#duskwight bards

[tishinada]

Ran @rainofaugustsith 's Suvia through Brayflox hard today and had fun getting screenshots of them afterwards, celebrating victory bard-style, lol:

[thedarknesssings]

Seviere with his good bird, Lily.

[odisauv]

Odilon Sauvagerlain by @miichiyochin

[whatsthisascianbullshit]

Muireann can have one (1) edgy glam. As a treat.

[maleuswolf]

Saw this outfit and my hand slipped.

[cinlat]

Shout out to these ladies @tishinada @rainofaugustsith and Lyria for another successful hunt. The Great Hunt this time. Taking down dragon’s with the power of friendship....and brute force. A LOT of brute force.

Anyway, we decided to get out “fisherman’s picture” with our price and the cute little cat who sent us after the man eating dragon.

[memoriesofgelmorra]

When Chantelle visits Ala Mhigo and Lyse, she’ll always wake up early to enjoy the site of the Royal Menagerie in the bright sun.

Day 12: Sun

[tallbluelady]

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

1. "Chantelle" was the middle name of Rowan's original incarnation before I settled on a more consistent naming scheme (rather than Fantasy First Name, French Middle Name, Latin Based Last Name). 

It was briefly considered as an option for Rowan's name but I wanted to keep the "Ro" sound at the beginning. So now it's gonna be her birth mother's name!

2. Another thing that carried over from her original incarnation was her musicality. Though I initially rolled Lancer so I wasn't just being Elven Archer all the time, I did pick the class up as it was in Gridania as well. Then Archer became Bard and I just had to realize that I would always be drawn to Elven Archers who are musical XD.

3. I hadn't really intended for Rowan to have the Glass Pumpkin Earring and have it as such a big part of her lore until I got it in game. I just fell in love with the design and linked it with the fact that Issom-Har was a Duskwight related location and kinda went from there.

Thanks for the ask!

[avampyone]

Prompt #7: Serendipity

Characters: Ange B'londe, Olivia Desmarais

Synopsis: An unexpected meeting leaves Ange feeling conflicted for the first time in many centuries.

Setting: Ishgard, Foundation.

Warning - Some violence and blood.

-----------------------

A new city, a new venture. But Ange always held a great appreciation of the creations made from the toils of everyday life. Thus, he marveled at the high peaks of towers that formed up onto sharp spikes on high and smooth gray stone that served to fortify the city from their greatest foe. It wasn’t perfection. There were many places that bore evidence to this long struggle – The patches of cobble stone streets left in disarray and scaffoldings that seemed never to disappear with the continuous efforts of rebuilding.

The white haired Duskwight let his senses spread out to take in wonders with a purposeful stumble to his step under the pretense of too much drink. He strolled along a reckless path from the Proving Grounds to Saint Reinette’s Forum. The ends of his full red lips quirked up in amusement, long ears twitching to footsteps behind him – following him.

With a sudden forceful push against that same smooth stone he had been admiring, Ange cracked his forehead hard enough for a gush of dark blood, nearly giving the appearance of a thick black ooze trailing down from the wound. The tinted glasses he wore became lopsided in the tussle, and he sought to readjust them back onto his features to properly hide his eyes.

The anger and desperation of the man with his fist gripping tightly onto satin necktie, lifted the cool sharp blade of a dagger to ease against the long length of his neck, “Give me everything you have, or I’ll slit your throat!” He gruffly made his demand. Upon a closer look, Ange’s throat lay decorated with an intricate veiny pattern where the fabric of his fine jacket met his neck that flickered along his flesh like a wave of a moving shadow too quick for most to see. But this man would not notice. No one ever did.

“So rough darling~ Not half bad really. Afraid I am not really in the mood to play today…” A welcoming smile lined Ange’s lips even when the length of his body gave an uncanny shudder that had the man spooked and lowering his dagger ever so bit. His lips parted to give a leisure lap of his tongue along the line of dark crimson that formed down in stark contrast to the pallor of his cheek, showing off the bare hint of sharp pearly white fangs. His hand curled into a pained fist at his side, beginning to show the tips of claws peeking out puncturing through black leather gloves at the fingertips.

There was a restless pause in Ange who appeared all but ready to strike out like a coiling snake awaiting their prey. Noticing a glint of metal behind him from the point of an arrow, he suddenly shifted back more so glance curiously over to see what was going on. He had not anticipated an interruption... She had been quiet enough that not even he had heard her.

“Let him go! I shall not hesitate to shoot you if I must.” With delicate slender fingers pulling back the string, an elezen woman in a long flowing green dress was situated behind him with a glare of warning blazing dangerously in her deep blue eyes. Her long thick black hair lay wild and unbound when she had her arrow poised on Ange’s would be attacker.

Giving her a once over, the well-built man’s mocking laughter rang out in the air, “You don’t have the guts...!” Olivia’s featured remained as calm as ever when she took aim at the man’s shoulder and spared no hesitation in firing the arrow that hit its target with precision.

A shriek of pain followed loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Blinded by his pain, he rambled off curses at the bard when he stumbled off and out of sight, making threats to return. Lowering her bow, she huffed out her agitation and headed forth to grab Ange gently by the shoulders to guide him along to safety to a well-lit area near the fountain to have him take a seat.

Taking a handkerchief from her pouch with an embroidered ‘D’ at one corner, the woman of a short stature leaned down to dip the cloth in the pool of water to hand to Ange soon after with a nod, “Here, take this. The wound does not look so bad. Still, you should take better care not to walk alone at night in these parts. You are a walking target in clothes as fine as these.” She advised sternly, giving Ange a skeptical look over to deduce he was a visitor here.

Ange let himself to be caught in the strange turn of events that he was still trying to make heads or tails of and play his part as a puppet to her guidance. The line of his smile remained when he reached to take the damp cloth from her, head bobbing in awkward gratitude, “Ah, well...eheh, that was quite unexpected. I thought I was sure to be a goner. Thank you for saving me.” It came out in such cheerful sincerity- enough so to surprise Ange himself.

 Deciding to go with this new flow, Ange slowly slithered up to his full height with his black leather gloved hands coming to press together and bowing his head lowly in a respectful greeting, “I am Mr. B’londe. Ange B’londe. I am... a merchant of sorts from Sharlayan who traveled here looking for particular persons that may have a desire for my form of trade. But, given you have showed such kindness – I feel inclined to be generous.”

To the introduction, Olivia lifted her hand to push back through her long waving hair to comb her slender fingers through to make herself look more presentable, “It is my pleasure. My name is Olivia although many around here know me by my stage name Dahlia. I often come to sing at the Forgotten Knight when I can afford the time to do so.” In saying such, the woman’s blue eyes flitted around the area and the skies above as if to make sure of the time.

With a light tap of her heel against the ground below, she looked to hurry away again at any moment, “Mayhaps we can discuss this later? If all goes to plan, I will be at the Forgotten Knight on the same day next week early evening. May the Fury watch over you.” She said briskly before Oliva tucked her cape around her and head off up the stairway towards the Pillars.

“Oh, wait…you forgot this…” Ange barely got a word in before she had up and left him. Full red lips pressed together when the conflict warred within him- the hunger of his little morsel being scared away and an even worse feeling gnawing at him. The feeling of owing someone 'something'. There was nothing he could do until they spoke again. Should he even go?

Ange smoothed a hand over his suit, tucking the handkerchief neatly into his pocket when he began to saunter off in a slow walk to follow at a distance towards the reckless woman’s fleeing form. The man from earlier had given his threats – To ensure her safe return home was the least he could do for now.

[fourfoldfires]

"greystone, eh? that's a name that wouldn't sound amiss belonging to one of my people." "it's not as glorious as you might think, master belanger."

(clementain belanger, wandering duskwight bard // aveline greystone, knight of house haillenarte)

[tishinada]

Finished the second DT dungeon and got several new pieces to use for glamours. This suits Zas a little better than the one she had, and I like to have her main class as something at least partly drawn from a culture for the current expac. And I'm really happy with this one. Sadly, the light blue of the tunic isn't a dye color. Might switch the pants to red and the boots to that royal blue, though.

[velnica]

🎄 Happy Starlight 2023! ✨

Thank you for all your support this year as I expand my OC & bard boys lore. It’s been a blast and a half, so let’s have even more fun next year!

Love ~ Vel, Fjora, Cora and the bard unit

After the Final Days were thwarted and the various contingents returned home, the populace—soldiers and civilians alike—needed something positive to cling to. Not just hope on the ephemeral Warrior of Lights, but also something nearer and dearer to their heart: a return to normalcy. Thus for Starlight this year, the bard unit had been roped into performing on stage, and Sanson asked for every one of his team to join him and Guydelot.

They were supported by Fjora, Cora, and Haurchefant, who had settled—for now—in Gridania. To Sanson's shock and Guydelot's amusement, Commander Vorsaile had raised his hand to join the festivities, and who was Sanson to reject the chance for more merriment? Group assembled, they took to the stage, ready to share some Starlight cheer for one and all.

Individual photos and bio of the bard unit under the cut 💖

The following character bios are written to fit into my WoL's canon timeline and therefore will not reflect the game's information. Edit 25 Dec: I have updated some of their ages to a few years younger, to explain their absence from being conscripted at Carteneau.

Warrior of Lights:

Fjora Swiftmane: A Rava Viera of fourty-eight summers who left Golmore in search of freedom, only to find it eventually trampled under Garlean ruthlessness. She joined the Dalmascan resistance for a time, though Livia sas Junius' massacre ended her involvement. Fjora left Othard with anger and grief in her heart, and Hydaelyn's calling to be her champion was the start of her healing journey. She is an Uhlan, a heavy-infantry lancer whose skill is now augmented by her Dragoon training.

Corentin Arceneaux: A Wildwood Elezen bard of twenty-five summers, born to antique trader parents in Othard. He became a ward of Rasho and Tansui after his parents were murdered by the Garleans for being undercover Resistance financiers. Cora stayed in the Ruby Sea until the liberation of Doma, when he decided to travel with his long lost sister/close family friend Fjora. His weapon of choice is his giant Hingan bow and his magic-imbued Sanshin. At present he is entangled in some kind of strange relationship to one Hancock Fitzgerald, to whom he owes money for breaking a priceless vase in his collection.

The Twin Adder Bard unit:

Sanson Smyth: A young Midlander lancer who captains the Bard unit. He is steadfast with a strong sense of morality and justice, a trait that often puts him at odds with his Adder superiors. Yet with the support of Guydelot and Vorsaile, he vows to stay true to his conviction and lead Gridania to a better future. At twenty-two years of age, he still thinks himself inexperienced, despite the accolades that he is fast accumulating on his mantelpiece. He is in a long-term relationship with Guydelot.

Guydelot Thildonnet: A talented, wilful Wildwood bard who was infamous for his truancy and recalcitrance towards any kind of authority. In recent times he's seen a marked improvement in his attendance, and one might even say he's turned a new leaf into the straight and narrow, all under the stern command of Captain Sanson Smyth; a feat backed by the medal tally that the man cared little about. What most people do not know, however, is that the twenty-four year old bard owes this change to his genuine interest and commitment to this unit... and to Sanson himself.

Karinae Béringer: Sanson's second in command ever since he was made Captain, Karinae is a skilled Duskwight lancer who's ready to defend her friends and comrades at any moment's notice, no matter when or where. Usually you would find the twenty-three year old in the Druthers, hustling free drinks out of any poor souls with her captivating charm—except for Dietrich.

Perinnault Deschamps: A novice bard with brilliant aim and a keen sense of tempo who joined Sanson's unit before the liberation of Ala Mhigo. At twenty and one summers, the Wildwood Elezen is eager to learn everything there is about being a bard, and is improving markedly with every mission that he undertakes.

Dietrich Eltz: Despite his splendid marksmanship, the twenty year old Midlander is a sensitive soul who is prone to crying at the drop of a hat when overwhelmed. His voice had been likened to the sweetness of a spring bloom, and his good looks had won him the admiration of many; yet all he wants is to learn how to become confident in his own skill, and to be admired by the merit of his battlesongs.

Minh'to Zhwan: A twenty-three year old Keeper of the Moon lancer who was temporarily assigned to Sanson's unit just after the Ballad of Oblivion quest, Minh'to gained the utmost respect for the Captain after they survived and routed an Ixali skirmish. He asked to be transferred permanently and is now thriving under Sanson's leadership, which allows him to learn a myriad of combat skills from their joint Alliance training. He is fiercely protective of his twin sister.

Aemi Zhwan: Stuck in a rut at her previous unit with no pathway to improvement, the twenty-three year old Keeper of the Moon conjurer eventually asked for a transfer to Sanson's unit at the insistence of her twin brother just before Ghimlyt. After surviving the bloody battle, she vowed to support her newly-found comrades in any way she could, having been awed by Guydelot's prowess in the field. She was a sickly child growing up, and Minh'to stepped in to be her protector.

Dya Nakhiri: A studious conjurer, the twenty-four year old Highlander can often be found sequestering themselves in the corner of the Nest, surrounded by books on conjury and battle tactics. When the bards joined Sanson's unit, suddenly their horizon was expanded and now they are deep into research on how to better align the bards' songs with the conjurers' healing spells. Despite their stern countenance, Dya is quietly warm and welcoming once you endear yourself to them.

Supporting casts:

Haurchefant Greystone: Stolen away by accident to the First at the moment of his death by Crystal Exarch, Haurchefant had been living and training there for nigh ten years, all to better support Fjora when she finally comes to save them all. After a harrowing reunion, they decided to rekindle their relationship, though the plan went awry when Haurchefant became tempered by Fjora's absorbed Light. After an intervention by Hydaelyn before she departs, his soul becomes stable enough to be housed in a Hannish simulacrum, crafted personally as a gift for the Warrior of Light. He now travels with her and Cora, ever ready to defend his friends and family once more. Counting his time in the First, he is now thirty and eight summers old.

Vorsaile Heuloix: The High Commander of the Twin Adders is no stranger to challenging authority, a trait that had served him well during his mercenary days. Ever since the affair with Gylbarde's Journal, the thirty-five year old Wildwood had taken a shine to Sanson and his upstanding integrity and despite not being his direct superior, he's been mentoring the Captain to be his protégé—in defiance to every Adders protocol that keeps him employed. He still grimaces when people affectionately calls him 'Vorsie' though he might be warming up to the nickname at the slowest of snail's pace.

[odisauv]

[mrlarkstin]

Today I am thinking muchly about my favourite job quests and role quests- anddddd my least favourite ones so let's jump in shall we.

My top job quests in order:

Dark Knight

Bard

Scholar

Summoner

Dragoon

Reaper

Gunbreaker

Warrior

Ninja

Astrologian

Sage

Machinist

Red Mage

Black Mage

White Mage

Monk

Samurai

Dancer

Blue Mage

Paladin

Blue Mage was so close to being the worst job quests in this game simply for how grossly offensive it is to indigenous people's. I'm glad the job quests got slightly better the further you get away from ARR, but it's still not an excuse for just HOW offensive there were and the fact SE just- won't fix them. My indigenous friends hate BLU so much because of how offensive it is. And Dancer is another one that treads way to close into racism especially with the Duskwights and moon cats. Paladin takes the stage for the worst simply because it has no good parts and the quests have NOTHING to do with being a Paladin. At all. Literally nothing to do with being a Paladin. SE didn't even know what they wanted to do with Paladin and it shows.

There are only three classes in this game who's story was so bad I couldn't really find any redeeming qualities about.

Dancer, Blue Mage and Paladin.

Everything else I can tell you parts I loved and parts I hated. Those three I just hated it all from start to finish.

[sealrock]

SCOLDED.

ask meme

cw: depiction of corporal punishment

(ty for the ask @abalathia!)

The unnatural humidity clung to his hair as he sat by the riverbed. His clothes unpleasantly stuck against his skin, meaning he would have to take a long bath afterward. The now lonely moon peeked through the canopy every now and then, its white glow illuminating an old pipe held between shaky hands. The trees were silent. He scratched at the still-healing tattoo near his cheek. The evening song of cicadas, crickets, and toads grew louder as the minutes passed. Thirsty mosquitos bit into Achille's bare arms and exposed lower legs with vigor, leaving behind swelling welts as he contemplated in solitude. 

No one's around to see me, it's ok. 

Everyone else's doing it.

Nel and Nilo'ya keep making fun of me. They call me a bloody altar boy. They piss me off sometimes.

If this was so bad, why do adults smoke it? Seems to be pretty good, I'd imagine.

A warm summer night such as this, especially deep within the southern parts of the Shroud, should be spent listening to bard tales around campfires with friends and family—on any other day and not in the aftermath of an apocalypse, not hidden away in the thicket of the forest alone... Alone. That's how Achille spends most of his nights recently. His foster father, Chiron, began working evening shifts at the mines after they moved to Boughbury roughly a few moons ago to escape the permanent winter that fell upon the lands when Dalamud fell. But Boughbury was not home—home was up north, in the crisp, open space of Coerthas. Besides his two only friends, Achille hated Boughbury—and the feeling's mutual with the older locals.

Chiron wasn't due home until late into the night. Achille was independent enough to make his meals and look after the cottage, and Chiron trusted him not to make a mess of things now that he was older. Achille had his chores to keep him busy—clean Talona's pen, feed Talona, scrub the floors, wash and fold the laundry, and inventory the food stores. But menial tasks led to boredom, which quickly led to mischief, and Achille found himself leaving the relative safety of his home to partake in youthful disobedience—such as drinking, stealing, and smoking.

Achille considered robbery immoral, and drinking dulled the senses. He tried a mug of ale once, it was disgusting. His peers, those he tried to integrate with, would hurl all kinds of names at him for his perceived self-righteousness, and Achille would respond with harsher insults and physical violence. But Chiron raised Achille with concrete morals and beliefs, like a true monk he once was. Chiron refused to indulge in these activities; to indulge in the base excesses of man would be to sever the connection to the Destroyer. He raised Achille to follow the same beliefs: he must never drink, smoke, or use violence for the sake of violence. Chiron had broken the creeds in the past, and he toiled every day to make up for it.

Unfortunately, this would make Achille the target of social pressure; as the new kid on the proverbial block, Achille was an outsider looking in. Nel and Nilo'ya, fellow outcasts in the tumult hierarchy of adolescents, saw Achille as a kindred soul. They, too, followed the rules set by their elders... When they were being watched, of course. Nilo'ya, a rambunctious Keeper boy with a blinding smile, gave Achille the initiative after snatching his grandpa's smoking pipe and tobacco for Achille to try out.

While Nilo'ya tends to snort the stuff as dried snuff, he considered this to be "too easy" and that "the reward must equal the risk." Achille was reluctant at first, but after watching Nilo'ya make smoke rings as effortlessly as he skipped stones across the water, Achille was quick to change his mind. Alongside Nel, a lively Duskwight girl as tall as Chiron, they taught Achille the know-how of pipe smoking. His heart hammered in his chest with excitement, but Achille's stomach rolled with anxiety. He drew in a few deep breaths to steady his hands; Nilo'ya would cry if he were to drop his grandpa's pipe into the water and lose it. From his front pocket came out a tiny pouch of fresh tobacco; it reminded Achille of mulch.

As instructed, Achille carefully packed the bowl with at least three pinches and packed it down with his thumb. He tested the draw once, twice—it was just right. All that was left to do was light it. He took a glance behind his shoulders on the off chance there was someone nearby who could spot him. He had walked a suitable distance away from the village, and no one besides his friends knew about this particular spot in the woods. It's now or never.

He clutched the mouthpiece between his teeth as he struck the match, watching the flame sway in the light breeze of the night. His hand was still trembling as he watched the flame dance across the top layer of tobacco. He could hear Nel in his ear telling him not to inhale the smoke as soon as it hit his tongue, just let the vapors roll around in his mouth before he released. Nilo'ya said to draw in small puffs to keep the embers lit, or else he would have to relight. Achille blew out the smoke slowly. It disappeared into the night air.

Achille took another draw, and before he knew it, he was smoking as if he'd done so for years. The flavor was something to get used to, however. It had a bitter taste as it sat on his tongue, and it almost put Achille in the mind of Gysahl greens. How did Achille know what Gysahl greens tasted like? He ate some on a dare once; he had to clean up the vomit before Chiron came home.

Thankfully, Achille didn't get hit with a sudden wave of nausea. The tobacco, or at least the thrill of smoking, calmed his nerves and settled his stomach. Achille couldn't find any reason not to smoke now that he was doing it, displeasing taste aside. But, like all things, Achille would get too bold and disregard consequences. Thinking himself a master, he drew in a deeper puff he wasn't ready for. The smoke reached past his mouth, slithered deep into his chest, and burned his insides. Achille dropped the pipe as a coughing fit overcame him, his eyes stinging with tears the more he hacked and wheezed up the smoke, his throat crackling from the dryness. Desperate for relief, Achille took a few gulps of river water, careful not to let the pipe roll away from where it fell into his lap.

"Who goes there?"

Achille nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice—he knew that voice. He tried to speak, but his throat was still raw. A flurry of coughs spilled from his lips instead, thus making the voice come closer to his location. In his blurred vision, Achille could make out a large and dark figure in the low light, and it carried a small ball of light that swung from left to right with every footstep. Achille rubbed at his eyes to see Chiron standing before him, confused and shocked to find him sitting here in the dark. Soot and dirt dusted Chiron's clothes, and the lamp he carried cast a deep shadow across his face, revealing a drained appearance.

"Achille? Seven hells, what in the world are you doing out here this late at night?"

Achille couldn't answer. His foster father must've got off early, of all the nights. He could feel his face burn from embarrassment, his ears drooping from being found out. Achille tried to hide the pipe from sight, but he couldn't conceal the lingering stench of tobacco.

Chiron sniffed at the air. He narrowed his eyes, "What are you clutching?"

Achille hummed in ignorance. Chiron set his jaw.

"Show me. Now."

Chiron's tone of voice was something not to argue back to. Achille had only heard it a few times in his life, and he could count on one hand how many instances Chiron was this cross with him. Unable to talk his way out of this situation, Achille shamefully gave the pipe over to the now greatly disappointed man before him. Chiron's shoulders sagged as he inhaled a steady breath, his nostrils flaring and eyebrows pinched. Achille awkwardly rubbed at his neck, his mind flailing to find an excuse, an apology perhaps. But no amount of pious posturing would make up for this latest act of rebellion.

"Achille," Chiron started, voice low, "I raised you better than this. I've tolerated your behavior because I can understand what it's like; becoming a man in this world, especially the world we have now, is not easy. A boy's coming-of-age is full of many trials. But this crosses a line that I cannot accept. You have disrespected me, my rules, and my teachings. We monks must keep our bodies and minds unclouded, and we must be diligent in our pursuit to become one with the Destroyer. You have used our techniques for petty squabbles and disregarded our truths as fiction. It's dishonorable."

"But Baba, it wasn't me, it was-"

"Not," Chiron's eyes grew dark with rage, making Achille shrink back, "another word. You will go home, and you will wash off this taint... And you will prepare the salt."

Achille's eyes grew wide in fear. He shook his head in a panic as he began to plead and beg, but Chiron grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and ordered him to walk. Achille only experienced this punishment once when he was younger; he acted particularly ornery one day and said something he shouldn't have. Punishment was swift—kneel in a line of salt until his kneecaps bled. The monks in Ala Mhigo used this against new initiates to fortify their resolve, a type of thick salt that could cut through flesh. But Achille broke down after ten minutes in tears and wails. It was an experience he wouldn't forget for as long as he lived.

The second time around was worse. Achille had done what Chiron requested: he washed away the stench and prepared the salt. The whole while, he willed himself not to cry. His fifteenth nameday was approaching, and men did not cry. Chiron sat at the kitchen table, his face stoic and hands clasped on top of the wood surface. Dressed in his smallclothes, Achille stared down at the salt before he lowered himself on top. The pressure from his weight allowed the sharp salt to pierce the skin almost immediately.

Achille bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. His back stayed rod straight, and his hands were clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His face started to turn scarlet from the pain, but he kept his eyes on Chiron with an unwavering stare.

"I hate to make you do this," Chiron had a tinge of guilt in his voice now, "but you know the rules, my son. You must endure it, embrace the pain."

My son. Spoken with the unconditional love of a parent. They weren't related by blood, but Chiron never saw Achille as anything else.

Achille wanted to cry. The more the crystallized salt dug into his bleeding wounds, the more Achille's resolve shrank. He felt himself double over, his nail-bruised palms flying out to keep him from falling facefirst into the hardwood. The fringe of his red hair kept his watery eyes hidden, but the tremble of his shoulders gave him away. The sob that threatened to spill from his lips caught in his throat; it was getting harder to keep his composure.

The dam finally broke when Achille adjusted his legs to keep the numbness away—the overwhelming pain was too much. His forehead met the planks of the floor as he wailed, tears and snot and drool staining the wood. Achille lost track of how long he stayed on the floor, but he wanted it to end. He screamed himself raw:

"Make it stop, Baba! Make it stop! Please!"

Before he knew it, Chiron lifted Achille into a tight hug, the air of the room cutting into his bleeding wounds. He openly sobbed into Chiron's shoulder much like he used to do as a child—he still was a child. Chiron shushed his sobs as he walked to the bathroom to clean and treat the wounds.

"You're alright... You're alright, my son. It's over, it's all over."

Achille continued to cry, breathless and wracked with exhaustion. He felt Chiron's hand card through his hair, making Achille curl into his chest in shame. Chiron held him close; he said nothing for a long while until he whispered:

"You may think me cruel and even hate me for this now. This seems fun for your friends, and you think I'm being too hard on you. But please understand, my son, I made a promise to someone when I found you: I promised to keep you safe. Don't give in to the temptations of man, for you will be lost. I wouldn't be able to live with myself watching you go down the path of wickedness. You will overcome this, I have no doubt."

Achille had calmed to sniffles as he listened, his eyes swollen and face splotchy. His head throbbed. He let the words of his foster father—nay, his father, sink in. He didn't have the energy to talk.

"Everything will come together in the end. I'll be right here with you. I love you, son."

Achille felt his heart stutter. He swallowed back tears and buried his face into the fabric of Chiron's work shirt. His words were muffled and small, but the message was clear.

"... I love you, too, Baba."

[cinlat]

I’m a little late posting these, but here’s to @tishinada @rainofaugustsith and friends for finishing out the Four Lords Questline