy-day, Yujo visits some friends for the first time since she returned from the edge of the universe.

"Hey Guys."

Yujo stood in front of a grid of graves- each one etched with a name of a victim of the waking sands masacare- and prayed in her traditional yevonite prayer as the sounds of camp drybone buzzed in the distance.

"So. You might have wondered where I vanished to, but could you belive I was in space of all places?"

This was a ritual that Yujo had started around the time Ala Mhigo and Doma won their indipendnce back from Garlemald. Being surrounded by such carnage and having been half a yalm from away from dying several times by that point, had an effect on the lalafell.

What she would do on the last mana holy-day of the moon was go to the Church of Saint Adama Landama and tend to the lichyard. Lliud had insisted she be paid for her services but she naturally refused. Part of it was that she didn't feel right taking money for doing something she was doing out of the good of her heart- this something in particular, rather- and the other was the fact that it offered her a chance to talk to the friends that were intered or, for a lack of actual remains, had a headstone placed in their memory.

She would often spend the time tending to the masacare victim's graves speaking of her adventures and tales of daring do. This time, the first since she had been discharged from her recovery from her final fight with Zenos, she had taken to speaking of the adventure she and the surviving scions had in the deeps of space.

The time flew by as she told of the sprits of dragons, creatures that had become importal but grasped desperately for a chance to die, robo-men who were lead to entropy by a leader who found their mission unconciable and, at the summit of all things, a scared little girl who had to face the darkness of the universe alone.

Satisfied that she had said her piece, she clapped her hands, said her goodbyes to her long gone friends, and laid flowers at the grave markers before she made her way to another gravestone.

= = =

"I… nearly died. Again."

Yujo said looking at the ground like a child that had admitted to breaking something of great import of their parents in front of the headstone in front of her.

On it was etched "Minfilia Warde", the once leader of the Scions of The Seventh Dawn.

Much like with the victims of the masacare. Yujo talked about her tales to Minfilia. But, whilst her recounting of her adventures to them was akin to spinning tales in a bar, talking to Minfilia was akin to talking to a mother figgure.

She was only 27 when she was taken into the lifestream. To be charitable to her- to say nothing about how the time dilation between Eytheris' shards worked- that would have made her 30 when she "died" by becoming one with Ryne, the Minfilia of the first.

Only by the stoping of one's clock had Yujo- who had first met her at the age of 20 and was now 26, her nameday having been only a few weeks prior- catched up to her in that regard.

And there were many moments, far far too many moments, that Yujo came far too close to never having that chance.

For a little while the only thing to be heard was Chocomate scratching his feet on the ground.

"I am not proud to admit it, but Zenos got his way in the end. Probably didn't mean to, ether. He… He just didn't get it."

She shook her head. "He could probably eventualy come to understand, but all I could see was the infinite void of the henious deeds there were to come- lands and people, split and spoiled by his hand- when he spoke his nonsense." she looked up to the sky.

"And I blinked. I gave him his fight. I genuinly wonder. If we were on opposite ends and you stood there at the edge of all creation. Would you have been able to abide by him?"

She shook her head. "No. No, that's stupid. He had done so many awful things by that point. To the lands he ruled. To the people he subjigated. T-To Fordola and Yotsuyu…"

Memories of her first time in Garlemald intruded on her like a waking nightmare She wrapped her arms around her body, and held on tightly.

"… to me …"

That time where Zenos had put his soul into her body still haunted her. It festered like a deep scar in her psyche. She knew it had part to do with why she gave Zenos his final fight but she was far too ashamed to admit that personal vengence had anything to do with it.

"I…" she felt her throat tense up. "… I can't go back to where I went to with him. I was lucky. Far too lucky. If I ever go back to that place within me ever again, I don't think I would be able to come back from it."

She closed her eyes. "So, I need to change. So I don't allow myself to follow that… man… into his abyss."

She closed her eyes, tears began to stream down her face.

"I knew we did you proud. Minfilia. I… I just wish you, Papamylo and everyone else who isn't here to see what we made of the star that you left us could see it."

Chocomate looked on, silently watching over Yujo as she wept.

Eventually she wiped her face with the side of her arm and smiled even as the tears made a mess of her face. "I… I'm sorry. I'll get through one of these without crying like the sadsack of popotos I am one day…" she said as she put the flowers on the grave and said that she would see her again.

"Come on, 'mate" she said as she saddled up and patted his side. "Let go."

With a flap the chocobo took flight heavensward, and to the last grave Yujo had to tend to.

= = =

"Hi, Haurchefant." she said as she aproached the marker that bore her friend's name and laid the flower down at it's feet, carefuly placing it under the sheld so the fridiged winds of Coerthas wouldn't blow it away.

She tried to think about what to even say infront of him.

Then she could only laugh.

"Nearly died again." she said, smiling. "You're probably just at the point where you find it funny whenever it happens. 'Oh there she goes again, jumping right into the maw of godsknow whatever horror beyond the kin of men' " she laughed, imating his posturing.

"I know your shield is here, but sometimes it realy does feel like you're just behind me, ready to protect me when I most need it. And I really apreciate that, Haurchefant. I truely do."

She let out a silly little laugh. "It's funny. I know my heart doesn't work like other peoples- I love so many people of this land as if they're family- but there was never that need to be with one person. I have to confess. If my heart did work like that. I think that I would have wanted to be with you."

She smiled. "I will never forget how you saved me- and Alph and Tataru- when we were at our most desperate. How, inspite of every risk inherent to it, your father welcomed us with open arms. I need to visit him on the way back home and see how he's doing."

"But, before that, I have a favor to ask." she said before she put her hands behind her head to undo the knot of her bandana. She then tied it through the hole of Haurchefant's shield.

"I want to become someone new in this star of eternal calm that we have made and I want to do it not with the weight of my past on my head but with the love of the friends I made in my heart. So, please, hold onto this."

She closed her eyes and then nodded.

"And, If I could be as selfish as to ask, could you wait for me in the farplane, Haurchefant? When I am old, and I have no more adventures left in me. I want to go on one last adventure with you, for old times' sake."

Her hair now flapping from being let lose from the bandana. Yujo smiled and turned around to visit Count Fortemps on her way home to the snow filled land she had come to call home.

[jumpingjollyrancher]

Sept. 19: Taken

Idyllshire is a bustling place; the near constant noise from its near constant construction and rebuilding projects is enough to make any conversation take place at a shout. Junior is not the biggest fan, but it’s the most convenient meeting place for now. At least Krile and Thancred have found a mostly abandoned corner to talk.

It’s not going to be a good talk from the press of Thancred’s lips and the crease between Krile’s eyebrows. Junior frowns himself, working a burr off of his tail. No one likes bad news. After they were lucky enough with Y’shtola and Thancred, he thought… He’s spared from having to start the conversation by Alphinaud’s arrival.

Krile jumps into the details of the thing. A visit to the ruins of the Praetorium gave them enough to work with. “Though faint, the waveforms bore a strong resemblance to those observed following the destruction of the Isle of Val—when I believe Hydaelyn shielded me with the blessing of Light.”

It only makes sense. Minfilia had said that Hydaelyn spoke to her. Junior grips the handle of his katana and refuses to think the worst. The previous disturbances were for their good, both his and Krile’s. Surely, She would do the same for her favorite daughter.

Thancred’s eye and his voice give away nothing as he adds to their tale. “To confirm our findings, we paid a visit to the Sil'dih Aqueducts. There we detected the same waveform, but orders of magnitude larger...as one would expect of a more recent disturbance.” He feels Junior’s gaze and turns to meet it. Still, it tells him nothing beyond the spoken words.

It should be a relief. Hydaelyn saves the day! But why? Why did she need Minfilia to go back? Why couldn’t she have escaped with him? Junior looks away from Thancred to scowl at the ground.

There’s more to sort out. Y’shtola’s flow spell that carried a third being, but this time without a trail. Krile turns to Junior. Recently acquainted though they are, she speaks to him as if they’ve studied beside each other before. “Now, recall your visions of a vast crystal floating in a sea of aether. Though this too is but a theory, studies of gifted objects suggest that, when communing with Hydaelyn, we briefly leave our bodies behind.”

“Very briefly,” Junior corrects. “I don’t usually wake up on the ground after she’s deigned to reach out.”

Krile nods. “Time is rather loose in such cases. So, let us consider the facts. One—Hydaelyn interceded. Two—a third being was caught in Y'shtola's Flow and vanished without a trace. And three— Hydaelyn may have the capacity to summon the consciousness of gifted individuals to Her side.”

It’s blatantly obvious the conclusion they’re supposed to reach. Yet, not one of them jumps to state it aloud. Y’shtola fills the gap, always the one happier to have the answer on the table to dissect. “You are implying, I take it, that Hydaelyn guided Minfilia into the compass of my magick...that She might summon her, body and soul, unto the aetherial sea?”

Nods from both Thancred and Krile are the answer. Junior’s tail flicks hard until he makes himself exhale. “If she had so little faith in me getting us out of there, I would have liked to know it.”

Thancred’s visible eyelid twitches. He very well might have rolled the hidden one; Junior has seen it before. “I think it’s less a matter of Her trusted Warrior’s skill and more of a matter of a separate task entirely. Why else would She have taken Minfilia alone?”

“She thinks I’m annoying,” Junior offers. He holds a hand up. “Actually, it might be a matter of lack of choice. Midgardsormr had already played his little trick on me by that point.”

Krile tips her head, but the rest of them frown at the reminder. A blessing cut off and a friend fallen shortly after… It has only been a few months. Junior exhales. “That’s not an issue now, but I’ve yet to hear anything from Her.”

“For a blessing, the means to continue our search already exists.” Y’shtola smiles thinly. “I speak of the Antitower—a Sharlayan construction conceived to provide scholars a vantage point over the aetherial sea. Though I know not where its entrance lies, we need only ask its last custodian - a contrary old crone who, for another blessing, refused to join the exodus.”

Despite everything, despite the terrible feeling of dread hanging over his shoulders, Junior’s lips curl upward. “She’s got everything, doesn’t she?”

“It certainly seems that way much of the time.” Y’shtola shakes her head. “Come. The sooner we approach her, the sooner we can find true answers.” 

She turns toward the city gate, Alphinaud and Krile falling in behind her. Alphinaud is already talking, probably filling Krile in on the details of Junior’s various irritations with the father of dragons. Thancred, however, lingers. Junior looks at him, eyes sharp. “We’ll find her.”

“Whatever it takes.” Thancred sets a hand on his shoulder and then walks away. It feels, unexpectedly, like comfort. 

Junior shifts in place and then follows after them. He catches up with Thancred after a few steps and keeps pace until they’ve rejoined the group.

[anneapocalypse]

There's an interesting moment with Urianger in 2.1 as the Scions are preparing to leave the Waking Sands for Mor Dhona, and we've just been told it was he who insisted they maintain ownership of the building and chose to stay and continue his research there.

Thou art ever welcome, [Forename], but I require no assistance. Pray take thy leave unburdened by concern for my well-being. Verily, thy countenance bespeaks a desire to quit this place without further delay. Hm. Mayhap thou thinkest this chapter of our tale concluded─that these halls should rightly be consigned to the annals of history...? In man's eagerness to seize the future, how readily he doth set down the past. Full many a proud pioneer hath bravely stridden into the great unknown, only to find there the banner of his ancestor, faded by the eons. And still man glorieth in his discoveries. 'Tis through his pride that wisdom doth ever give way to ignorance, while they who lurk in shadow remain hidden, lost no sooner than they are found. <sigh> Be not offended, Forename. Thy conduct hath ever been beyond reproach. Despite thy surpassing strength, and all thy many victories, thou hast never been so convinced of thine own greatness as to imagine thyself above the failings of thy forebears. Mayhap it is the Echo which hath opened thine eyes to the lessons of history. Would that the same could be said of─

He's then interrupted by Minfilia's cry at being accosted by Elidibus, and the conversation is never finished, and we never find out who he was about to mention there, as imagining themselves above the failings of their forebears.

It's not an uncommon narrative device to have a character interrupted by the very person they were about to name, and I do wonder if we're meant to infer that he was talking about Minfilia. That he is concerned she's making a mistake, that he does disapprove of the changes to the Scions taking place here, but respects Minfilia (and Alphinaud) too much to say so outright.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 27. Sole Characters: Karasawa Atraxae, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Rating: Teen Summary: The last of her people Notes: It's been a while since I've checked in with Hydaelyn's misbegotten worst bestie

Except for Minfilia, every single member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn looked to be some flavor of flabbergasted. Urianger had his head ducked down so far all one could see were his goggles, as he tilted his head and absently poked his temple with his fingers. Yda had her hands on her hips, and was just shaking her head back and forth, which was funny, as that was what she'd expected of Papalymo. Papalymo however was just frowning at her. Y'shtola's ears were down and back, which she'd learned meant irritation, and her arms were crossed. Thancred was leaning against a wall, and it seemed the floor had his entire attention.

Honestly, this was going great, by the usual standards of one of her presentations.

Y'shtola was the first to speak, not to her, but to Minfilia. "We are meant to believe that we have before us a singular specimen of one of the paragons of eld? And you believe her?"

"I do," said Minfilia. "Her understanding of the Echo exceeds my own, even if she's not very good at explaining the details. And when she spoke to me in her native tongue, I got a sense of something more, something missing, yet familiar. It reminded me of Hydaelyn."

"And how do we know she's on our side, hmm?" asked Papalymo. "A real life Ascian in our midst and we're just going to trust that she's on our side?"

"I don't know about all this," said Yda. "But I don't think she's like that, Papalymo. Think about everything she's done for us so far."

"Indeed. Enough to string us along until we're fit to let our guard down, then she can whisk us away in the night and leave the realm defenseless against its enemies!"

"Praythee, it behooves us to not be so swift to judge," said Urianger. "If that were her intent, it surely would be in her best interest to continue the ruse."

"Unless she thought us about to figure it out ourselves. Or perhaps we're just about fit for harvest!" said Papalymo.

Karasawa looked over at Thancred, the only one who hadn't spoken yet, but all he did was look back at her before turning away again. She rolled her head back and looked at the ceiling, rolling her tongue in her cheek, before she stuck a finger in the air.

The room fell silent as they all looked to her.

"One, not a paragon," she said. "Pretty sure the blokes you're callin' paragons are the nutters who've decided that since everythin' has gone to shite they can just pick up a convocation seat."

"A matter you have not explained to us in any detail for that designation to be of any use for this discussion," said Y'shtola.

"Ask me later. Two, I don' know what an Ascian is either, but I'm not one o' them. The bloke callin' himself Lahabrea said some shite in a language I don't know and then bloody just wandered off back to his hells. I think they may've come after my kind, but before your kind. Kinds."

"Which begs the question," said Y'shtola, "Of how you have survived until this age, if you are as old as you claim."

"Oh sweet I thought you'd never ask-"

"Before this conversation too badly loses its way," interrupted Minfilia. "I will not tell any of the rest of you want to think or how to feel. However, she has told me her tale, and I do not doubt its veracity, only its usefulness. It would seem that she finds our world much changed from what she remembers, and the Ascians are as unfamiliar to her as they are to us, save for the names they have chosen to adopt."

"Which brings me to three. Th' only reason I said anythin' at all is because when that Lahabrea spoke, I could feel the teek."

The Scions all looked at each other.

"Pray forgive us our ignorance, but whilst the Echo bridges many a gap in understanding, that word it seems evades it," said Urianger.

"Nor was she able to explain to me, but I understand some of it. It seems to be a sense her people had, one which we lack," said Minfilia.

Papalymo looked thoughtful, putting a hand to his chin. "If we are to take her at her word, that does raise some interesting questions. Were our forebears in fact the Highlanders in some form, then?"

"Oh, that'd be neat! It'd practically make us cousins!" said Yda. "Though it doesn't explain much or well where anyone else came from, does it?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't. A mystery our friend can perhaps unravel, hmn?" prodded Papalymo.

Karasawa looked at them blankly, and Thancred cleared his throat. "You're a Highlander," he said shortly.

"Oh, shite, this? Yeaaaaah... this. No, uhm, right, so, part of the tooling I used to live this long also adapted me - the FOCUS projects your soul through the IDEA engine and the SWORD then takes all that and glues it all right so you stay together-like."

Everyone was now looking at her like she'd grown another head, and she waved them off.

"Look, I didn't look like THIS back then, okay? In fact, none of you look, uh, look... I was gonna say none of you look right but that'd be an arsehole thing to say. Look! Look. Look look look. My people, the people, none of you looked like us. I mean, the Elezen blokes get kinnae close? They at least got the proportions right, but their faces are way too narrow and we didn' have those keen knife ears."

Papalymo turned red and Yda coughed into her hand.

Urianger cleared his throat. "Mistress Atraxae, if I may?"

Karasawa waved a hand in his direction.

"Thine words are oft considered a pejorative in our current clime. I would impress upon thee to perhaps avoid speaking 'knife-ear' to mine people if you wish to not offend."

"Och, that's good to know. Ah, mine apologies, Urianger; I meant none offense. Though, ah, assumin' I do mean offense, how awful is it, scale of one to ten?"

Thancred barked a laugh. It sounded mean, somehow, and Karasawa shot him a glare.

"Ah, perhaps if thou wishes insult, thy should endeavor to tailor thine words to thine opponent, and not to their entire kind? It would strengthen the power of thine vitriol and rob them of easy defense."

"Oh shite that's good advice."

Urianger beamed at her while Y'shtola closed her eyes, her ears somehow managing to go even further back. "Urianger, we should not be encouraging her already crass ways any further."

"Apologies, Lady Y'shtola. I shall do so in private from hence on."

Y'shtola was now glaring at him, while he gave her a cheeky grin in response.

Gods dammit she liked these people. But also, this was tiring.

"Alright well s'all good fun I'ms sure you've all got a bazillion questions for me so maybe write 'em down I'm going to go pal around a bit and maybe find some decent bloody food," said Karasawa, slapping her knees as she came to her feet.

"I do not think it wise-" "Now wait just a moment!" "Aw, but I wanted to-"

"Enough," said Minfilia, and the room fell silent. "None of us can scarce imagine what she has been through, what this must be like for her. Karasawa, we will give you your peace, of course. But please be understanding if we have questions for you."

"Understandin', yup, that's me, the very soul of understandin'" said Karasawa breezily as she headed for the door. She stuck her tongue out at Y'shtola as she left.

She wasn't sure why. It just seemed like the thing to do.

And she also gave Thancred a glare.

Again, she wasn't sure why, but something was bothering her there, and it was irritating in ways she could not put words too.

Urianger stepped up to walk alongside her. "Might I accompany you?" he asked.

He'd been consistently decent to her, even in this stupid meeting.

"Sure. You know a decent food stall around here?"

"Forsooth."

"...you picked that word on purpose."

He grinned. "I thought it might amuse thee."

She grinned back and gave him the lightest slug-tap in the shoulder.

"But aye. There is a traveling merchant well known for delights from the new world. I hope the thematic irony is not lost on thee, but if it is, then I hope the delights of such a thing will not be."

"Sure, let's check it out."

It was an easy lunch. And he was right about the food stall. Karasawa had no idea what this 'new world' was. The eddies of resonance suggested ideas of another continent, far away, not easily travelled to. But the food was a delight. Some kind of dark meat, shredded and spiced. Some sort of creamy sauce, cool and refreshing. Lettuce, at least they still had lettuce, and tomatoes and onion, and all the vegetables were raw as compared to the tendency of the locals to cook everything. All wrapped up in an easy to carry edible package.

She missed chupaquesos something fierce.

And the entire time, Urianger was quiet, and Karasawa, who usually wouldn't shut up if she could help it, found the silence oddly comfortable. They ate down by the edge of the bay, watching the ships sail in and out of the dock.

Well, that's probably what Urianger was watching, it was hard to guess with those goggles of his. She was watching the dock workers and their burly muscles as they moved things around and tied ships to the moor.

It was mesmerizing. Her own people did almost no manual labor, having either magick or beasts of creation to do the work for them. She felt a sense of pang and loss, but also a sense of something that had always been absent but now being filled. There was something amazing about watching people just work. Bodies in motion were magic.

She loved it here, she hated it here.

"Pray forgive my comrades," said Urianger, as he wiped his hands clean of lunch. "Thine revelation upends a great many assumptions and puts lie to many particularities of our assumed history."

"Shite. It's whatever. I'm a weird fish outta nowhere. I'd be skeptical too. Like, swive me, right? The sole survivor of a hellscape apocalypse? And like, Ascians. Whatever we bloody did, it made Ascians, and they not only wanna make another apocalypse, but they've done so, what, six times?"

"Seven full."

"Yeah seven. As if the first one wasn't enough. I wasn't even around for it and I hate it. Bloody hells, Urianger."

She sighed. "Wish Karasawa was here."

Urianger tilted her head at him, and she waved a hand in the air. "M' just Atraxae. Karasawa was my best mate back home. You all have two names it seems, so I borrowed his, that's all."

"Ah. 'Best mate'? Might I inquire further?"

"He was good at shite I wasn't. Thinkin' shite through. He was the one who did all the soul magicks for us, I was better with th' physical concepts and whatnot. He did living things, I did automated things. We worked well together. Also, he was, like, one of the few people who was decent to me more n' not. Didn't just write me off for bein' a bloody weirdo."

She looked at Urianger. "Sorta like you. 'Preciate that, by the by."

"Think nothing of it. I share not the skepticism of your origins that mine comrades hold, because I believe that thou couldst not be bothered to lie even if it should serve thy ends. And I also know much of what it is like to be seen as... a 'bloody weirdo'."

Karasawa laughed.

"Well, I may be the sole survivor who didn't go and get themselves upended into a crystal or worse, but at least I'm not alone, hey?"

Urianger nods. "So what shall thee do, now?"

"Dunno. Stick around, I guess. Bestie said... guide, guard, help. Well, you lot seem to have the first one down pat, least I can do is that last one. Dunno about -guarding-, but hells if I don't have a -hella- big sword."

Urianger laughed. "We all serve in our particular ways, my lady."

"Yeah. Shite. Good food stall. Wanna go back?"

"They will want to ask thee a great many questions upon thine return."

"Yeah. I expected as much," she sighed, and shrugged. "Might as well get it over with."

"Then I shall accompany thee, and if thy wish, remain at thine side."

"That'd be great."

He nodded, and they both got up, and headed back to the Waking Sands, together.

[dawnslight-aegis]

5. barbarous

Kaede could still hear, almost twenty years after the last time she’d seen him, the sneer in her father’s voice when he spoke of “savage, barbarous warmongers” – nothing had provoked the Hannish-born alchemist’s ire more than a people who did not shy away from violence. Other Eorzean children were raised on tales of the brutality of the Amal’jaa, the Sahagin, or the Ixals. Meanwhile Kaede’s childhood morality tales often featured the likes of the xaela, the people of Ala Mhigo, or horror of horrors, the Ishgardians, who would sooner murder a person with scales than look at them.

Every single step she had taken beyond the bounds of New Sharlayan had served to prove Zamair bin Anvari wrong, again and again and again.

His stories about the Steppe War melted away into nothingness as Cirina handed her a fresh buuz, as Temulun looked into her eyes and declared her traveler, as Marz sang softly to a group of xaela children under the stars. Magnai and Sadu were dangerous foes, yes, and perhaps even more dangerous friends, but better their ferocity than the indolence of the raen of Sui-no-Sato, who in thinking themselves safe, cared not at all for any people besides their own.

When she thought of Ala Mhigo, she thought of her stepfather’s hand, reaching down into the darkness of the pirate ship where she and her mother had been trapped; she thought of Raubahn, clapping her on the shoulder and smiling, calling her lass, Captain, Warrior of Light; she thought of Minfilia’s quiet strength and Lyse’s growing confidence, and friendship forged over tea and lemoncakes. The Autumn War and Theodoric’s cruelty were distant memories, replaced by the yearning for home and freedom.

And Ishgard… Cold, and insular, and untrusting, yes, but also her refuge and safe harbor. Ishgard was the stone walls of home around her, repelling both blizzard and dragonflame; was a warm cup of hot cocoa handed to her by her last ally in the realm; was a lance aimed at the heart of her enemies and guarding her back; was a gloved hand in hers, holding tightly and never letting go, no matter how far she traveled from his side.

If they were barbarous then so too was she, and her ruthlessness had saved full as many lives as her mercy. Perhaps more. All while the man who sired her cowered in his white city, and the skies across Etheirys burned. But she would save him, too, whether he willed it or not.