#Vylbrand

[wilanserulia]

A Summer Day in Moraby Bay

Originally published on 2022/07/13

[windupaymeric]

Limsa Lominsa-Ferry Docks

[eriyu]

Glamtober Day 4: Aldenard

i've been wanting to use the Ala Mhigan Turban of Gathering for a long time... so i did :)

prompt list

Ala Mhigan Turban of Gathering (Turquoise Blue) Hempen Camise (Turquoise Blue) Free Spirit's Ringbands (Aldgoat Brown/Turquoise Blue) Martial Artist's Slops (Snow White/Turquoise Blue) Leather Sandals (Charcoal Grey) Gomphotherium Necklace

[twelvesblades]

Glamtober 4 - Aldenard

old glam i nver really posted. Mask isn't technically part of it.

Kokuko Men (Soot Black) , Oasis Tunic (Deepwood Green), Thavnairian Gloves, Uraeus Skirt (Soot Black), Summoner's Thighboots.

[lady-lissette]

Lissette is on slide duty this year.

[mimble-sparklepudding]

22. Crossroads.

I do not trust you. Not yet. But Ga Bu does. And I will trust him.

[tsunael]

Send ⚓️ to see them wearing or doing something associated with Limsa Lominsa.

screenshot meme | accepting!?

Limsa Lominsa ever crawled with seedy opportunity for the poor and destitute. Having only ever known life in the floating world, Tsuna's falling in with one of the many dancing troupes that littered the city seemed the natural course.

[kaynotebook]

i found this screenshot of the fanfest and remembered the time i made a color coded map of what we see on the moon and.....

we're still seeing so little of tural look how big it isss

also it's interesting that we see the planet a liiitle from the south when on the moon, feels like they wanted us to focus on those new lands (even if they're mostly clouded)

[sheepwithspecs]

Preview: Playing to Win, Chapter 3

Read the first two chapters here!

"Last night, the isle was rocked by tremors, and the earth itself cried out. Aloft, the heavens began to burn...." -Ahewann

“Cap’n!” The barrelman waved to him from the crow’s nest. “There’s an anchored vessel ahead!” he announced, pointing towards a stationary speck in the near distance. “It looks like there may have been a—”

Before the man could finish, the Misery seemed to bulge at the center. There was an anticipatory moment of calm, as before a heavy storm, when all sounds cease save for the lap of waves against the hull. The men seemed to move twice as slowly, heads turning and lips poised to speak as they looked towards the center mast. Gerald leaned over the wheel, head cocked in bewilderment as he pointed towards the shore. Carvallain turned to follow his gaze, the heel of his boot sliding on the foredeck.

All at once, the air came alive with a terrible, earsplitting wail. Carvallain clapped his hands over his sensitive ears, knees hitting the deck as he set his teeth against the pain. It was a cry, a scream, a shriek that echoed over the empty fields, amplified by the waves. He feared his very skin might peel from his bones, the blood freezing in his veins; he could no longer hear himself think, every ilm of his skull filled to bursting with the sound. It was more than any man could hope to bear. From the corner of his eye, he saw more than one of his men leap into the water in an effort to drown the noise. And then, just when he thought he might make the leap himself in a fit of madness—

It stopped.

For a moment he could hear nothing beyond a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he stood at the center of an overpowering aetherial vortex. His silent pulse hammered in his throat, head spinning and gut roiling as he made every attempt to gather his bearings. If he could not rise to his feet and deliver orders, what hope did his crew have of rallying?

As the terrible ringing began to subside, his awareness grew to include those nearest him. Mordyn braced himself on his hands and knees, vomiting bile onto the deck with great gulping heaves. His limbs trembled like a newborn fawn, but he was already halfway to standing. Gasping for air, he caught his captain’s eye and blanched. Carvallain nodded his encouragement.

Steady. He mouthed the words, not trusting his own voice while his head was still spinning on his shoulders. Even if he could speak, there was no way of knowing if the man could hear him. Mordyn returned the gesture as best he could. Behind him, the hardier Krakens were already picking themselves off the foredeck. They stumbled towards the railing with green faces, peering into the water in an effort to locate their fallen brothers.

“Ca—urp—Captain?” Gerald literally pulled himself up by the rail, clinging to it for dear life as his shaking hand again pointed towards the shore. His voice sounded small and far away. “S-Smoke…” he managed, coughing phlegm onto the wheel as a wave of nausea overcame him. “Distress… signal?”

“Not likely.” Bracing his axe against the deck, Carvallain lifted himself to his feet. A few deep breaths helped to quell the churning in his stomach, but his ears continued to ring with faint echoes of the wild screeching roar. “What was that awful racket?” he wondered aloud, fishing a handkerchief from his gaskins. He mopped the fresh sweat from his face before settling the plumed hat firmly on his brow. “I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

“A harbinger….” One of his oarsmen, a plucky Midlander barely out of swaddling clothes, wrung his hands in clear dismay. “Of the Final Days!”

“What do you mean?” Carvallain asked, addressing him with a frown. While he was not one to encourage superstition within his ranks, even the tallest tales often held grains of truth.

“M-My sister, she lives in Radz-at-Han with her husband and his family,” he explained, teeth chattering with fright. “She told me that when the Final Days began, the star itself seemed to wail out in agony. And then the skies turned red, and the m-m-monsters—” He said no more, hiding his face in his hands with a wordless cry.

“Cease that sniveling at once.” He lifted his axe onto his shoulder, looking towards the billowing smoke. “I don’t care about what happened in Thavnair; I care about what’s happening now. Maybe the star did cry out. Maybe it did not. But the skies are not red, and even if they were, that’s no excuse for cowardice aboard my ship. Krakens are stalwart gentlemen of means, not whimpering pups hiding in their mother’s shadow.”  

“A-A-Aye, Captain.” The boy sniffed loudly, wiping his eyes with the collar of his woolen shirt before hurrying off to his post.

“Gerald.” He pointed towards the anchored ship on the horizon. “Take us there.”

“Aye, sir.”

[lesenbyan]

Having bad memory and OCs is just endless working out ages again and again and ag-

[wildstar25]

Arsay has a slightly mixed dialect, a product of growing up in one of the newer southern sea settlements and spending a bulk of her late childhood working at sea. Theres La nosea, a bit of southern thanalan, a good amount old lalafellian, and even the slightest bit of thavnarian. People will talk to her and have no clue where the hell she is from, leading to all the many misconceptions about her place of birth.

Generally Arsay tends to include metaphorical language when making grand statements usually pertaining to the wonders of nature and adventuring. You'll catch her dropping syllables if she's speaking casually, and peppering in a lot of slang (and swears) she's picked up from all the places shes been. She'll equally as often end statements with a spoken interjection. Like: "nice day, yeah?" or "lookin' for a fight, ay?".

2/20/24

How would you describe your wol(oc)'s dialect?

[blueberryaesthetics]

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh; I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane! And lo! on the wings of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along,

The Hurricane ; José María Heredia

While she can paint from memory, Moe will very rarely be caught indoors when it's storming in Vylbrand. The smell of the sea is never as crisp as when its being driven into her face, and she's caught a cold or two refusing to get out of the rain.

Day 6: Storm! (Also a close-up of that second panel because LOOK at her freckles.)

[ahollowgrave]

Steer (verb): to direct the course of.  A young nun far from home. Some waterway of Vylbrand.

Wooden plants creak in protest as the ferry glides through water pushing the opposite direction. The ferryman whistles a tune as he gazes forward, his work second nature to him. You marvel at it. Watch as his arm flexes and the ferry effortlessly pivots past an outcropping of bright white stone. The canyon river is narrow and winding and he knows it well. His eyes - a velvety brown - catch yours and his big mustache bends with a smile and a wink.

You look away, embarrassed.  Lean over the edge of the boat. The water here is impossibly clear and you can see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Schools of fish drift by, and minerals and rocks glint in the afternoon light. You spot and identify several useful water plants before the flow of water begins to make you dizzy. 

You could not bear to catch the ferryman’s eye again. Your stomach clenching at the mere idea. Thankfully, the ferry is full. Farmhands lean against one another, hats pulled low as they doze. Their hands are weathered with dirt packed under the nails, in the knuckles. They breathe in sync. A trio of adventurers in the front have a map out; they’ve been arguing in hushed voices since boarding. They talk over each other in familiar patterns. A child leans over the edge of the boat, their mother’s fingers clutching the back of their tunic. She points out a turtle sunning itself on a rock. Their laughs match.

A sharp, green shoot of yearning sprouts along your rib, pierces the soft muscle of your heart. 

Your pack rests solidly against your legs. A short but effective wall between the seat you claimed and the rest of the passengers. It isn’t personal, you try to say with your expression, you just need your space. 

The ferryman’s hands pull the rudder and the boat responds in a graceful, slowing turn. It comes to a stop with a gentle bump against the dock. There is a chorus of rough laughter from the bow and as you watch the adventurers clap each other on the back, share long-lived grins. They’ve had that argument before and they’ll have it at least twice more before it’s done. The mother and her child are the first ones off, carefully aided by dockworkers. The child squeals with laughter as a worker pulls a flower from behind their ear. You rub at your chest. Falling in behind the farmhands you shoulder your pack. You will lose your fellow passengers soon -- to the crowd and to their paths. You don’t know their names and only some of their faces yet still you grieve these minuscule relationships.

Laughter and song pour out onto the street from an open door. An tavern, bustling and busy in the middle of the day, bards reciting old favorites. From the street you glimpse skirts flaring in the steps of a spirited dance; flowers blooming with each turn. It would be easy enough to slip inside, find a corner to claim, build more tiny relationships between strangers.

The letter you carry -- carefully folded in your chest pocket -- is time-sensitive. And the address it bids you travel to is far from this harbor town. Isolated. You linger. You could delay your trip for a day, perhaps two. 

You leave the open door behind. Guided, as always, by the chilled hand of your most holy bride.

[sicardxiv]

Vylbrand pirates are back this Summer to watch you fall off the puzzle!

[plounce]

eorzea is a land of city-states: the city of ul'dah is of the region of thanalan; gridania is of the black shroud (aka the twelveswood); limsa lominsa is of la noscea (aka vylbrand); ishgard is of coerthas. each nation has a large urban center that is also the seat of each state's military, which are in control of outlying forts in the region and supplies guards to regional towns. "borders" are rather fuzzy, seemingly mostly defined by physical landmarks/barriers (such as mountain ranges, the rhotano sea, etc) or some amount of ecological difference - the south shroud to eastern thanalan comes to mind. none of the city-states rigidly enforce their regional "borders" outside of controlling trading hubs and certain bridges and passes. even closed-off ishgard does not regulate travel into coerthas, only into ishgard the city, although their forts will look at you with suspicion and urge you away. the elementals more rigidly control the borders of the twelveswood than political maps do. the only truly geographically defined border in eorzea is baelsar's wall, harsh and metal and massive, which divides the black shroud from gyr abania.