#dunrai dazkar

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #12: Quarry

Twi left, leaving Aya to his thoughts. The books and papers in his office were neatly put away, fingers brushing over the bindings to make sure everything was in order as it should be.  Satisfied that the raised markers he put on the books to make it easier for him to find them were in order, he left the small space to climb the narrow stairs that lead up into the attic. The stairs were hidden and only accessible if one was keyed into the security system set up in the house. Anyone with working eyes, even him, could tell that there was an upper floor to the house.  But getting up there was another feat entirely, the panel covering the stairs entrance sliding back into place seamlessly once he was half way up the staircase.  It wasn’t impossible, but it was impossible to do without someone noticing.  Either the sound of breaking the panel open or the alarm would let anyone in hearing distance and then some know something was wrong.

At the top of the stairs he turned and opened another door, going into the much smaller storage area instead of the larger secondary living area.  A moment for him to get his bearings and Aya goes over to the boxes that are in a neat half circle on the ground instead of stacked up with the others.  So many things in these boxes for such a short time.  It was what?  A few months of getting to know Dunrai, then a few months on the chase to convince the Dazkar that life wasn’t worth living without taking some risks?  Then a year? Maybe a bit more of happiness before Aya was the one left behind and grieving despite Dunrai being so sure it would be him that would have the broken heart. “I loved you, even when I was angry.”, the rough whisper loud to Aya’s horns in the small space. “But damn was I angry when you left.  You made me promise to come back from the island and I did.  But damn you for not promising the same when you left on the hunt, for not coming back, for..”  Squeezing his eyes shut the man makes a frustrated sound, tempted to take his emotions out on the boxes around him.  But who would clean it up again?  He couldn’t, not easily.  And today proved that the contents of the boxes were still useful, worth keeping despite the pain.  “Was it even you when you left? Or was it that silver eyed bi...”  No, he couldn’t say it, some of the Uyagir superstitions sticking to him more than he realized.  To call a goddess a bitch was to tempt fate, particularly when he’s heard the laughter of others in his horns far too often.  They listened and he loved them even if he hated the one that took Dunrai from him.  The supposed hunt didn’t even work, Aya still having to deal with Anil when it was all said and done.  “Pointless...”  Sorrow weighed heavier than anger now, Aya kneeling down to start putting the boxes away. If some of them had damp spots on them once they were in place, well no one would ever know. 

[pixelsheen]

Two warm-up sketches done for friends!

[yzareenxiv]

A warm-up sketch done for @dunrai-ffxiv!

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt #25: Trust

Four years, maybe five. There was an odd finality in the number, made all the less comforting for the roughness of the estimate. It lie squarely in the awkward range between soon to arrive and the distant future, a hazy middle ground of far and near. Disorienting, in a way. In four years, maybe five, Michishio's attendant would be dead.

It was an odd feeling, almost hollow. It wasn't quite so tender as the loss of a family member, and to liken it to the death of a pet was simply insulting - not that Michishio had ever had one. What was it she felt? Sadness, of a sort, but not quite sorrow. A touch of... regret wasn't the word. Dissatisfaction? To have the entirety of one's future collapsed to such a narrow span wasn't something of which she could easily conceive. She’d wondered what such a realization might be like, what thoughts it must prompt. What hopes were dashed, what resolutions made... As her thought had circled, she knew one thing for sure: to ask would be to pour salt on old wounds. Better far to let the swordswoman hold to her dignity and resolve.

And yet, she'd been pledged the young woman's blade, with the kenshi's full knowledge of what it meant. It led the fledgling lady to wonder why her servitor had agreed to the doctor's visit in the first place. Was it hope for a cure known to Eorzean medicine that Yanxian arts had yet to discover? She somehow doubted it. If she were to guess, it seemed more an odd mixture of respect for her lady's concern, simple obedience to a request and... The undeniability of hearing it directly from a physician. Her friend Dunrai, who'd seen them in the cellar of his own home, offered them home-made sweets before the consultation, and quietly excused himself after delivering the news to fetch them glasses of water. He'd stayed upstairs, Michishio noted with gratitude, quite a spell longer than the simple task required.

So then, what to do with this news? On the vanishingly small chance the Sakanoue laid claim to whatever ancestral land they may or may not have, the Ashina would of course be granted a portion for faithful service. That was simply a matter of course. Yet with the future winnowed down to less than half a decade's time, even should the prize be won, would any claim it? Should she... comfort the young woman? Ask her thoughts? It seemed inappropriate, somehow, a belittling of her resolve. To question her strength might lead it to falter. Some burdens were borne purely out of the refusal to yield, and to invite her to lay it down may only make it that much harder to shoulder once more when the time came. No, she would speak of it if she wished, and Michisio would listen. If she did not, her lady must simply accept on faith that Ashina-no-Tomoe bore it as nobly as she may.

With such a short span left, surely none could question the resolve that guided her blade; this, Michishio saw plainly. Her motive, however, remained uncertain. Tomoe had appeared out of nowhere having tracked a newly-minted noblewoman clear to Vylbrand, swore allegiance to a house and to a lady that she'd clearly ill understood despite there being, so far as Michishio was aware, a perfectly acceptable alternative... Not to mention conveniently when the house had most needed additional hands. It was either the providence of the heavens or a supremely calculated gesture, and she knew not which. She'd like to trust the impish-and-earnest by turns young lady, but too much trust was a dangerous thing. There were few indeed that Michishio truly trusted. She'd like to perhaps even be friends with the effervescent kenshi as she seemed to so sincerely desire, but friendship required trust and that was one thing kept hoarded close.

Was Ashina a tool, soon to face expiry? It was almost too cruel to contemplate, and yet to be soft-hearted now might cause everything to crumble before it had even begun. Too often, Michishio's duty called her to be counter to her own inclinations, and without fail she answered the call to ignore the now-feeble protests of her gentler nature. If only there were some way to be sure of loyalty, to test it without threatening to destroy the fragile bonds already forged... But there was not. Tomoe was dying, and that an honest soul might be buried never having gained the faith of her lady was a barb set at Michishio's heart.

Dunrai had gently asked Tomoe to stand across the room from the crib when Michishio had gone to say goodbye to his children, lest her sickness spread to those not yet hardy enough to resist. She'd understood, but the blue eyes that followed from the other side carried far more weight than the swaddled babe Michishio gently lifted from repose. When it came the elder daughter's turn for her goodbye hug from 'auntie,' the Raen held the precocious Xaela child just a bit more tightly, just a moment longer than she might have otherwise - for herself and for Tomoe.

((Tomoe @t-ashina , Dunrai @dunrai-ffxiv ))

[aveis-the-red]

Prompt #10: Foster

( Mentions Ayanga/Khenbish, Dunrai and Tolemy) She didn’t tell them that she had been sleeping poorly. She hadn’t meant to blurt out that she and Astorin had parted ways, but everything had been stuck in her throat and pushing at her teeth, like hot bile from an empty stomach. The evening had been relaxed and fun and she was able to not think about how empty and cold her house felt now that she was alone. How was it that everything she had managed to stuff down managed to find its way back up and spat out like some sort of bitter medicine?  I’m okay, aren’t I? It’s like Kera said. We were a bad pattern that couldn’t translate to fabric. Sometimes things don’t work out. Why does this make me feel out of sorts? Those were feelings she didn’t want to foster. Aveis simply wanted to move ahead. But here she was, in bed between Dunrai and Khen, where the sheets were warm and there was the lulling sounds of heartbeats, breathing and shifting bodies. It was almost shameful how quickly she fell asleep with the relaxing weight of Khen’s tail over her thighs.  Not even Mede’s cries made her stir. 

Aveis woke up mid-morning with the room still dark and the bed cold. She idly rubbed at her face as she sat up and stayed sitting. It wasn’t enough. There was no way she could get up. Plus she wanted the escape from all the jarring notions and the uncertainty.  Did I not try hard enough? Am I too fucked up? What made me a bad girlfriend? I didn’t want it in the first place, and I gave it a try, and I -enjoyed- it but now...is it really better to just be alone? I have family. I don’t need relationships. ...right?     Groaning, the redhead fell back into bed and covered her head with the sheets, rolling onto her side. It was then she heard the bedroom door open, but Aveis was bound and determined to pretend to be asleep so she didn’t have to face anything just yet.  She didn’t move as she felt the sheets raise and weight settle in next to her. Loud purring filled the air. Oh right, Tolemy sleeps during the day. The thoughts eating at her eased as there was suddenly a tail curled around her, and she slowly smiled.  “You always know what to do, golden boy...”  With that, she let herself drift off to sleep again. 

[egg-of-mankhad]

Finished commission for two gaylas <3 

Dunrai belongs to @dunrai-ffxiv , Ayanga belongs to @talesfromthegameff14 !

View the full version HERE

[talesfromthegameff14]

@dunrai-ffxiv You know why...

“Scars on your body show that you have lived; scars on your heart show that you have loved.”

— Nina Dul

[ala-mhinyan]

Grief ( Part 2 )

{{ TW: Misgendering/Deadnaming }}

“Th’tribe calls. I will retuhn lateah, Sajanavaa.”

The sharp glint of crimson catches the corner of C’tolemy’s eyes and he can’t help a faint smile, knowing it is fairly late and the Uyagir had been half-dozing, half-asleep regardless. Dressed fully in the dark leathers of his traditional tribe scouting attire, he gives the man a faint smile and wanders in close—leaning over the bed and covers to press a kiss to those dark lips, murmuring soft words of affection between the both of them.

“Be safe.”

“I will.”

He circles along the edge of the bed to the other side, pressing a kiss to the open mouth of a very snoring Dunrai—nuzzling in against the man’s cheek to whisper those same soft words of affection he’d given Ayanga. The Dazkar wouldn’t wake up, he never did, but it didn’t feel right to leave without telling them both he’d be back later even if only one heard him. He pulled away from Dunrai and pivoted, heading out of their bedroom—up the stairs and out of their home with sure steps.

It wasn’t until he closed the door behind him and engaged the locks with their appropriate security system that he felt a very real, very human chill ride up his spine.

Traveling to Ala Gannha was routine for him these days, a well woven spell to teleport him to the aetheryte waiting in the center of the tribe. He waved to the fellow Shadewalkers, kin to him to be awake in the middle of the night while the Daywalkers slept easy. His duties were done in order, as they always had been; check the ration piles, send out scouting parties, send out hunting parties, meet with the Council and the Chieftess in discussion of coming Holi, train the warrior ton that needed his aid and see to the newborn cubs. He had always been enthusiastic with his involvement in the tribe and no was no different. Once his duties had been completed—his golden eyes found the twinkling night sky, moon overhead and nodded. It was time.

The Seeker gave the guard most familiar with his ‘routine’ vanishings from the tribe a tip of his chin and the woman nodded, pretending abruptly like he was never there as he escaped from view and into the night. Traveling across the desert sand was easy and welcome—the familiar sting of chilled air in bone enough to keep his nerves from going awry.

This was worth it. All he had to do was remind himself.

. . .

The final slap of skin on stone and a grunt of effort ended with this bulky man on his knees but successfully having climbed the cliff-face hiding the beauty known as the Arms of Meed; a suspended platform floating in the middle of a lake with a tree having grown in the middle of it. Home to the heart of despondent Fists of Rhalgr and a hiding place for the Coeurl when none were supposed to find them.

Waiting for him in the center of the largest platform was C’sah; his birth mother by blood and the very same woman that had abandoned him and gave over his training to a monster in more than just name. Deep golden eyes shone with equal parts pride and plain disgust as she watched her dau—son, vault over the edge of the cliff and onto the edge of the platform. He was beautiful as she was, agile like she was, smart like she was—but he had the blood of Ankobia in him and that is what made her turn her nose up in disgust.

<“C’aziza.”>

<“I will not stand here and be insulted.”> C’sah draws in a sharp breath, brows furrowing—of all of the ungrateful... <“I have little time or patience for your games. C’tolemy, nothing more, nothing less.”>

The older woman exhales slowly, patting down the flames of her growing temper and nods. <“My apologies, C’tolemy. You called me to discu—”>

<”Why do you want me to be the next Dead Witch?”>

C’sah bristles again, taking a longer moment to truly tamper down that building plume of aggression skittering along the base of her spine. Not only was her daughter ugly as sin, while beautiful at the same time, she had lost all of her manners during her grieving from C’ajnee. That just won’t do, she had invested so much time and energy into training this woman to be the perfect replacement for Dead Witch and she’d be damned if she’d let her own experiment ruin it.

<”You are the only one that can handle the immense power that comes with this burden. It is not an easy burden to bear to see, hear, taste, smell and feel the dead—but you can do it. You walk closer to death—more so than I. You’d be a better Witch than I ever was.”>

<”And if I do not want to be this?”>

<”It will find its way to the next person that can carry the weight. And then the next and the next and the next. The easiest way to control who uses such power is to pass it on with our children—so the ones before can teach them what they need to know to wield this responsibly.”> The older woman gestures to the entirety of the Seeker before her. <”You already taste death intimately. It would not be too far of a reach to taste it all.”>

C’tolemy grimaces, the prospect of holding more power doing nothing to convince him to want this. Power was never the goal, never a desire—he wants peace. He wants understanding. He wants a family and just enough strength to protect what he has. Nothing more, nothing less. C’sah sees the grimace, her small ears pressing back into her hair.

<”Do not tell me you want for little?”>

He merely shrugs, <”I will not be found wanting. I have all I need. That which I want is nothing you offer.”>

Anger bursts like a crag in her heart, aggravation tinging the tone in which she speaks as she glares at the man in front of her. <”Don’t tell me the tribe has filled your head with nonsense about how wanting will do nothing but bring you tragedy!? That is nothing but brainwashing to keep you from wanting goals! A life! What you deserve! What you were BORN to do!”>

Tired golden eyes rest on his mother, giving her a crooked edge of a smile. <”It was the tribe that dug the grave and Kushal that filled it. If you want to blame anyone, blame the man you gave me to.”>

C’sah bit at her bottom lip, curling her claws inward to seat into the meat of her palm. <”C’ajnee was supposed to train you.”>

<”Kushal did exactly as you asked him to. He trained me every single day to toss aside every single want I could have had in my body, mind and soul. I was trained to listen to commands. Trained to be good. Trained to be the best. The perfect hunting hound—a wolf in the night. I don’t care about my well being. I don’t care about my future. I don’t care about anything but obeying orders to their fullest and protecting what is mine.”>

Everything about that statement had done nothing but make her elated beyond normal measures—all of it, until that final bit of his sentence. That made her stare at him in confusion, tilting her head.

<”What is yours?”>

C’tolemy’s crooked smile shifts to a small smile, the look of madness in his eyes taking over as he falls into emotions too strong to hold back. <”That’s right. What is mine. People. Things. Hopes and dreams. Emotions. What belongs to me, what I’ve taken in blood and sweat and tears and clawed onto with a shredded heart and little sense—What is mine.”>

No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to be. C’aziza was supposed to have zero ambition, no survival instincts outside of orders given and complete, utter surrender to those that gave her orders. There was to be no want but the want to please. No wants. No dreams. No hopes. No desire to fight back or rebel. Nothing but a rigid, mindless dog.

C’ajnee had failed her.

Clicking her tongue, she spreads her hands out before him. <”You can continue to protect what is yours. I want none of it.”>

That jostles a laugh from deep inside of his chest, unhinged and shuddering. <”You lie just like Kushal did. He must have gotten it from you. You have nothing I want, Witch. You’ve proved that to me.”>

He turns on his heel and prepares to vault back over the broken bridge to the cliff-face.

<”Wait!”>

A pause.

<”What if… What if I can give you back what you lost?”>

Just one last time.

<”What… What if I can give you C’ajnee?”>

[ Part 1 ]

[talesfromthegameff14]

Rest

[Warning: PTSD themes, disassociation] 

Slowly, Ayanga made his way up the stairs from the basement to the second floor.  It seemed to take forever, trudging up one stair at a time like this.  He was too unsteady take the stairs as he usually did, running up them two at a time.  Exhaustion from hanging onto the present by the tips of his claws showing in the slump of his shoulders and how he watched his feet. Each step taken far too carefully, even meticulously as he climbed upward.  The past lurked close, peering over his shoulder waiting for a single stumble to pull him back into it and never let go.  He had too much to do to risk that, so he moved carefully avoiding the thoughts that would push him back over that edge.   As careful as he was, guilt followed each heavy step, the dense grey fog of his thoughts swirling about him unseen to any but himself.  He should be downstairs helping Dunrai, reassuring C’tolemy, digging into the wisdom entrusted to him to help soothe and heal the bleeding heart wounds he was walking away from.  Try as he might, Ayanga couldn’t find the right words this time.  Where they should have been was only a swirl of silver.  The impenetrable mist hiding what was so close from view, keeping it just out of reach.   It was troubling, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.  

Gooseflesh pebbled his skin as he went through his bedtime routine by rote, oblivious to the warmth of the early summer night.  Strip, put the clothes away, wash up, comb and braid the hair, then finally climb into bed and fall into place to hope that sleep would come.  Instead, the fog silently billowed around him, numbing his heart to the soft sounds of someone crying from the wounds Ayanga left unattended.  

Twin pairs of youthful, almond shaped brown eyes watched him through the fog.  It was that way more nights than it wasn’t, sometimes they were curious, sometimes they were accusing, sometimes sad.  Tonight, they were watchful and blissfully distant, as equally hampered by the weight of the grey as he was. It was a small comfort, leaving behind a strange sense of safety in the isolation from the storm that was at the center of his soul.  There was no burden of past mistakes, there was no joy, no love, but there was also no pain.   Instead, there was distance. Distance from the cacophony of emotion that normally followed the path of his life that danced within his mind's eye.  Shrouded by the fog, the memories had no bite.  It was like reading a story.  The tale was yet unfinished, but what was written laid the the triumphs bare and the failures open to dissect.  So easy to note where something could have been done differently to change the path taken, yet it was etched in stone, relentlessly marching forward to this point where there was nothing but the soft chill of unyielding apathy.   It was good this place. Quiet and numb, a last sanctuary against the cracks that came from a warrior trying to adapt to the routine of a normal life.  Peace came with the isolation, allowing the over-alert mind to finally fall from the weight of what was carried.  It was time to rest.   [ Dunrai owned by @dunrai-ffxiv C’tolemy owned by @ala-mhinyan ]

[songsofbloodandfire]

Travail

(Warnings about labor and delivery ahead.)

Labor came not in a hurried mess, but with a quiet restlessness. Sana woke that morning feeling unsettled, unable to stay resting like most of those surrounding her would have liked. She fussed around the house, doing the little things she could here and there. Anything to help ease the discomfort of restlessness. 

She could feel something wasn't normal, something had her one edge and it wasn't until part way through the day she recognized the little signs for what they were. Six years was a long time but she could remember the same sense of unease and discomfort from her first son. And it brought a wave a fear with it. She was ready to have her body back but labor had been hard on her the first time. Hearing of Zareen's close brush after complications delivering her own twins had Sana even more anxious about her own impending delivery. 

The pain of the first true contraction took her hard and sudden, stealing her breath and forcing her to stop misstep. Everything narrowed to that moment in time. Each breath. Each heartbeat. Even the ever present ebb and flow of aether gave her something to focus on, to cling to as she allowed her body to ride out the pain. 

Though she was calm as she spoke, she felt anything but. "The twins are coming." 

Those four simple words held a weight to them as they were the heralds of lives about to be irrevocably changed. The fact that the two young souls she carried had no concept of the change and controlled chaos they were about to unleash was not lost on A'sana. 

Each new set of contractions brought more pain but they also brought more reassurance. So many had surrounded her, to aid as they could and comfort her when that was all to be had. Her mates, her brothers and sisters, her family all rose to the occasion. Even Brem's parents had come to welcome their newest grandchildren. 

Each took their turns keeping Sana distracted and as relaxed as possible. Dunrai entertained her with stories from the Dazkar, of Nhaama and Azim and of the land she had only seen bits and pieces of. Zareen sang with her, her sister’s beautiful voice carrying over the linkshell, there in mind and spirit but my physically as she recovered from the births of her own daughters. Her mates worried and fussed but added to the love and support that surrounded her. 

Labor hadn't been kind to Sana the first time around and she had hoped this time would be different. Hours passed and her progress was slow and difficult. Each little bit of ground made was done so with great effort. It wasn't until the labor had progressed late into the morning of the next day that Dunrai had truly begun to show any signs of real anxiety over the slow progress and Sana's growing exhaustion. Though he hid it, that anxiety made her worry though it was distant in her fatigued state. 

Everything came in waves. The little tension of her muscles before the pain would come, the release and then the ebb of exhaustion. At first she had been responsive and alert after each contraction but it had grown to the point where Sana felt as if she was in a trance, barely connected to her body let alone the waking world when the contractions freed her.

Herbs helped ease some of the pain and quicken the labor but it didn't help ease the exhaustion that complicated the already difficult labor. It was a fight to rally enough to push, to keep herself connected so she could bring her sons into the world. 

When the first came, it took her a few moments to realize the quiet at first. The almost unnerving silence stirred her some from the daze of exhaustion, adrenaline and endorphins. While she couldn’t see what was happening, the few others present in the room could. Sana’s water had never broken and the first of the twins, a perfect if small little boy, had been born still cocooned within the protective hold of those waters. The odd moment of silence was broken as the delayed waters fell to the floor, moments later the breathy wail of the little boy following. Tiny and perfectly formed, the green haired little boy was settled on Sana’s chest, and for a moment everything narrowed to him for her. Nothing else existed for a moment. Not her exhaustion. Not the continued pain of contractions as her body readied for the second child. Not even the voices of the others. The beautiful little boy with ears a touch to big for him, a stub of a tail and soft patches of dark scales had her entire attention as a soft, happy sob left her. Even as she began to process the birth of the first twin, he was taken to be cleaned and tended so she could focus on the still no going birth. She wanted to call out, wanting to beg for him to be brought back, but between exhaustion and the pain of contraction, she couldn’t find her voice. All that came was a hoarse, broken cry as her body struggled to give birth to the second twin. Minutes passed and once again she’d fallen back into the rhythm of drifting weightlessly in trance in between the waves of pain and exhaustion. Only distantly was she aware something wasn’t right. Labor had taken too much of a toll and had stalled with the second twin. What little strength she could rally again wasn’t enough without help. The soulstone at her wrist was hot against her skin, formless voices whispering to her, encouraging her even as those physically present murmured words of encouragement. It took everything she had to help push with Dunrai’s gentle and skilled hands helping guide the second child into the world. Silence followed his arrival as it had his brother’s but Sana was too far gone to focus on it. The second boy, like the first, was still cradled in the waters that had carried him all these months. Rare enough for it to happen once, but for both twins to be born in a shroud was even rarer. An omen, but of what was to be seen. Sana floated in the odd space between waking and the yawning void that threatened to take her, only barely aware enough to mumble in response to questions about her own state of being. Was she ok? Was she in pain? Anything to try and pull her back to reality. The last thing she was aware of was her father’s voice in that void. I’m proud of you, ibina...my daughter.

It took time for Sana to come around, coaxed and helped along with things to help bolster her flagging strength. She was fine. Worn from the hours of travailing but safe and sound and in need of a true rest, but not before she’d had a chance to properly meet both of the twins she’d held within her for so long. Small and perfect, they had been cleaned and quieted while she had been tended to. The green haired elder boy and the red haired younger boy. They seemed so tiny in her arms despite how big they’d felt when she’d been carrying them in her womb in the days previously. She wept, not in sorrow, but in happiness. Tiny and perfect, untouched by the fears and worries that came from the warnings given about her failing tribe. They were perfect. She carried that thought with her as they were taken away after a short time so she could rest. There would be time to bond with them further, to celebrate in her own way the beauty of their living. For now, she carried the happiness and relief of her perfect children into the abyss of sleep to rest and prepare to start her life as a mother surrounded by the love of her family. 

(A special thanks to @talesfromthegameff14 @eyesofsteelandsky @dunrai-ffxiv, @ala-mhinyan @yzareenxiv , Delesta and Arden for being patient with me through the rp process of Sana being pregnant. I love you all and look for to more rp adventures with you all!)

[talesfromthegameff14]

@dunrai-ffxiv Yes, this.

[yzareenxiv]

A Breath of Peace

She hadn’t realized she was singing until one of her neighbors walked by and smiled at her. The sun was warm and bright and Zareen was seated on a cushion in the garden, tending to the precious plants that Arha had planted. The spring sunshine had them growing in profusion and she had left them a little too long, so she had her work cut out with pruning and trimming and weeding. The sun felt good on her face as she tilted it back and the scent of flowers filled the air, mingling with the smell of the sea.

One of the twins shifted inside her and she laughed, and the sound was good. It was genuine.

As the miqo’te bent over the swell of her belly- only three and a half more moons to go, if that- she began singing her soft, happy tune once more.

Inside, Zareen looked around the house and felt a strange sensation- a desire to change and shift things. To gather more softness. To make the house somehow *warmer*. It would have to wait for Arden to get home to do the big things, and she would have to visit the markets to find what she needed. Plans made, she headed upstairs to bathe. Nude, floating comfortably in the bath, half-dozing, the woman felt her mind beginning to drift over the last few months.

She’d been so angry… for moons, she had been angry. Riding the line of rage until she had been exhausted, resting fitfully, then furious again. Small releases had come here and there, hunts, the rope, arguments that were never fierce enough to truly release the pressure but gave her just enough peace to think clearly. Her body had felt like a betrayal- exhausted, unwieldy, painful, sick. She’d never truly been sick in her life beyond the minor cold she caught the first time she’d visited Coerthas. Injured, yes, but sick to the point of sobbing over the basin- never that.

It had caused a hatred that pierced her heart, directed at the two innocent lives growing in her belly. Intruders. Parasites. She’d despised them with a ferocity that had left her awake and trembling in fear of herself- what if they felt it? What if… what if her body rejected them because of it? Even as she had hated them, hated the changes to her body that growing them had caused, she loved them. They were desperately wanted- a product of love that she, even still, did not truly believe she deserved.

In the midst of it all, right as the sickness was beginning to taper away and she was beginning to notice the softness of her skin, the thick healthiness of her hair, the energy that was returning, right as she was starting to accept it all… Arha had bared her heart. And Zareen had tumbled back into an intense self-hatred. One that she could not show, not with Arden heartsick and falling to pieces. His pain was more immediate than her own, for she knew he was still in deep mourning over what the Garleans had done to A’rsinoe’s children. So, she’d locked away all that sickening tarry darkness in a place deep inside the chambers of her heart, barred the door on it, and stood steady in the storm. She’d guided her mate to a place where he could find a margin of peace. She’d allowed herself to sob in his arms and even cracked the door to that dark place inside her, for him.

And through it all, she’d kept faith. She had to. Without it, she would have vanished into the wilds and prayed that Arden and Arha found comfort in the arms of one of their lovers. Given Arden his cubs when they were born and simply...become the monster. It had been tempting- she’d whispered the truth to Ayanga once as if offering him something with her eyes closed, something she couldn’t bear to face. He had helped her- and she had helped him in return, to confront the shadows. To find a little balance in the dance.

Zareen wasn’t certain exactly what had changed- or when. Part of it had been the argument with Ayanga, Dunrai, and Arden. The sight and scent of lilacs. The reminder of seasons changing. The promises they’d dragged from her despite her attempts to drive them away.

Part of it had been seeing Arha again for the first time after the fight. Her scent, the brush of her lips, the touch of her fingertips and the sound of her voice. It had been a ray of light, of hope, when her faith was guttering.

Part of it had been Ayanga, challenging her, chiding her, comforting her as she had wept and admitted her fears of her own monstrosity.

Mostly, it had been Arden. Their arguments, the night with the rum, the day when he had gazed at her with such coldness in his eye... each had been a slap in the face that brought her up from the depths of her selfish ruminations. Her snarls, his snaps, then...peace between them. Tears shed. The huge man touching her not as though she was made of glass, but as though she was crafted from gold. His voice, rough with emotion, speaking of pain and love and hope. Hope for the future. Forgiveness.

Peace.

It was still a foreign word and a foreign concept. But it had such poetry to it. Such possibility. Not for her- she knew better than this. Peace would drive her mad until she created war just to give herself some outlet to burn. But her cubs? Maybe. Maybe peace would be something she could give them. Something *they* could give them. Letting go of the hatred in the face of that possibility had happened without her even realizing it. A light had ignited inside her again. Irrepressible, the Jaguar had once more found her footing on the edge of the blade she ever danced on, and for a wonder her steps were light and her lips were curved into a smile.

It was good to be happy. It was hard, and it was scary, but it was good.

As she gazed up at the ceiling from the warmth of the bath, aches and pains eased away by the water, the miqo’te began to sing again, a soft, wordless tune meant for the cubs inside her, carrying this fleeting joy to them.

(( Tagging for mentions: @ala-mhinyan, @eyespywithmyoneeyegtfo, @talesfromthegameff14, @dunrai-ffxiv ))

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt #16: Bond (Makeup)

The little ring turned around, around, around, the sparkling gemstone set in its delicate band throwing rainbowed hues as it went. Michishio had heard of diamonds, but hadn't had the opportunity to see one until now. Now, she had one of her own and the promise that accompanied it.

She wasn't sure how she'd be received when, quite stubbornly, she'd requested an engagement ring for a nameday present. After over a sennight insisting she didn't need anything and her nameday ought not be celebrated, her fiancé had abruptly turned the tables on her by insisting their friends might be offended if they discovered she'd had a nameday to which they were not invited. Were namedays such important events here? She suspected he was merely pushing her buttons, something he'd become distressingly adept at, but couldn't discount that he might be right. Even now, nearly two years in Eorzea, she encountered little customs and quirks of culture that caught her by surprise. She'd acquiesced, grudgingly, and penned invitation letters on the condition that gifts were not to be brought by anyone, and attendance was not at all expected.

Several guests had ignored her request and brought gifts anyway. Dunrai, a member of the militia and sometimes-cooking-instructor, had brought an absolutely mouthwatering Steppe dish he referred to as Buuz... Although that was less a gift and more the act of a consummately considerate guest. Miyasuke, her employer... friend? She pushed the thought away. No, that was arrogant to assume. Her employer, with whom she was on friendly terms, had brought a flower vase whimsically crafted to look like a subspecies of mandragora. Some time earlier, she'd also gifted Michisio with a wall lantern surmounted by a jauntily perched porcelain otter. The Raen was never quite certain if it was Miyasuke's tastes that ran towards the unapologetically cute, or if she'd somehow divined Michishio's did.

She held her hand up to the lantern now, wiggling the ring back and forth to throw sparkling motes of light. She was being stupid, and she didn't care. She was alone, she was allowed. Wearing such a flashy thing perfectly suited the loud, at times ostentatious culture of Eorzea and it seemed to the Easterner almost pompously immodest. Were not weddings to be quiet affairs between friends and family? And yet, she felt she understood the tradition. It would be inexcusably shameless to go boasting over such a thing, yet if she were not permitted to shout her happiness then her finger would do it for her.

A sudden weight of disgust settled into her gut. Had she just excused herself of showy pride? She had. Too long spent in Eorzea had begun to subtly erode some of her more delicate sensibilities, a trend which was beginning to worry her. Already she'd begun to speak her mind too freely and too often, lulled into brazenness by those around her. She would wear the ring, it was custom. But she would stifle any unseemly pride it tempted forth. It was... a mark of association. Yes, that was alright. Pride had no place in her heart. It was a fine thing from a fine man. But wasn't thinking of her fiancé as fine a little arrogant in itself? To think somehow, she'd been chosen by - was worthy of - a man a cut above others?

Michishio sagged in her seat. It was late, she was tired, and her mind was beginning to run in circles. Besides, she'd practically thrown herself at him from the start. Or had she? His constant teasing and suggestive comments might have just been a joke, or they might have been testing her responses. She'd hardly been free from pointed comments and leading phrases herself, though for her half, it was most definitely to take his measure. Was he the slovenly lecher he strove to present himself as, or something nobler? Their friendship had begun, bizarrely, as a long and wary mutual circling and sounding-out of each other's intentions. To Michishio's pleasant surprise, he'd shown himself a considerate gentleman. A considerate gentleman with a most regrettable sense of humor.

A considerate, gentlemanly, vulgar, foolish, brave, clever, loudmouthed, maddening, handsome idiot to whom she was engaged to be married. Maybe he was still awake. Maybe he wanted tea. She sprang to her feet and padded over to the counter on the far side of the room. She didn't really care if he did or not, to be perfectly honest. He was getting some.

[aveis-the-red]

Prompt #18: Wilt

Shame ate at him. Shame and guilt and anger and frustration--it was all a horrible bile, burning his throat, building up behind his teeth. Khagatai swallowed it all. What would spitting it all out do? Hadn’t he done enough? He said such horrible things about Twi’s home tribe traditions. He fought Kindoron even after being told to rest and recover, and now he was injured again.  Twi’s face as she had yelled at them to stop was forever burned in his memory. The Kha would never forget that -he- had caused her to feel that way.  He felt like half of a man as he walked up to the house his brother shared with his husbands, wishing he could just be swallowed by the ground to never return. However the pain in his wrist and the rivulets of blood that ran and dripped from his fingers made his feet take him all the way to the front door. Twi had asked him not to sit hurt, and he would do as she wished.  Dunrai would be angry with him. What would Ayanga think?  Those were only more things to be troubled by as he knocked on the door and waited for a response. It was a bit surprising to see Aveis at the door and he felt his bruised swollen face turn red as he saw her rake his gaze over him. He was in his undershorts, his hair was a mess, and his face and arm were bloody--not to mention he had his sword tucked under his arm.  What kind of impression would Aveis get?  “Boy you look like shit!” the Hyur chimed, and Khagatai tucked his tail around his waist at it. “Come on in, I’ll get Dunrai.”  Following silently, he took a seat at the kitchen table at Aveis’ gesture and not putting up a fuss as she grabs a towel to wrap around his wrist. There were no more blunt words from the Ishgardian woman as she went into the kitchen to get Dunrai and take the baby from him.  As he waited for the Dazkar to come to scold and patch him up he wilted in his seat, resting his forehead on the table as his troubles swam through his head. This was not who he wanted to be.

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #26: Not a Weapon

Khen bit his bottom lip as he picked up the carving knife.  It felt odd in his hands, too small, and yet he knew it was wickedly sharp, a few red lines along the back of his hand proving that point.  Bits of discarded wood littered the table around him, frustration showing in the line of Khen’s shoulders and in his eyes as he studied the small crescent shaped piece of wood in his hand then looked at the well polished one set on a napkin close by.  They... roughly resembled each other, maybe, if one was kind.  If one was very kind and half blind and....

A heavy sigh followed and Khen put the small wooden piece down on the table, frowning as he spotted a bit of blood on it.  He turned his hand over and sure enough, another thin cut from the knife, this one along the scars on the palm of his hand.  “No wonder I didn’t feel it...”, came the muttered grumble as he got up to wash the newest cut in his quest to carve a proper pendant for Dunrai.   He was careful, testing the water on the inside of his elbow before using the hot water to wash out the cut, then whiskey, then salve to seal it up so it wouldn’t bleed more.  

That done Khen went back to it, picking up the small crescent.  It looked fragile in his hands even with as rough as the carving was.  The promises the pendent would hold seemed to be too vast for an easily broken thing, but perhaps that was the point?  The reminder that care needed to be taken or even the most cherished of bonds could break.  

That thought left Khenbish cold and he carefully put the pendant down, picking up the smaller block of wood that would become the circle that hung within the curve of the moon.  The carving of this was both easier and harder.  It was a simple circle after all, but the piece of wood was even smaller in his hands.  Hands too damaged to do fine work like this easily, but it was tradition and he was going to see it through.  

Hours passed unnoticed until finally, hands cramping and trembling from the strain, but the work was done.  It was imperfect, but the crescent was recognizable as a moon and the circle that would hang from the top arch of the crescent was more circular than oval. Barely, but it would have to do.   The wood gleamed from the careful attention of a rough cloth, then a softer one, then the softest one that when paired with the wax Dunrai provided put the final polish on the wood.  Not a single rough spot remained to mar the dark skin the pendant would rest against once the vows were said and the twined locks of hair sealed behind the stone to be set on the wood.  

There was still a single dark spot on the crescent moon, blood that soaked too deeply into the wood to be polished away.  At first it was bothersome, but considering the bond of blood he already shared with Dunrai, it was apt.  The door opened and Khen became very aware of how much time had passed while he worked.  He had thought to have this done and cleaned up before Dunrai came home, now it was too late.  

Gold eyes went from warm to troubled. The debris on the table, the first aid supplies on the counter, the mix of surprise and alarm in Khen’s expression combined together made it easy for Dunrai to put two and two together.  Silence grew as the dark skined man approached the table, reaching down to take Khen’s hands within his own.  

“I would have done this for you, Beloved.”

“I know, but I wanted to do it for you.” [Dunrai Dazkar belongs to @dunrai-ffxiv ]

[vibrantstillness]

Prompt #30: Close

Anabelle had been minding her own business, picking up a few necessities from the Seventh Sage, when she saw what she swore was a familiar sight across the walkway. With a hawkish frown, she made the turn down the path to the Bismarck. Best to make sure about these things, and maybe sometimes it was nice to see what all the city's fancy folk was eating anyroad. More than the piled plates, what caught her eye was a pair of white horns attached to a face she was certain she'd seen before. She squinted as she drew nearer, faces becoming distinct amidst the wafting aromas of fine fare. She ignored the rumbling it prompted in her stomach. Probably all too rich for her blood anyway, she was an honest woman.

Certainty clinched her gut like a vice when she reached the edge of the eatery's patio. It was that priestess from... Nag's Shaw! The one who showed up out of nowhere with some ragtag band of attendants and a story about eastern spirits getting grumpy from being up past their bedtime so she could make off with the comb! Her comb! The one proof of the Twelve looking after her she ever had in her life, whisked away by this foreign girl and her crew for a song and a week's worth of grub promised by an attendant. Assistant? Co-conspirator? The sturdy Xaela who showed up every day with the food was a handsome fella in his own way and the meals were admittedly divine, even if he got skittish whenever she turned on the charm. Some men wouldn't know a good thing if it slapped them in the face.

Still, Anabelle never could quite shake the feeling she'd gotten a raw deal - a comb that made her the fairest lady in all of Vylbrand just by brushing her hair, swapped out for a dozen steaks? She'd traded a fairy tale for lunch! And dinner. And a few breakfasts. Anyway, it didn't seem right and hells take the insistences that she'd run through its blessings and they'd all turn to curses soon. She hadn't seen a whit of it, and if not for her scaredy-cat sister... None of that was the point right now. She strode up to the little strumpet's table and folded her arms with a glare.

"Fancy meetin' you here, priest-tess," she spat.

The dining couple looked up in surprise, meal interrupted. Needed to return the comb to the east, did she? Needed to give her frail little eastern spirits their nap time? Pshaw, here she was chowing on a fancy fish steak with all the fixings, across the table from some Ul'dahn mort with a ridiculous haircut! Her fence, probably.

The woman smiled politely enough, even if her indistinguishably Eastern accent made it sound like she had a mouth half full of mush to her Roegadyn accuser. "Ek'skyus me?"

"Said you needed to nip back to Nag's Shaw or wherever! Said you was a priest-tess! Now here I find you gobblin' dainties in a fancy dress! When'd you learn to speak proper, anyhow?"

A gentle frown met her anger, the seated Raen's hazel eyes searching her own. After a long silence Anabelle was about to break herself, the smaller woman drew back with an offended glare, her voice rising in nasal indignation.

"I hav been learrning sins I was sik'steen! I am sorry if my d'ress is fancier than yourrs, but I would theink you not to becom upset about this. Nald does not feivor us all ekually."

With a dismissive snort, the Au Ra began examining her manicured nails. Why, that little- Horns or no, she was the spitting image of a spoiled merchant's wife! And that voice jangled on Anabelle's nerves, it was... different from the low, soothing melody of the priestess' voice, wasn't it? Well, voices were easy to fake. She was far from convinced.

"Anyway, you kin only afford all this 'cause you stole my comb! Where's it at, girl? You fob it off on this cove?"

The Easterner's eyebrow shot up sharply in disbelief, an unspoken question hanging in the air. It was her date who spoke first.

"Your... comb. Musta been one hell of a comb."

"It was a blessin' from Llymlaen!"

"Uh huh. You in the habit of stealin' blessings from th'Twelve, dove?"

The tanned, top-knotted man turned to his companion across the table with an infuriatingly condescending smirk. She nodded with a vapid smile and brayed a reply.

"Oh, yes! It is a thing we sneaky Easterners do all the tiym. I hav also stolen one of Thal's balls. Would you liyk to see it when we get home?"

"Left or right?"

"I was in a hurry and did not check!"

The man burst into obnoxious laughter urged on by the little thief's indulgent smile, fanning the flames of Anabelle's ire.

"Now hol' up a minute, I saw it was you, horns an' all!"

"Ah-" said the woman, one hand flying up to touch a horn self-consciously. "Darrling, som woman with horns has upset her. It must have been me. I hav horns, do I not? Or perrhaps all of us horrned people look the seim. I would not be upset wer I to fiynd you in bed with another woman. All Raen look so similar, how would you know?"

"Why, I'd know by your cute lil' nose, dove!" returned the man, leaning across the table with a wink... Completely ignoring Anabelle. She clenched her fists.

"I aren't neither blind nor dumb, an' I know what I saw! You said you was Matchy... Snow-oh or somethin', from the Valley of the Fallin' Rainbow! A priest-tess!"

The Raen stilled immediately, staring. Had she got her? A triumphant smile began to rise to the Roegadyn's face. She'd got her, dead to rights! Then the little minx burst into a fit of giggles. Maybe she hadn't got her. What in the hells was going on here?

"Th," she gasped beween snickers, "The p’riestess of the Valley of the Fallen Reinbow. Came hier. To you. To teik a comb." Her mocking little smile was subtle, yet carried the derisive weight of a hammer's blow. "Oh, oh, madam. You ar blessed. How inportant you must be!"

Anabelle reeled a half-step back. She was sure, though! They looked the damned same! Didn't they? Sure a lot of them souls from the east looked similar, but... Her train of thought derailed at a crisp clearing of the throat at her elbow. She turned to see a sternly frowning Roegadyn man in an apron.

"Beg your pardons madame, but we at the Bismarck take the dining experience of our patrons very seriously. We appreciate your enthusiasm, but unless you intend to dine, I'd like to request we not bother the Yellowjackets over this."

"Awright," she exploded. "I gotcha, right enough. Was about to choke on all the smarm, anyroad!"

The Limsan stormed off, fuming. Maybe she was wrong and maybe she wasn't, but she didn't deserve this kind of treatment either way! Leave it to Nag's Shaw spirits to make a mess of everything. At least she still had leftovers from her brief spate of popularity, so she wasn't entirely up the creek. Geraldine, her worrywart sister, had set in pressuring her to sell the velvet painting she'd commissioned while the comb was still working its magic. She'd been holding out, but maybe it was time to let it go, however fond of it she was.

The artist had taken a few... liberties, made her look like a right proper lady in ways she didn't mind at all. In fact, maybe it was best it found its way into other hands. They'd wonder who the lovely lass depicted was, dream of what a fine dame she must've been... And if it was a bit better’n than real, what of it? One day she'd be gone, the painting would still be knocking about, and it'd be as close to truth as it got. That's right, she was Anabelle, one of the few ladies who left the world a more glamorous place than she’d found it. Let that stick in the craw of that damned priestess, wherever she was.

---

@miyasukeietada Thanks for letting me borrow your NPC!