#c: shrike delaney

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caution: will bite unprovoked

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tell me, Fury. did you ever want me-- or was my rage not good enough for you?

....no. we were doomed from the start, weren't we?

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The Bramble King comes with fangs and thorns bared, hungry for the hunt.

(art by @atram0rte)

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"The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself."

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just gonna rechristen this tumblr with a few of shrike's greatest hits

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I can see by the way you run from me that I'm not your perfect fairy tale.

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Even for me, life had its gleams of sunshine.

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from a current scene--

"I once had a lordling talk uninterrupted for three hours straight while I sketched him." Shrike glanced up from her page, upon which a few lines already took shape, and raised an amused brow at them. "His topic of choice was his racing chocobo, and how unfair it was that nobody wished to breed with such a fine, feathered specimen."

Her pencil moved across the paper with easy familiarity, the shape of Frances's face appearing as she replied. "You'd think the man took it as a personal slight against his own virility." A pause, then a shrug. "He probably did."

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ishgard is in her veins, whether she likes it or not.

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-Her nails were short, the black polish on them worn and chipped, but there was a sharpness to their tips, as if maybe they dreamt of being claws.

-------

-My King, he calls her. My Bramble King, he titles her. "Mon Champion," she whispers in reply, for she is not strong enough to resist such open devotion.

-------

-Song filled the air, notes lifting from the violin strings in shimmering quicksilver and spreading around them both in brambled spirals. It was a violin she held, but it was a piano she played, its soft discordance forming into the waltz she so frequently heard in her dreams.

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-Ah, I am but a worm, squirming beneath a rock. Someone like me is not meant to fly. "Psh," she scoffs, resting her brow against his. "You are no worm, my darling. But I would love you even if you were, and carry you up there in my beak if need be."

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-"Much of society struggles to embrace those who do not conform, whether by choice or circumstance." She turned her head back towards him, shrugging as she gave him a crooked smile. "Much of society is, of course, a collective idiot."

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-She stares at him, brows raised, for a long moment as her mind tries to wrap around the concept of a ‘door-to-door salesman’. The very notion makes her skin crawl- going up to strangers’ houses? And trying to be charismatic enough to get them to buy something? What an absolute nightmare.

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-What's a louche? "Originally," she hummed softly into his ear as she opened one of the bottles and poured a generous amount into each glass, "it referred to the worst kind of trouble. The kind that would ruin your reputation if you indulged too much in it." She chuckled, low and husky and still close to his ear, one hand sliding softly onto his shoulder for balance she didn't really need.

"Fitting, then, that they chose to adapt the word for absinthe and its preparation ritual," she continued as she placed a spoon atop each of the glasses, and then a sugar cube on each of those. "Absinthe was the artist's drink, after all. The poet's, the harlot's, the madman's." Now she reached for the water carafe, her dark hair falling forward around him. "It's little wonder I'm drawn to it, hm?"

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The wolf plops down onto its haunches with a huff-- and by the time she's situated, Shrike is her lanky self once more. With a wave of one thorn-clawed hand, she sets lilies to blooming throughout her brambles, their perfume thick and heady enough to cut at least some of the rotting smell. She plunges her other hand into the loam, quicksilver roots spreading from her fingertips that set to work soaking up the old blood stench. While hardly adverse to a sanguine perfume, she much prefers it to be fresh.

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“Miss Delaney.” 

The chaplain’s stern voice cracked through the air like a whip, sending a quiet titter throughout the rest of the class. Shrike startled in her seat, her quill streaking across her paper, ruining the sketch she’d been working on instead of paying attention to whatever screed about wicked, wicked dragons Mssr. Angevine had been in the middle of before he interrupted himself to scold her.

“Perhaps you would care to turn your attention to the important lesson at hand, before I have to send word of your behavior to your father?.” There were the amused whispers again. She refused to give her fellow students any reaction, choosing instead to stare mulishly up at her teacher, her sharp features a contrast to the soft wrinkles that lined his pious face. Silence. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction either.

“You try my patience, Miss Delaney,” Mssr. Angevine said with a long-suffering sigh. Long legs brought him to her desk in just a few strides across the cramped, rundown classroom. “Let me see what you consider more important than the Enchiridion.” He snatched up her paper with surprising speed- Shrike only had time enough to grimace, knowing exactly what was about to come her way.

Grey eyes scanned her paper, Angevine’s brows rising higher and higher the longer he looked at the lush drawings that littered the margins of her half-hearted history notes. Parted lips, fanged smiles, sparkling eyes, clawed fingers pressing into soft skin-- all perfectly innocent figure studies in theory, but only if you weren’t a devoted servant of the Fury. 

“Miss Delaney,” Angevine said again, his voice high and cold now. This third utterance of her name had her squirming in her seat, and she cast a longing glance out the cracked window, wondering if she could just run before he could finish his next sentence. “I have turned many a blind eye to your scribblings, but I cannot- will not- permit such lewd materials to be brought into my classroom.” Spidery fingers crumpled her paper into a tiny ball, his hand shaking softly with righteous irritation. “I am afraid I will have to confiscate these--” and here he swept her inkpot and quill up and into his possession, “--until you have proven to me that you can focus on matters more proper than.......…”

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*slides onto your feed* looking for new RP partners? Me too! Here's a quick look at my main FFXIV OC:

≫ BASICS ≪

FULL NAME: Shrike Elaine Delaney

NICKNAME(S): n/a

BIRTHDAY: 31st Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon

AGE: 30

SPECIES: Hyur

GENDER: Cisgender Woman (ish)

ORIENTATION: Demi-ish Bisexual

OCCUPATION: Working Artist

FAITH: Minimal, Dismissive towards traditional Halonic practices

≫ APPEARANCE ≪

BUILD: Slender beanpole, mostly made of leg

EYE/HAIR: Black hair. One dark brown eye, one half-silver eye

VOICE: Low and husky, faint hints of an Ishgardian accent

HEIGHT: 5 fulms, 10 ilms

PIERCINGS: Ears, navel

FASHION: Swings between “starving artist” and “artistic goth”. Favors dark colors, extremely tall boots, and suspenders.

≫ BACKGROUND ≪

BIRTHPLACE: Ishgard

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Ul’dah, mostly

EDUCATION LEVEL: Some formal education, self-taught about many other things

≫ RELATIONSHIPS≪

BIRTH ORDER: Younger

SIBLINGS: Luci Delaney (older sister)

PARENTS: Phillip Delaney (deceased) and Elaine Delaney (deceased)

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): It’s complicated

≫ PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE ≪

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good/Neutral depending on the situation

JUNG: INFP - the Mediator

POSITIVE QUALITIES: Imaginative, loyal, open-minded, passionate

NEGATIVE QUALITIES: Quick-tempered, spiteful, pigheaded, reckless

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Eorzean Common, Old Elezen with an Ishgardian dialect

≫ OOC INFO ≪

Crystal/Mateus

PST timezone

Ingame/Discord RP friendly

21+

Enjoys a wide variety of RP styles

≫ BRIEF BIO≪

Born in Ishgard and raised in poverty only just above Brume-levels, Shrike spent her childhood and teen years as removed from the Dragonsong War as she could get, choosing instead to focus on her dreams of being an artist. She worked as a drawing tutor to help her father and sister make ends meet, often working for the noble families she quietly resented. One such position introduced her to a young nobleman who tried to play at being a bohemian while still being comfortably upper class. Despite her initial dislike of him, they eventually fell in love and became engaged- much to his wealthy family’s chagrin. For a brief, happy period of time, they flourished in the city’s artistic, free-thinking circles.

Ishgard being Ishgard, Edwin and Shrike eventually drew unwanted attention from the inquisitors. Edwin was killed, and his family turned the blame for his death on Shrike, who they viewed as a corrupting, heretical influence. Suddenly completely unemployable, with a target painted on her back and grieving, Shrike chose to flee the city to Gridania, where she spent most of the next decade in a greyed-out, numb state. It’s also where the strange, strong dreams began- dreams that she wrote off as her imagination trying to claw its way back to life.

Maybe she should have examined them a little closer….

A year ago, Shrike moved to Ul’dah, driven by a desire to take control of her life again and reclaim the vibrancy she’d once had. Things were going well, even if she was still made her living via the financial whims of a ruling class she resented. And then...things started to unravel rather spectacularly, and now she is trying to understand a creeping power she didn’t know she had and that threatens to change her from within.

≫ PERHAPS YOU… ≪

Knew her in Ishgard, or know of the lingering resentment Edwin’s family still holds for her

Have commissioned work from her/hired her as a tutor

Met her through various artistic social circles in Gridania or Ul’dah

Have a sensitivity to odd aether and recognize something is amiss with hers

You can find more info at her carrd. Feel free to send me a message if anything here's struck your fancy!

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Raise your hands if you're ready for that Sharlayan suspenders look to hit the game, because I sure am.

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Lovely Shrike art by CatBatStudios!

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random character facts

Abilities/Talents: Artist (primarily charcoals, oil paints, and pens), singing (though she's shy about it), a fair dancer, lock-picking (don't tell anyone)

Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true (good and neutral depend on the situation and people involved)

Religion: Vague lip service to the Twelve without any real devotion behind it, though she has a growing respect for Nald'thal. Especially dismissive towards the Holy See and any who remain slavishly devoted to the old religious traditions of Ishgard.

Sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

Languages: Eorzean Common, Old Elezen with an Ishgardian dialect Family: Luci Delaney (older sister, alive), Phillip Delaney (father, deceased), Elaine Delaney (mother, deceased)

Friends: Eurynine Dyvoire, Hyacinthe Phodovond, Adrienne Lionente, Kaethlan Kha, Laralhan Nazari, Avellene D'Argente

Sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual (sorta)/ asexual / unsure / other

Relationship Status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet /it’s complicated

Libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

Hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black Eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other Skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

Height: 5'10″

Scars: Nothing out of the ordinary, left eye is slowly turning bright silver

dogs or cats | birds or bugs | snakes or spiders | coffee or tea | ice cream or cake | fruits or vegetables | sandwich or soup | magic or melee | sword, dagger, or bow | summer or winter | spring or autumn | past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

The Dream | A Star-Crossed Wasteland - both by In This Moment

Death - White Lies

Come and Get Me - Sleeping Wolf

Edith's Theme - Fernando Velazquez