#garlean men

[solis-pyr-nola]

I look at the world and I notice it's turning

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Two Young Men: Interlude

Quintus' grave was the newest one in the enclosure. Kneeling before the freshly turned dirt, Reinhardt reached out to place a hand on the mound. A small scattering of flowers--secured by rocks--was on the top. In front of the flowers was a piece of wood, acting as a makeshift altar for a flask and an incense burner. The latter the dragoon recognized.

"They let you near him?" He asked, surprise flickering over his features.

"It helped that I talked quickly." Smoothing out her healer's robes, Riven Sadler joined Reinhardt. "Also, the lot of them were shell-shocked. I said I could enchant a shroud to keep him from decay until everyone's in their right enough minds to do whatever the norm is for funeral rites." Blue eyes settled on the flower and rock pile, then roamed over the other graves.

"All their hopes were pinned on the Xth." She said softly.

"They say anything more on what happened?" Reinhardt asked. The scholar nodded.

"The radios.” She began. "Luck, fate, the gods - somehow they had more of them than the Illrd. Anything before that..." Riven mimicked an explosion with her hands, adding a sound effect for extra emphasis. "Varis’ return to the capital and the prince's miraculous recovery resulted in very many public, brutal and bloody assassinations. When he died and Nerva put in his claim for the throne, many of his followers were out for blood.”

"You kill my friend, I kill yours." Reinhardt murmured in understanding. "It snowballs from there. Especially if your command's injured to the point where they can't fight anymore.” That was a blow to both pride and honor Reinhardt could understand. Quintus might have been able to continue leading his troops, but to not be able to avenge fallen comrades or even his Emperor…

"There were some attempts to establish neutral zones, to keep some basic rule of law going for the civilians. But that didn’t last long and the rest…”  Riven trailed off, exhaling. “We know.”

"One scream and three-quarters of the entire country gets tempered." Reinhardt finished. "Including the entire lllrd Legion and members of the Ist that weren't near a radio." He sighed. "And they've been like this for months.”

"This isn't even the first graveyard they had to put together." Riven said. She watched as the dragoon shifted his weight, drachen-mail clinking softly. He extended a hand towards the makeshift altar.

"Got any charcoal on you for this?" He asked, picking up the incense burner.

"I have exactly one disk left." Riven reached into a pocket, taking out the charcoal. She watched as Reinhardt dumped the ashes of the previous offering to the side, then set the empty burner back on the wooden plank. Reaching into one of the two pouches strapped to his armor, Reinhardt took out a cigarette, along with flint and tinder.

"I'll hold the disk, you get it burning." He said. Riven obeyed, a small spark of flame coming to life from the striker.

"Not in the mood to get haunted?" She asked, bringing the fire close to the disk.

"Last thing I need is his ghost getting pissy that I used magic at their grave."

"He'll be coming for me first, not you." Riven removed the flame as the charcoal started to glow red. Reinhardt set the flat circle in the burner, Picking up the cigarette. He carefully unsealed the paper, sprinkling the chopped-up tobacco on the charcoal. A sweet, earthy-like smell began to waft into the air. Reinhardt set the lid back on the burner, rocking back on his heels as wisps of smoke began to rise from the little metal vessel.

"You were a bastard." He said aloud. "But you kept your men going and were able to save countless lives. I'm sorry that this is all I have to offer." Reinhardt bent forward, his head all but touching the ground in front of the temporary grave.

"I will bring better when your countrymen properly inter you."

-----

The next morning Jullus found he couldn’t muster the energy to get up. In the back of his mind, he halfway expected the Eorzeans to come charging in, demanding that he get up, get dressed, get to…whatever work they’d decided would be appropriate slave labor. But instead he was left alone—save for a young healer dressed in yellow and green robes who stopped by his cot with a tray of food.

“Special for you from Healer Bishop.”  She said, her voice soft. “Eat it while it’s hot, hmm?”  Jullus frowned, taking in the covered plates. “Also, orders from Commander Junius. You and yours are on unofficial limited duty for the time being.”

“Limited duty?” Manius said. It sounded as if he was a bed or two away, Jullus noted. “Why...?” The healer turned to face him, tight brown curls springing with her movements.

“Because the lot of you aren’t fit for anything at the moment.”  She said, crossing her arms. “Thus, it’s medical checkups and stuffing you full of food. Also, I’d imagine proper baths would go a long way in helping you get back on your feet.” Murmurs rose from the other cots surrounding Jullus.

“I’ve been dreaming of a shower.” The soldier in the bed next to Jullus whispered. “Just…hot water, scented soap…fluffy towels…”

“Can’t promise you on the scented soap and fluffy towels, but the water’s nice and warm.”  The healer said, smiling. Her teeth were a sharp contrast to her dark skin. “Can’t loiter for too long, too many people in the lines for the baths as is. And—ah, Nophica cut me, I damn near forgot!”  She spun about, pointing a finger at Jullus.

“You’re to report to Healer Bishop after the baths! He wanted to check you over personally.”  The statement cut through Jullus’ confused malise, and he sat straight up in his cot.

“Wait, what?!”  The memory of the scowling medicus flashed through his mind. “Why?”

“It’s not my likes to ask what the Warrior of Light and his kin want.”  The healer replied. “I’m just the messenger. Now start eating that food before it gets cold.”

-----

Previous chapters of Two Young Men here

Also credit to @saesama for her idea of the cigarette in the pouch, first mention can be found here

[budugaapologist]

what if i just put my ffxiv hot takes in the tags.

[storms-path]

Dawntrail and Conquerors

Dawntrail has given me thoughts. So many thoughts. This is only one of 'em, be prepared for more! But also, SPOILERS FOR BASICALLY ALL OF DAWNTRAIL AHEAD! Read on at your own risk!

There’s something of a running theme throughout FF14 that I think Dawntrail has really honed in on, and it’s something that resonated with me the more I thought about it. Time and time again we’re confronted with men who claim that they are worthy of rule through the strength they bring to bear, and time and time again they’re laid low by our own. We see it with Gaius, with the Heavensward, with the entirety of the Garlean empire (but in particular Yotsuyu and Emet-Selch), and now in Dawntrail with… Well, you know. The theme is clear: Conquerors do not keep their thrones.

So when we heard stories at the end of Endwalker about how the mighty Dawnservant united the people of Tural, a famously divided people by both land and people, my thought was this: We have another conqueror who we’ll inevitably have to topple. With the Garlean empire fresh in my mind, it was the obvious conclusion to reach towards. And Wuk Lamat was already shown to be sheltered and naive from her introduction, which made me wary of trusting her word on her own father’s supposed goodness.

Suffice to say I was pleasantly surprised that Gulool Ja Ja was not a conqueror, but a uniter instead. For all that he’s hyped up as an incredibly strong combatant, and a force to be reckoned with on and off the battlefield, all the stories we hear of Tural’s founding are of him… Making peace. Liberating through non-violence. Saving people from terrible beasts. Forcing a generations-old war to end through a cook off to end all cook-offs! He could have quite easily conquered the people of Tural, forced them together through violence, but he knew how short-sighted that would be. He was raised in warfare, called upon to be a saviour of his forsaken people and lead them out of the canopy… and he did, in a way. But he did so without casting down everyone around him.

Is he a perfect ruler? Oh, absolutely not. His people still have problems, especially the Mamool Ja who chose to remain. But he has succeeded in bringing together a prosperous, peaceful nation in a time of upheaval and crisis. And despite everything, he is successful in… well, being succeeded. His trials do exactly what they should, but teaching Wuk Lamat and Koana how to properly rule through respecting their people instead of using them for their own gain.

Which bring me neatly to Vergil Zarool Ja.

Zarool Ja is everything Gulool Ja Ja isn’t. Ruthless, cold, unable to see the people around him as anything but tools. He claims he wants to bring war for the sake of peace, but he simply wishes to escape his father’s shadow and truly surpass him. And he cares not a whit for his siblings or fellow competitors. At every turn he is given the choice to do better, and at every turn he chooses to walk further down the path of blood and violence. So it came as little surprise when he positioned himself as head of a conquering army, intent to overturn everything his father worked to build.

Zarool Ja is the clearest and finest-pointed reminder of FF14’s core lessons. He is the epitome of unearned strength, literally leaching it from the souls of his people. And it consumes him in the end, turning him into a pale mockery of his father, complete with a stump where his second head should be. Resolve without reason, hellbent on conquest at any cost. And so, of course, we put him down. Just another marker on our list of conquerors conquered.

And then Sphene fully unmasks.

Sphene is… very interesting. In a lot of ways, she entirely rejects the idea of conquest. She only wants to keep her people safe from harm forevermore. She actively joins us against Zarool Ja when he turns on them! But therein lies the problem. She can’t keep her people around without taking from others. And so, regretfully, with utmost sorrow… She enacts her plan to keep her hollow world alive. Invading other reflections and robbing them of their aether to keep her people forever sated and able to live beyond death. It doesn’t matter to her that they’re only shades. After all, she is one herself. If that’s what it will take to protect and safeguard her people, so be it. No sacrifice too great, no sin unforgivable. So she does what so many have done before her.

She attempts conquest. And we put her down.

Conquerors do not keep their thrones, after all.

[wagahai-da]

varis was very much correct about the eorzean leaders in that scene though. like obviously it does not justify garlean imperial conquest, and the justifications he made about garlean conquest aren't correct. but this isn't "handing it to the fascists". the eorzean leaders are making arguments against garlemald that could equally apply to each of them. They are being hypocritical, because of the lominsan treatment of the sahagin and kobolds, the gridanian treatment of the ixal (and. others), and the ul'dahn treatment of the amalj'aa and the poor and the refugees of ala mhiga.

especially when Merlwyb and fuckin Kan-E-Senna speak up:

to which varis responds:

and he is 100% correct about this! She has even admitted (in ARR) that the conflict between Lominsans and the Kobolds was her doing because she broke the treaty! he is right and she KNOWS he's right

and this is also, i believe, the impetus for her character arc that culminates in 5.4 where her and alisaie go to the kobolds:

Merlwyb: For many long years, man and kobold have feuded over territory, pillaging and perishing for the earth beneath our feet. Merlwyb: It may be said that we fought to survive, but what we have sown in blood, we have reaped in suffering, and it cannot go on. I would see us set aside the past and work together for peace. 2nd Order Patriarch Za Da: It was wrong of me to hurt my own in the name of the Great Father. Sinful, evil, wrong. But that doesn't mean there can be peace between us. 2nd Order Patriarch Za Da: Men cannot be trusted! The bounty of the land was to be ours, and yours the bounty of the sea! But you broke the pact! Violated, breached, broke! 2nd Order Patriarch Za Da: Unready as we were, what choice had we but to call upon the divine to rid ourselves of your tyranny? Merlwyb: None. And I do not blame you for it. Merlwyb: In violation of the spirit─if not the letter─of the pact, we took your lands for our own. The fault lies wholly with us.

and then back at the conference, kan-e-senna brings up the ixal of her own volition:

She is LITERALLY using the exact same logic as varis did just moments before to justify garlean conquests:

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 1 Steer

“Steer clear of that one,” their fellow merchants said, watching Aeryn scowl as she tried to study in a crowded room. “She’s got a temper like a penned guhasaya, and it’s set off by the strangest things.”

“People teasing her friends or younger cousins isn’t so strange,” her stepsister said dryly. “Nor is being annoyed by being pestered while she’s busy. Haven’t you anything better to do?” And she shooed them away, giving Aeryn’s shoulder a squeeze.

It was nice to have the support, but Aeryn still bit her lip to hide how it trembled. She wasn’t all that bad, was she?

-

“Steer clear of that one,” the young men sneered, watching another try to flirt with Aeryn, who had missed it entirely. “Clueless as a hamsa, even if you can get her to notice.”

“What can one expect, when she was born in Coerthas? Frigid as her mountain goddess—”

Aeryn slammed her book on the table where the boys were joking. “A war goddess,” she snapped. “An aspect of Asura and patron of my birth. And what girl wants to kiss you, Rushid, with your breath like an asvattha? Go swive each other if you care so much!”

She whirled and stormed away, ignoring the attempted jeers as they tried to regain their swagger.

That two of them were boys who had gotten her notice, that she had kissed—and more, with one—because she had tried, she had, but she still did not understand why this was such an issue.

To the hells with all of them. She had studying to do and her mother to help.

-

“I’d steer clear of that one, if I were you,” the smarmy scholar said, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he leaned on the bar near the chattering adventurers.

The miqo’te woman snorted and rolled her eyes. “Why, you tryin’ to charm her tonight, Waters?”

He scoffed and raised his mug. “She’s out of my league. Out of yours, too, when it comes to the sort of jobs you lot take on.” He swallowed the last of his ale. “Unless you’re looking to be carried through jobs given by the Sultana’s offices, but I thought you had more pride than that, P’anaela.”

She snarled, tail puffed and ears flattening, but Thancred ignored her and her comrades to watch as the adventurers he had pointed Aeryn’s way stood with her, agreeing on where to meet to handle this mine issue Papashan had.

Aeryn gave him a disgruntled side-eye as she passed, having apparently caught some of the conversation. He gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile and a small salute. There was something familiar in that glower that had him on edge and also strangely sad, but that was a concern for later.

If this job turned out half as well as they hoped, anyroad.

-

“Steer clear of that one,” the Garlean soldier said, voice a mix of fear and anger. “That’s the savior of the savages, the one they call the Warrior of Light.”

The other soldiers exchanged looks, postures stiffening. The one who had been reaching out for the supplies Aeryn offered dropped his hand.

She sighed. “We’re not enemies now. I’m here to help, like the rest.”

“We don’t need your help!” the soldier spat. Her face was pinched from lack of food, and she shivered from the cold, her uniform worn and patched, as night fell and there weren’t enough working heaters.

Aeryn counted internally, biting back the sharp retorts that sprang to mind. “Right. I’ll just leave this fuel and food here. You can decide what to do with it, or not.” She set it down carefully and backed up a couple yalms before turning and striding away, head high, steady and certain.

At least until she was well out of sight, taking a chance to sag against a wall and rub her face, aching from more than the cold.

-

“Do try to steer clear of trouble,” Ameliance teased, grinning as she handed Aeryn a farewell treat pack, the same as she had for the twins.

“That’s the problem,” Aeryn admitted, grinning in return. “It finds me anyway. But usually not right away, at least.”

Ameliance tilted her head, considering for a long moment, until Aeryn finally asked, “What?”

“If I had to guess, you enjoy going to new places not only for the thrill of new exploration and adventure, but the relief of anonymity.”

Aeryn smiled sheepishly, shrugging. “That is the nice part of going to new places; most of the time, even if they’ve heard some stories, they don’t know who I am. It never lasts, but...It’s fun, for a little while, to leave the past behind and have no expectations or impressions. And it’s a way to learn about people, how they treat a random newcomer.”

“But mostly it allows you to explore unhindered, and find that trouble that always comes your way,” Ameliance’s tone was light, but her gaze was as sharp as ever.

“Something like that,” Aeryn said. She looked over her shoulder as the sailors called out. “Looks like it’s time to go. Take care.”

“Of course, you as well,” Ameliance said as they hugged. She turned to her children, spending time fussing and kissing and otherwise embarrassing them properly with all the emotion their father stoically held back until they could return to the privacy of the manor, where he could safely have his fit of worry.

She offered her own quiet prayers to the Twelve for a safe and pleasant journey, for her children, for their companions...and for the quiet, temperamental woman who sought both adventure and anonymity.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 1

A warm wind blew across the plain, a welcome touch in the desert of Thanalan. However, it didn't provide any relief to the Hyur man who was being harassed by a group of bandits.

A solid kick to his stomach caused him to gasp as the wind was driven from his lungs.

"Ye gotta lotta nerve taking a drink from OUR well, scum," purred the cruel Mi'qote woman perched on the stone lip of the well in question. The rag tag group of intimidating men and women growled in agreement. A couple of bandits roughly picked up the man by each arm, one forcefully raised his chin so he could look the leader in the eyes.

"P-please..." the man wheezed weakly as the hot dry air began to fill his lungs again. "Th-this... well is the closest.... water source.... f-for my village... We don't have much-"

One of the bandits started to dramatically boo-hoo, a poor mummer's farce of the man's dilemma.

"Oy! I keep telling ye, ye need to do comedy," squawked another bandits delightedly, the others roared with laughter in agreement.

The bandit leader lazily stretched and crossed her legs on her perch. "Just consider us members of the community who are guarding the well. We have to make our vittles too. How about... 10,000 gil a moon? We'll also take other goods and sundries if you can't afford the coin."

"Th-that's impossible," sputtered the Hyur man. "We're only a small mining town! W-we can't meet that deman-" Stars exploded across the man's vision as the Mi'qote leader slapped him across the face.

As the pain and stars receded, the Hyur numbly noticed something strange behind the bandits. The sound of a loud slurp startled the leader who hopped with incredible alacrity off the well wall with a hiss. Somehow a tall man dressed in blue Doman clothing in a large straw hat had managed to approach the group unseen in the open wasteland. The assembled group couldn't help but stare nonplussed as the stranger took another deep slurp of the cool water from the well. Next to him, a thin long package wrapped in canvas rested against the well.

For a moment, a stunned silence filled the air, punctuated only by the breeze and the squeaking of the windmill that drew the life-giving water in the well. And the stranger's noisy drinking.

"O-oy! Who the hells is this git," barked the wannabe mummer, breaking the silence after a long beat. The gang's attention was now on the newcomer and they were feeling very tense.

The stranger wiped ran his thumb along his stubbly beard as he let out a satisfied sigh. He nudged up the hat and considered them with bright blue eyes. "Just thirsty," came the reply, his voice pleasant with an accent unfamiliar in Eorzea.

"You gotta pay a toll to use OUR well," growled a scarred Elezen. "Ye would do well not to end up like this unfortunate scum." He lashed out with his foot at the man they'd been bullying but found naught but air as he had crawled away during the silence.

The stranger in blue paid them no heed as he filled up a water skin calmly. A particularly rough looking Hrothgar stomped over to him. "Ye got dust in your ears," he roared as he reached a huge hand over to grab the stranger's hat. "I'll fi-" There was a sharp crack as the stranger suddenly lashed out with inhuman speed and drove the end of the wrapped package into the throat of the Hrothgar who let out a coughing mew as he fell over, his hand taking the hat with him to reveal a mane of black hair with azure streaks and two long leoprine ears. The wrapping fell from the package to reveal what appeared to be a Garlean gunblade sheathed, but the blade was slightly shorter and appeared to be missing the barrel.

"Hells... it's a Viera male..." breathed the gang leader as the rarity of such a pretty creature registered with her. He had to be worth something. A lot of somethings. Possibly more than their water scheme. To their credit, the rest of the gang seemed to have already come to the same realization and drew their weapons and began to surround the blue stranger.

The Viera put his hand on the hilt of his blade, readying himself. "Trust me... it's not worth it," he said quietly, sensing their intentions. "Walk away." The leader let out a harsh cackle as she nocked an arrow on her bow.

"Got ye dead to rights, now be a good pretty bunny and come with us," she purred, aiming to pin his foot. Didn't want to damage the goods too much.

The wind blew.

The wind mill creaked.

The villains brandished their weapons with unspoken threats of violence.

Crystalline blue eyes regarded their surroundings.

Suddenly, the wind died and the Mi'qote let the arrow loose.

Her aim was true, but the target was gone. In a flash of steel, the man had seemed to dance his way through the ring of bandits with the grace and power of a surging river. The Mi'qote blinked surprised, suddenly spinning around to find the Viera behind her.

She snarled "I got ye no-" She suddenly realized that her bow was no longer stringed, having been cut during the mad dance of the swordsman. With a definitive click as he fully sheathed his blade again, the ground shook slightly as the whole gang crumpled to the dirt. They were still breathing but were not having a good time.

Time seemed to standstill for eternity. Then the wind blew again and brought them back to the present.

".... Go," ordered the Viera and the gang complied, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

[sealrock]

07. morsel

cw: descriptions and imagery of body horror, dehumanization word count: 435 words

Stacked up against his fellows, he was but a fraction of their height—a morsel of a man (his superiors never hesitate to remind him of that fact), piecemealed through dozens of painful, corrective surgeries since that terrible accident almost eight years ago.

The damage from the car accident, as it turned out, was more internal than first realized—paralysis set in soon after the rescue from that lonely roadside, the sudden movements splitting his spinal cord into tiny gritty pieces, on top of other issues.

"Don't worry," the man in white whispered as he loomed over the boy, the blinding overhead light of the operating room casting his masked face in shadow, "we'll take good care of you."

There was no saving his left eye, the hole left behind long since shut and scarred over, but he adamantly refused to have it replaced with something inorganic, something inhuman. He had enough bodily autonomy to have some choice in the matter. Garlean technology had advanced in the eight years since he was orphaned; various leaps of progress the scientific community achieved the longer the war effort dragged on. That meant the men in white could use the boy (no longer a boy, a man) as a test subject of sorts, a ground zero for bionic enhancements for other, more willing, soldiers.

He was more metal than meat, more wires than blood vessels. The more the men in white took away, the less human he became. The metal plates and screws stunted his height, so they gave him HGH. His legs acted on accord with minuscule implants deep in his brain, the pain of living a cursed existence numbed and placated with powerful drugs by the men in the white building. Augmentation was necessary to outweigh his physical disabilities. He could run faster, react quicker, his strength increased sevenfold. He was the prime example of a "perfect man." in the eyes of the military. But to him, he was a freak of nature.

His heart was still his, pumping both blood and nanomachines through his fractured body. At night, as he lay in his cot, he would place his hand atop his breast, the rhythmic thumping of the organ soothing him to sleep, a ticking lullaby in his ears to keep him calm before he endures another waking nightmare.

His commanding officer scoffed at his crisis of self, only repeating what he had heard his entire life:

"You knew what you were getting into. You have one purpose, to serve the Emperor in body and spirit, uncomplainingly."

To which the boy—man—no longer man, would say,

"Sir, yes, sir."

[captainkurosolaire]

Father of Shadow

Grey skies of bone waste, dry uncertain humidity polluted the air, in a time stone of an oppressive era. When a peaceful Nation was under siege of a Garlean Empire was prominent conflict. Depleted soul's were torn from destruction brought upon them, not able to spark their rebel spirits. Hopelessness festered, longed, in the dark-void, absence reigned. Until those who dwell and thrive in night, answered. A Doman elegant-magpie, colored descended below gracefully upon a leather-glove, with a braille message-strung delicately for delivery, to who wields sharp steel and handles Black Miracles. It read two-words, stroked in Hingashi. "Unsheathe Shadow." The figure clad to black, descended below a tall cliff-side using a large-bright dragon-theme kite at the last daring moment, blocking a Magitek Armor with an Operator and fellow squadron leading a convoy of spoiled slavers, formerly settlers, farmers of the neighboring land, that'd know a harvest again. Feet-padded quietly a step in their pause. This mask-silhouette figure gave a small startle. Keen eyes of one Imperialist gave rise to a Eastern-forged scabbard blade, letting out a small-laugh from his throat, "Hey, Men! Seems we forgot one. Ki--" Cut off before the executive order, through a sleeved kunai punctured the throat. The specter of death, was swarmed instantaneous. Time felt frozen momentarily, when two-pursuers stepped in striking distance, before they were aware of the next breathe, they were struck down from a blinding quick unsheathe. A firm masculine gloved-hand grappled one of the defeated imperialist by their skull and used their cadaver as a shield-charge to block, a volley of ballistics sponged to the reload, swiftly, the assailant lunged his blade through the deceased into the reloading legionary, puncturing two-hearts. Crushing flail came swinging towards the assailant from behind, stern senses strengthened for obscured sight gave an acrobatic bending dodge, strands of raven hair's plucked grazing overhead, the swordsman withdrew his blade full of heated ichor, blinding the bruiser. Handicapped and shouting obscenities, he withdrew his chained-flail, the assailant vanished alongside the call-back, leaping carefully on returning weapon. Graciously leaping overhead. A swift-slice midair struck. Another head fell below removed from neck. Sudden commotion and pause made the prisoner's of war began up-roaring with renewed spirits, kicking at their confines. Magitek-Armored pilot took firing aim and unleashed a mini-gun of bullets at the shadow. The figure-glided with the wind, feline ear's rattling towards the preparing machinery coiling before assault, heel's building up wind, his blade let out a howling gust, rocketing him forth towards a hanging-tree, bullet's closely racketing behind. Fluid-movement, his free-arm locked onto a sturdy branch. He parted his blade-flat below his feet using it like a temporarily standing-board. Then unhooked from hip satchel a paper-scrolled bomb strung to another kunai, a fuse laid underneath the hilt like a switch, once launched and struck its target, it'd detonate. Ilm's from filling the assassin with swissed-holes, the weapon's arm of the machinery imploded and cracked pilot's glass windshield, the magitek armor fell off balance, exposed trying to regain control. His eye's-opened widely. Sole's directly above his small-layer between him, in the death-dealer who had catapulted and sprung himself with a feline leap. Shedding a last-gasp before expertly steel slid between the cracked- creases, and impaled him unable to evade demise. His skull ragged dolled forth bashing into the detonation button. Electrical in-balance was felt predicatively, the assassin leapt backwards, yet was unable to clear. Blocking with his arm's and blade, shrapnel of machinery projectiles dug into his flesh, boom sent the shadow careening below harshly.

Ember's surrounding him, scorched land and concussed with his hearing shrieking, distorted, his mask cracked. His body was tortured fashioned to these sensations. Adrenaline coursing inside him, nullifying the extent of his injuries, momentarily, he rolled instinctively feeling the heat near his feline tail. Despite being a deadly-weapon, expressionless, empty-nearly. He finished his task employed, by releasing the prisoner's door, they flooded out looking to find their rescuer but only a blood-trail remained mixed with all the other disarray. He had a date, with someone, that daringly made his sharpest blade, blunt. Even demolished like this, he wouldn't miss the intended target who'd forever alter his knowledge of Life. Using his blade-hilt as a cane to hold uprightness. In all or any; Darkness... There was somewhere a Light, to appreciate.

[Prev:Chapter]: ~ ♪"As Above, So Below"♪

[gatheredfates]

KORET SWAN.

Nickname: Kor. Generally only reserved for people she knows well, otherwise it's Koret or Captain. Age: Mid-thirties. Nameday: 32 Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon (All Saints Wake) Race: Mix-race Ala Mhigan Highlander (on her father's side) and Limsan Midlander (on her mothers). Gender: It's complicated. I could write an entire essay about Kor's perception of gender and where she fits in it but that would take up 90% of this mini dossier. However, to keep it brief: Kor is unsure if her desire to abandon her femininity is due primarily to her father's distain of it or that she simply does not see herself as a woman. There are times where presenting masculine suits her, pronouns and all, until she suddenly feels alienated and abandons it altogether. There are times she feels she is everything and nothing at all. There are times were being a woman is a comfort and strength. She fits somewhere on the spectrum of gender fluidity, but she is constantly questioning her place and constantly feeling invalidated by the way her own mind undermines her when it comes to it. She is a pronoun because it is easy; she is not employed because she believes she is always female. If she could stop thinking about it altogether, she would do it in a heartbeat. Orientation: Bisexual, no preference. Profession: Captain of the Wolfsbane; a notorious galleon once commanded by her father, Dimitri. It was 'gifted' to her in a decrepit state when Kor was considered old enough to command.

Fleet Captain of her father's ships in his death, answering predominately to the thalassocracy of Limsa Lominsa when called upon - though she mostly ships goods for Firelight Trading Company.

Warrior of Light in the applicable verse!

PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: A deep, wavy crimson, cut just above the breast. Kor will often plait it when she is working — if not cut it shorter altogether. See aforementioned gender grappling. Eyes: Amber. Her father's eyes. In her non-WoL verse, she lost her right eye in an altercation with @riftdancing's Blink after her father tried to pit her against the other woman and her forces. The loss of vision was a mercy to spare her life. Skin: Pale, closer to her mothers, though she tans without too much trouble. However, seeing much of her skin beyond her face is reserved only for those she trusts, as beneath her clothes her body is marred with scars and pock-marks from her father's abuse. There are callouses on her hands. Tattoos/Scars: See above regarding scars. She is considering adopting some tattoos in light of seeing Vamp and Rex's, but hasn't committed fully to the idea yet. FAMILY

Parents: Dimitri Swan, youngest in a family of Ala Mhigan men forced to watch their city fall. He abandoned his homeland quickly after revelations about the Garleans and the Mad King emerged and took to Limsa for promises of wealth and prestige. Fighting, bargaining, trading and even killing for what he wanted, he became a notorious figure within Limsa Lominsa — reviled and respected in turn —and was not one readily crossed. His desire for a true-born son to inherit his legacy was all-consuming and, ultimately, his undoing.

I haven't given a name to Kor's mother yet, but she was a pretty little thing Dimitri met one night in the Drowning Wench. He wooed her with promises of a luxurious life and the first few years of their marriage were unremarkable — primarily due to Dimitri being constantly at sea. However, when she failed to produce a living heir after two daughters and numerous miscarriages/stillborn children, his opinion of her soured. She died when Kor was thirteen of a 'mysterious illness', though she maintains her mother simply gave up on life due to his ongoing abuse. In her youth, she hated her. As an adult, her opinion of her is complicated. Siblings: One full-blooded sister, Lily. Because I play hard and fast with character ages, and the canonical passage of XIV time makes no sense to me (and I don't subscribe to it), she died at the start of ARR. Whether that was one year, five years or anything in between... you tell me.

Kor is also aware she must have an innumerable amount of half-siblings due to her father's sexual appetite. Even when their marriage was good, there were always rumours he was taking women in far-flung ports — something he denied at first, but wholeheartedly used as a battering ram later as another blow to hurt his wife. It would bemuse Kor if he only shot blanks, but she's not an optimist. At this stage, none have come out of the woodwork and tried to communicate with her. Grandparents: She knows little about them. The ones on her father's side died during the fall of Ala Mhigo and the ones on her mother's she never learned anything about. Others: (God this is going to get so long).

To begin, Kor has a rather large extended family. On her mother's side, she has her cousin Paprika (played by @riftdancing). On her father's, she has Ashe and Eve. Dimitri tried to look like he was assimilating into Limsan society by taking on his wife's last name and abandoning his own, leaving Ashe with to carry the mantle of 'Hawke'. However, Kor was never close to any of them until adulthood.

In Ashe and Paprika's case, though they lived within the same city-state, Dimitri's iron fist over his family ensured Kor couldn't ask for help. They were also not really in a position to assist without inflicting his retribution onto them. Dimitri abandoned his brother when Ashe's father first arrived, and consequently isolated his wife from any contact with her family.

Eve didn't come into the picture until Kor was well and truly an adult. Ashe kept up with her via letters but, due to going due west to Thanalan with the other refugees, she was only able to escape her own captivity in her mid-twenties. They are incredibly distant for numerous reasons I won't get into here (because it'll be a novel).

Kor found a pseudo-father figure in my partner's character Rex, though she will not admit it to him directly. They came into contact through my character Crow (I enjoy all my characters being loosely interconnected), another fleet-captain hoping to push Dimitri out of the picture because he conflicted with her aspirations, and he quickly surmised her predicament through Crow's inference and Kor's eventual admission. His company is a second home to her, both metaphorically and literally these days.

Literally because she's dating one of the Head Mechanics — an Ala Mhigan man by the name of Vamp. This was another cheeky ploy by Crow to give Kor some connections to her homeland in the company of a man she knew to be gentle and kind; to the point she refused his charter from Limsa to Ul'dah, even if Rex was paying handsomely for the fare. Crow hadn't expected them to grow as close as they did... but she also won a bet, so that was nice. If she's in Firelight, she can be found in the workshop or the airship hanger keeping Vamp company while he works on Firelight's various vehicles.

Her relationship with Blink is... a thing. Don't quantify it. In another life, they're dating. In another-other life, one is dead by the other's hand. She's the embodiment of 'I fucked around and found out' — literally! What are they? Is she an ex, an enemy or something in between? Who knows! She calls her a friend these days. That's close enough.

You know who Kor's best friend is? She won't say it. It's Sarrai. Sarrai will happily say it, though. She'll sing it from the rooftops! She once asked Kor for her bones if she successfully died and the Captain was far too taken aback to say no. Dark humour wins again.

There's also some lore around her and my other best friend's OC Beau, but a lot of that is tied into Beau's WoL verse and makes it hard to properly quantify here without talking about that verse and making this post even longer. However, there's a lot of homoerotic tension. That's all you need to know. Same for the numerous connections she has with my friends' ocs at FTC and beyond. Most of them aren't active on tumblr but they know. They know. Pets: I jokingly have the Ugly Duckling out on Kor. She had a dog called Nipper in her WoW verse. Maybe she has a pet? Who knows.

SKILLS

Abilities: Kor is a captain. With that come a myriad of skills including, but not limited to: commanding a ship and reading the seas; diplomacy, negotiation and bartering; mastery over a myriad of weapons including a gunblade and a musket (I maintain Kor was a musketeer in ARR despite it being moved to machinist in HW); a depth of political understanding/manoeuvring; and a shit-tonne of luck. She also possessed the Echo, a 'gift' given to her the night her sister died. Hobbies: Kor is a workaholic. Down-time is few and far between, because it gives her too much time to think. However, she does enjoy reading for its escapism.

TRAITS

Most positive trait: I think it's her accountability. Kor doesn't like to admit she is wrong and doesn't like to look weak, yet she will grit her teeth and apologise eventually because she knows it's the right thing to do. She's also got mountains of endurance and will put her own life/limb on the line for her love ones because she knows she can take it. Most negative trait: Her melancholy. Kor is jaded from a lot of life's experiences, and this manifests in someone who is closed off, hostile and downright nasty when people push her too far. She battles with extreme suicidal ideation that can often make her endurance a detriment because she doesn't always care if she dies. Her father called her a dog for her bark but she's also known to bite.

LIKES

Colours: Navy blue, bottle-green and red. Smells: Sea-salt, brine and freshly-carved wood. Smoky cedarwood colognes and anise. Rum and other similar spirits. Coffee. Textures: Water, wool and steel. The feeling of wood beneath your fingers. Drinks: Hot chocolate.

OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: Frequently. It's her go-to vice, only because it has less 'negative' side-effects to alcohol. Dimitri was an alcoholic and Kor possesses his rage. She knows what she can be like when she drinks. Drinks: ...Semi-frequently. Just because she knows what she's like doesn't mean she won't partake, especially in times of turmoil and strife. These days she tries to drink sweeter things like mead and wine, rather than hard spirits/beer, because she finds she's more aware of how much she has drunk rather than losing herself to the bottle. Drugs: She's dabbled, but it's not for her. Kor has an addictive personality and wrestles enough with booze and tobacco. She doesn't need anything else. Mount Issuance: Does a ship count? I also fully believe that the fall of Garlemald has brought technological advancements to Eorzea and Rex would not have passed up the chance to build things like cars and motorbikes. If so, Kor has the latter. Been arrested: Sure! She's been drunk and disorderly and had a few nights in a Limsan gaol. That's kind of the part of being a privateer, y'know?

Tagged by: @sundered-souls — at least for this one! I'm going to try and do one character per tag. Tagging: @halikyon, @zylphiacrowley, @abracarabbit, @laurel-resting, @starforger, @corsair-kovacs, @cindernet-explorer & @eriyu! (provided you haven't done it already; if so, maybe an alt?) If you'd like a chance of being tagged, you can like my permanent interaction call here!

[solis-pyr-nola]

I let go of my pride For whatever reason, I'm free

[alackofghosts]

got tagged by tumblr user @fourteenthz (loved reading about thesa, by the way <3)! thank you very much!

— B A S I C S

name: lil guy i'm very shy, don't worry about it

nicknames: none based on his name, as it's quite short already, but will also respond to a fond and/or slightly exasperated "hero"

age: 33 as of 6.55

nameday: 27th sun of the 4th umbral moon

race: rava viera

gender: cis man

orientation: gay

profession: adventurer

— P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T

hair: black, naturally wavy, very thick and soft

eyes: dark brown

skin: warm brown, freckles easily, especially his face

tattoos: none

scars: burn scar on his left shoulder from his fight with ifrit, another burn on his right thigh from nidhogg. a few other scrapes here and there. notable lack of any significant scarring from shb and beyond, because that's how i see astrologian healing working - he feels particularly strange about not having a scar from his fight with zenos in endwalker

— F A M I L Y

parents: he has not been back to his home village, for obvious reasons, so doesn't know - but assumes - his mother is still alive and well; never met his biological dad. but because he showed signs of. however the viera would call/conceptualise the inner beast, one of the women called in a favour with a wood warder who was also a warrior, to take him under his wing to train. said wood warder, however, was wholly at a loss what to do with a child, having never taken in a ward before and decided to seek out an old friend, who had since left the forest. ...long story short, he ends up being raised by an all-viera dalmascan resistance cell, who end up packing up and leaving with him in tow after almost being rooted out by garlean forces. he views most of them as Parental Figures and loves them dearly, even if some of them have scattered into the winds after he left to become an adventurer

siblings: he isn't aware of any biological siblings, but the village took a very communal approach to raising kids, so at the time he definitely felt like the other kids were his siblings, regardless of any blood relations. one of the men in the resistance cell was a 'mere' 30 or so years older than him, so he also counts more as a sibling than anything else in his eyes

grandparents: he has definitely met his maternal grandmother, but as with his mother, he's not been back home and doesn't know if she is still alive (but in all likelihood: yes)

in laws and other: THE TWINS. putting an exact name to what alisaie and alphinaud mean to him would honestly not be Good or Close Enough, but they are absolutely like family to him and a reason to keep on going. he also has a very sibling-like relationship with lyse, who is always ready and willing to match his energy, tag along for workouts and tease the hell out of him

pets: he befriends an amaro hatchling at the crystarium during shadowbringers and during a later visit, her handler notes that she's been looking glum without him around. he loves animals, but his living situation has been far too chaotic after becoming an adventurer to accommodate an animal (that isn't his chocobo, who, at least, is much easier to house) and hasn't felt particularly inclined to change that. but after endwalker, he finds himself actually wanting to change that and has the time to do it... so, with a little bit of help from feo ul, he has a little amaro friend with him now

— S K I L L S

abilities: war + drk + pld and all that that entails. skilled and formidable fighter, good at navigating/strategising through a fight on the fly, quick study (as far as fighting is concerned, anyway)

hobbies: working out (especially running and swimming), hiking, he's been learning to enjoy fishing after endwalker

— T R A I T S

most positive traits: protective, caring, insatiable lust for life

most negative traits: too willing to let other people do the talking for him, impulsive, stubborn

— L I K E S

colours: warm red, gold, the bright green of sunlight filtering through leaves

smells: fresh earth, cinnamon, a meadow in early summer, the savoury smell of the stew one of his dads used to make

textures: soft grass under bare feet, tree bark, skin on skin, the scratch of ardbert's beard

drinks: water, pineapple juice, lemonade

— O T H E R    D E T A I L S

smokes: no

drinks: only socially, and even then it's fairly rare. he did drink a little more often as a baby adventurer, mostly because he simply had more opportunities to do so: mingling was useful and it wasn't uncommon to have a rowdy bar night to celebrate a job well done. he is a bit of a lightweight and tends to withdraw when tipsy/drunk, so he actually has more fun when sober

drugs: also no (unless we're counting medicine for this. he won't be refusing painkillers if he's in pain etc.)

mount issuance: his beloved chocobo, who he dotes on very much, especially because it was something of a dream to have when he was just a baby adventurer - he could not have afforded to buy or maintain one at the time

been arrested: he's got in trouble for those rowdy bar nights - he's not the type to start a fight, but if someone were to pick a fight with him or his friends, by gods, he will be finishing it. no serious jail time, more like being hauled off with everyone else involved to sober up until morning, though

[anneapocalypse]

Canon review for fic purposes is ever ongoing and rewatching the cutscenes where you first meet the Scions I am struck by how... simplified, I guess, Minfilia's introduction of the Archons is.

Tell me, does the name Sharlayan ring any bells? It used to be one of Eorzea's six city-states, and was situated in the northwest of Aldenard. The Sharlayans were the keepers of wisdom both old and new. Their mastery over magic and aether was unsurpassed, and even the Garleans knew to fear them. Among their number, there were a noble few who devoted their lives to safeguarding the future of Eorzea. When the realm began its descent into chaos, and their countrymen fled for the motherland, they alone chose to remain here. These noble men and women were called the Archons. Those same brave souls stand before you now.

Like it's not not true but it also really does not convey the lore that we get later or (to the best of my understanding) what actually happened in 1.0. When she says "When the realm began its descent into chaos, and their countrymen fled for the motherland," that sounds like she's talking about the Calamity, except the exodus from the Sharlayan colony actually happened in 1562 of the Sixth Umbral Era, 15 years before ARR (Twelve preserve me, the dating system gives me a headache).

For context Urianger is 29 in ARR, meaning that at the time of the exodus he was approximately 14 years of age. :P I think needless to say, he was not one of those who "chose to remain here" when his countrymen fled; he was still a kid at the time, and only joined Louisoix's Circle of Knowing as an adult (unless there's some absolutely buckwild Urianger lore I'm unaware of and Alphinaud wasn't actually the youngest kid to enter the Studium). Lyse is 25, and Thancred is 32. Y'shtola's age seems to be subject to some canon discrepancies according to the wiki, but she's at most no older than Thancred.

But Minfilia's intro really makes it sound like it's these Archons, in this room, who stayed in Eorzea when the exodus happened, and it's just really weird. I also don't know why they made it sound like "Archons" refers specifically to Louisoix's group (when it does not), and didn't just reference the Circle of Knowing. It's not like that was later backfill; I'm pretty sure that was in 1.0.

All of which led me to wonder: what about Moenbryda?

And this led me to her wiki page, upon which I realized I've apparently been laboring under a misconception this entire time. I had thought Moenbryda and Urianger grew up in Old Sharlayan. But this is straight from Encyclopedia Eorzea:

...eventually the two grew close, and were often found in the Great Gubal Library reading tomes and eating cockatrice meatballs (p. 191).

That's the colony, not Old Sharlayan! So, were they both born in the colony? It certainly seems like Moenbryda was, as her bio begins "Born in Sharlayan..." and in earlier canon that's always used to refer to the colony, and since they met as children, presumably they both were.

Both of them would have moved to Old Sharlayan at 14 when the exodus happened, and then they both went to the Studium, so that's all fine.

Here's where I have questions!

After striking a talent in aetheric research she became an Archon and was in the Circle of Knowing, however, Louisoix told her to stay in Sharlayan, an order she followed with great difficulty.

Which Sharlayan?

At this point I'm just not sure how literally to take Minfilia's introduction. So many other pieces of canon state that no one stayed in the colony after the exodus except Matoya, so by "chose to remain here" I assume that Minfilia doesn't mean the colony but Eorzea generally. By the time Moenbryda was an Archon and part of the Circle of Knowing, there was no more colony for her to stay in. But it also says "stay," not "go back."

So are we meant to understand that the Circle of Knowing were traveling back and forth between Old Sharlayan and Eorzea for some time in that decade before the Calamity? Or, given that Alphinaud has dialogue about Urianger being frequently present in their home when they were growing up, did Louisoix in fact go home with the Exodus, and only return to Eorzea years later? I feel like that must be it, even though it makes Minfilia's introduction a pretty drastic oversimplification.

It's early game exposition, so I can let it go, but I just have to remember not to really treat it as reliable canon.

[astrology-bf]

FFXIV Write 2024 | Day 6 "Halcyon"

Master Post | My AO3 | Challenge Info

~ 3k words | Mature | Gen | CW: Semi-Graphic Violence, Death, Heavy Angst, Mild Stormblood Spoilers

(Set after the Scions are called to the First, but before the showdown with Elidibus)

The gunblade shook in Marius’ hand as he did his best to keep his knees from giving out from under him, his nerve rattled by pain from the arrow wound on his left side… but more so the sight before him and his squadmates.

That the eikon-slayer appeared to be a simple man was beyond terrifying.

“Forward!” The centurion’s command cracked through the tension like a whip.

Marius hesitated; as did the other men. One even dared to verbalize his hesitation. 

“But-”  

The remainder of the protest went unvoiced as the centurion looked sharply at the culprit; that was enough of a reminder of the penalty for disobedience. 

“That is an order.” he stated, with firm finality. 

“You should probably listen to them.” The eikon-slayer’s voice was clear, but slightly husky at the edges with quiet weariness. He had his eyes fixed on the centurion, but hadn’t moved an ilm since they’d caught sight of him.

The centurion tightened his grip on his own weapon. He hesitated for a moment, then brandished it towards the enemy.

“You are outnumbered, savage,” he said. “Give up.”

The eikon-slayer raised his staff, holding it vertically with the end a mere fulm from the ash-stained earth. 

“Last warning.”  he said.

Again, there was a beat of hesitation. Then, with an audible intake of breath beneath his helmet, the centurion raised his gunblade. 

Marius took a step back.

“For Garlemald!” 

The cry was met with wordless shouts as all the men save Marius advanced; weapons raised, putting all thoughts of fearful tales aside as they began their charge to what they tried to convince themselves was a lone man. Easy enough prey.

A quiet breath left the eikon-slayer’s lips, and Marius’ blood turned cold as he saw the Hyur’s expression take on a serenity which was more frightening than anger.

His staff came down, the end striking the earth with a light crack.

There was a flash of pale-blue aether, and all heat was evacuated from the air within an instant: a snap of cold which caused the metal plates of the Garleans’ armor to start warping, buckling, digging into flesh or popping off and leaving it defenseless… not that it mattered, given that the flesh was now more ice than meat. 

After a few moments, the aether faded. Marius stood frozen as he gazed in horror at the frozen statues which had once been fellow soldiers. The corpse of the centurion keeled over, and shattered when it struck the ground. 

The eikon-slayer watched it fall, and then his eyes flicked up to Marius.

There was a clatter as the gunblade fell from Marius’ hand. His knees gave way, and he gasped at the stab of pain in his left side from the sharp motion. Through trembling, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“...Please…” he begged.

The eikon-slayer’s chin rose up as he eyed Marius carefully. He said nothing, and the serene expression on his face had faded into bitter weariness. His staff lowered, and he began walking towards the kneeling soldier - weaving around the frozen statues of his former squadmates, so he didn’t disturb them. 

Marius’ shaking grew more violent as the eikon-slayer neared him, and his breathing came in panicked gasps.

“Please…” he said. His mind was screaming at him to pick up his weapon, or at least try to run, but pain and fear held him locked tight. “Forgive me, please… Please don’t kill me…” 

A quiet sob escaped him as the eikon-slayer came to a halt merely a yalm away. He stared at him, still and silent, his staff in hand even if pointed away from him. 

Marius closed his eyes, and thought of his family. He had no gods to pray to, after all.

“You’re injured.” 

Marius froze. His eyes opened, and he looked up to see the eikon-slayer was looking at his left side, where the hauberk had been punctured and the hasty patch applied, given they lacked a Medicus. 

“...What?” he asked. His voice was nearly a whisper, and all fear had turned to sheer confusion.

The eikon-slayer gestured at his injury. “What happened to you?” he asked.

The Garlean soldier swallowed, blinking furiously. “...An arrow.” he answered, instinctively.

His enemy gave a slow nod. “Do you want me to take a look at it?” He gestured at his injury again, keeping his staff lowered and pointed away from Marius.

Again, Marius blinked. He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” 

“I can heal it for you, if you’d like.”

A breath left the Garlean soldier’s lips under his helmet, and his eyes went to the frozen corpses of his former comrades; people he all knew by name, and now were dead by the hand of the same man offering healing. “...You’re insane.”  

“Aye. Probably.” The eikon-slayer said, nodding in agreement. 

Marius began to shake again.

His enemy then gave a shrug. “Offer’s open, but if not you can head back. Not going to kill an unarmed man.” he said, gesturing and causing his own weapon to vanish as a show of faith. 

The only sound that passed between them for a long few moments was Marius’ labored breathing, set against the backdrop of distant artillery and thunder; an endless drumbeat of a march to war upon the Ghimlyt Dark.

Marius swallowed again. His shaking started easing, and as his terror faded the discomfort of the injury made itself known again.

“Would it hurt?” he asked, hesitantly.

The eikon-slayer shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but I’ve been told I’ve got a gentle hand.” Then he paused, looking off to the side and giving a bitter sigh. “For healing, at least.” he added, mournfully.

Another silence lingered in the air before Marius gave a slow nod of agreement. “...All right.” 

His enemy moved forward and knelt down next to him, the red-accented white of his short jacket standing out amidst the ash, dirt, and blackened plating of dead soldiers and wrecked magitek. He was careful not to move too suddenly, but even then the poor Garlean couldn’t help but flinch as his enemy began healing him.

True to his word, there was no pain: more of a hot pressure that soon faded like a burn run under water. The tightness where the skin was punctured loosened as the magick knit the tissues back together, keeping them cleansed of any infection. 

Marius had been healed by magic before, but admitted that the eikon-slayer had a gentle hand. He even started humming, quietly, stirring thoughts of home in Garlemald when Marius was laid up with a childhood cold and being attended to.

It was strangely soothing, considering the circumstances.

“What’s your name?” The eikon-slayer asked. His eyes had remained fixed on Marius’ injury since he’d begun.

“...Marius.”

“Nice to meet you, Marius. I’m Ifan.” The eikon-slayer - Ifan, rather - glanced up at Marius’ eyepieces and gave a small nod.

Marius swallowed, brown eyes peering at Ifan’s blue from underneath his helm. “The eikon-slayer.” he said, out of pure instinct. 

Ifan snorted. “Just ‘Ifan’ is fine.” He shook his head, and went on healing.

The Garlean bit his lower lip and looked away. His fingers still trembled where his hands sat idly. 

“You are not like the tales.” he said, at length.

“What do the tales say about me?” Ifan asked, with a note of mirthless amusement.

Marius’ breath caught in his throat, and his chin lowered. “I would not wish to anger you.”

“Odd thing to say, coming from a soldier trying to conquer my homeland.” Ifan said, after humming inscrutably. His tone was strange; more like a performance of being teasing, going through the motions with no substance in it. After a brief pause, Ifan glanced up at Marius again. 

“You know what they say about Garleans?” he asked.

Marius shook his head slowly.

Ifan paused as if in hesitation, or perhaps putting more focus into the healing. “They say that you can’t use magic because you don’t have souls,” he began. “That you’re not human, just beasts which look and speak like us. Worse than Amalj’aa, or Sahagin, because at least they don’t try to lure you in by looking like you.” 

The Garlean’s brown knitted and his lips parted beneath his helmet, but he blinked in shock as Ifan gave a derisive snort.

“Fuckarse rubbish,” Ifan swore. “Who comes up with shite like that, anyway?” He shook his head, and went on healing.

Marius let out a small scoff, not sure why he found the notion of the eikon-slayer having a foul mouth somewhat amusing. “You do not believe it?” he asked, peering at Ifan.

Ifan shook his head. “Even if I didn’t have Garlean friends, I was raised to see the value in difference and diversity. My mentor was Dalmascan.” he explained.

“Truly?”  

“Aye,” Ifan said, nodding again. “He loved his country just as much as you probably love yours, and he did his best to share that love with me. Tried to keep what Dalmasca stood for alive, through me… a dream of harmony.” 

He started frowning, then, as his gaze slid off towards the side. He took in the sight of the battlefield where the pair knelt, listened to the distant din of endless fighting, and tried to remember what the sun looked like.

Ifan clicked his teeth, shook his head, and went on healing.

“Your turn, Marius,” he said. “What do they say about me in Garlemald?”

Marius wetted his lips, and looked off to the side to avoid Ifan’s gaze; even the helmet seemed no real cover from those dark blue eyes. 

“Some say that you’re an eikon.” Marius answered.

Ifan blinked, seeming surprised. “Oh? Of which god?” he asked.

“Your death deity.” Marius said.

“Nald’thal, hm?” The eikon-slayer let out a whistle, then nodded with an impressed pursing of his lips. “High praise, if a bit blasphemous. Summoned by the Sultanate, no doubt?”

Marius returned a nod.

Ifan took in a breath, glancing up thoughtfully, then looked back at the Garlean soldier’s helmet for a moment. “Why him, specifically?” he asked.

Marius sucked on his tongue. The pain in his left side was fully gone, so it was easier to think; Ifan hadn’t made a move to harm him, so he was owed some candor at the very least. “They say you raise the dead to eat the living, and burn your enemies alive in hellsfire. Some even, uh…” He swallowed, tone growing reluctant.

“Hm?” Ifan coaxed. “Go on.”

“...Some frighten their children with you.” Marius answered, at length. “‘Behave yourself, or Kaleid the Black will come devour you in the night’. That manner of thing.”

The healing stopped. Ifan’s lips parted, then his gaze lowered as his face took on an expression which was nothing short of miserable.

Marius could swear the eikon-slayer looked like he was about to cry. 

“...That so?” Ifan said, after a long and sad silence. The magic resumed, and Ifan’s expression hardened. 

“Suppose I earned it,” he remarked. “It’s true enough.” 

“...What?”

Ifan gave Marius no answer, at least not until he finished healing him. The magic faded for a final time, and the Garlean would have marveled at the way he felt near good-as-new were he not slipping back into a state of fear.

“You’ve heard the name Rhitahtyn sas Arvina before, no doubt.” Ifan asked, standing upright. He offered Marius his hand, keeping it out until he finally worked up the courage to accept it. 

The Garlean grunted lightly as he pulled himself up to his feet, as did Ifan. The difference in their height was stark; Marius was pureblooded, and Ifan below average for a Midlander. “Of course. Who hasn’t? You slew him, at-”

“Cape Westwind.” Ifan supplied. He stared up at Marius’ helmet, hands kept at his side and his expression grim. “I was angry. It was ripping me apart inside. So I took it out on him, and anyone who tried to get in the way.”

Marius swallowed. Though afraid, his curiosity proved itself stronger. “What did you do?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know.” Ifan answered, quietly.

Marius’ lips twitched at the warning, but he still insisted. “Tell me.” 

The eikon-slayer stared up at him intently, giving him near a full minute to renege. When Marius didn’t, Ifan took in a breath and answered in a quiet, and guilty tone.

“When his men tried to interfere, I raised their dead comrades as ashkin and set them loose,” Ifan said. “Then I held back with Rhitahtyn when I set off that flare inside his armor, so it didn’t kill him right away. He suffered.” Despite his words, the eikon-slayer’s face was completely impassive.

Marius stared back at him, lips parted and his eyebrows fallen at the ends. He hadn’t any answer.

Ifan didn’t let the ugly silence linger, however, and glanced off to the side again. 

“Why are you here, Marius?” he asked.

“...For Garlemald.” Marius answered, hesitantly and at length.

The eikon-slayer looked back at his helm again, as if able to peer behind the metal at his eyes. “And what is Garlemald, to you?”

Marius went quiet for a moment as he gave Ifan’s question thought. “It’s my home. Our home. A place we earned, against all odds.” He swallowed, voice gaining confidence at the reminder. “We owe her everything. This is her command.” he said, and finished with a nod.

Ifan’s face twisted disgustedly. “This?” he asked, gesturing around. Then he paused, closed his eyes, and scoffed humorlessly. “...Not that I’m any better. The Alliance tells me who to kill, and I do it. For Eorzea.” he said, nodding at Marius.

Marius blinked. “You do not wish to be here?” he asked.

Ifan looked at Marius as if he was joking. “No.” he said, tone growing aggrieved, “I want to be with my friends, with a man I love, studying magic and having adventures. I don’t want to be stuck in the hells killing people and having children be scared of me.” Then his face twisted, and Marius felt himself frown at just how vulnerable the eikon-slayer looked.

 “I’m worried about what it’s doing to me, Marius.” Ifan said carelessly and honestly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve forgotten that I used to have a life before this.”

The Garlean gave no answer. Instead, he looked at the ground at the uncomfortable reminder of an all too familiar feeling.

“...Suppose it doesn’t make a difference, does it?” Ifan said, giving a sigh. “I chose the job, I need to see it through.”

“Job?” Marius asked, looking back up.

“Aye.” Ifan nodded. “The job.” He gave no further explanation.

Strangely, Marius found himself thankful that the eikon-slayer didn’t tell him what ‘the job’ entailed. The way he said it sounded like a death sentence, to the Garlean’s ears.

The pair stared at each other, silent once again. Marius’ breathing had now eased, but the sounds of warfare in the distance went on ceaselessly. 

Marius wet his lips. “...What will you do, now?” he asked.

Ifan hummed to himself briefly. “My orders were to clear the area. It’s clear. So I’ll probably go have a drink, find a man, take a nap, and wait for my next set of orders.” His tone was flat, as was his face, and the words were very practiced. Then he looked back at Marius again. “What about you?”

The Garlean had to take a good minute to give it some thought. That he was alive at all was nothing short of a miracle, at least based on the knowledge the Garlean Empire had of Kaleid the Black; or rather, the image of him that was useful to the Emperor. A merciful adventurer who liked playing with magic wasn’t someone who inspired fear and rage, which were the tools of conquest.

“They would not believe me if I told them you spared me,” Marius answered. “They will likely think I deserted, if I return alone.”

Ifan nodded. “What’s the penalty?” he asked, though he seemed to have a decent guess as to the answer.

Marius swallowed. “...Death.” he said, quietly.

Ifan’s lips pursed. He looked away again, thinking, then let out a long breath and nodded to himself. 

“I have a bit of gil. Should be enough to get you somewhere safe, for now.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small pouch from a space which seemed too small for it, before stepping forward and offering the coin to Marius. “Go be with your family, if you have any.” 

Marius reached up after another pause; not to take the pouch, but rather to remove his helm so he could look the eikon-slayer in the eye. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead around his third eye, and his pale face was flushed with lingering exertion, but his expression was a mask of sad and fearful gratitude. He let the helm fall where it landed with a final thud, before Marius accepted Ifan’s mercy. 

“...Thank you.” He said, and took the coin from Ifan before holding on to it carefully; his life depended on it, after all. 

Though could likely take his leave, Marius instead kept looking down at Ifan’s face. His lips twisted. “Have you any family?” he asked, unable to disguise the pity.

Ifan shook his head. “Not blooded, but…” His gaze lowered as his face took on a distant cast. “...most of them are gone, now. And I don’t want the other people I care about to see me like this.” The eikon-slayer then looked back up at Marius, and tilted his head apologetically. 

Marius didn’t know what to say. But he felt he should say something, so he did.

“I am sorry, Ifan.” he uttered, clutching at the coin pouch Ifan had given him.

Ifan stared at him in silence, and then gave him a faint, sad, but still thankful half-smile.

“Thanks, Marius.” He said. Then he nodded, and took a few steps back before he turned to leave. “...Good luck with your second chance.”

[sundered-souls]

FFXIVwrite2024 #13

Prompt: butte

Words: 590 Rating: T Characters: Aku (main, Bozjan hrothgar), a bunch of random garlean NPCs Spoilers: Endwalkers (takes place around MSQ lvl 97)

The mountains descended upon the plain like fortifications around the city, bumping on the ground here and there, forming buttes, hills and cliffs atop which few buildings had been raised.

As one coming from a land surrounded by enemies or would-be-enemies for all of its long history, it struck me—not even for the first time—as an odd choice. The strategy of a people who perhaps never expected to have to defend their city, having brought the war to lands so far away from the core of their Empire that they had forgotten nothing lasted forever.

One of those few buildings overlooking the city was a manor once owned by one of the Emperor's closest allies. A rare privilege, as sitting literally atop the city was normally reserved for the imperial family. But now, with the Atrocity overhanging above the plain of Garlemald, the manor remained as one of the few testimonies of a better time.

Yet, as we finish climbing and it finally appears in full view, I can't help being disappointed by the estate's brutish aspect. All grey stones and dark metal with few decorations and even less colors, it stands to me as the physical reminder of one of the Empire's greatest crimes: having invaded us all and still, somehow, not bringing even a sliver of good taste back to the Capital.

Not that I voice my opinion, of course.

"Shouldn't it be more... destroyed? one of the men asks behind me. - Perhaps the Tower claimed the soldiers before anyone had a chance to capture it. - Then let's hope no monster is sticking around. - Wait. Is that writing on the door? - Looks like it. What does it says? - Don't dead. Open inside. - What? It makes no sense. - Are you two stupid? It says Don't open, dead inside."

When the bickering continues, I clear my throat.

"Gentlemen. Could you please make even more noise just in case they haven't heard us yet? - Ah. Sorry, boss. - Pontius, Vestri, you go to the right. Drusus, with me. We take the left. We'll enter together from the back. If you see any sign of recent activity, warn us with your radio. - Yes, sir!"

And so we go. For a blessing, the reaper that accompanies me is silent and efficient. Unfortunately, our list of blessings stops there. While we see no sign of recent activity, we can see traces of infighting alongside the building. Bullets stuck in the walls, a snow mound that reveals, after inspection, the corpses of servants crudely executed, their bodies preserved impeccably by the cold—and, more worrying, rifles and garlean gunblades laying around. I've bumped against a few hidden under a thick layer of ice and snow by the time I reach the back door.

"Anything? I whisper when we meet with Pontius and Vestri. - Nothing new. Lots of weapons wasted outside, though. - The Tower probably got them soon after their fight. - In any case, there are dead inside. I took a look through a window. - What do we do? - What we came for," I say. "The Captain wants us to clear to place so we can bring refugees here: we clear the place so we can bring refugees here. - May I suggest something? - I'm listening, Pontius. - I should be able to attach the rope to the balcony above us," he says, patting the rope and hook at his belt. "If we enter from there, we'll have the high ground. - You're sure the rope can support my weight? - Garlean rope, sir. It's strong. - ... Alright, then. Let's do this."

[nothingxs]

FFXIV Write // Steer

The air was choked with heat and smoke, the din of clashing steel echoing through the paths and corridors as soldiers pushed on further and further. The initial frontal assault on Castrum Meridianum was always just one part of a two-pronged attack, and now that the so-called Warrior of Light had upheld their end of the deal and the magitek barrier had been disabled, what was once a feint now became a real threat.

And so, it was up to them to make do on the threat. It was up to us.

"I wonder," Ilysa shouted over to the rest of us, "how much longer do you think before the Empire surrenders this position?" She held her planisphere (so much as one ever does) to her right, running alongside us and looking down to find a line of soldiers who had pressed the rest of the Flames.

"Ain't bloody likely!" Renolt shouted right back, keeping his pair of blades close. "They know how important th' position is, they won't surrender unless they're made to!"

Dameron and Nenera had nothing to add to that, following up behind me. I was about to check with them before Lanna, who had leaned ahead, had made to duck behind cover and motioned to the rest of us to do the same.

"It's a big unit," they called out to us. "From here, four magitek armors. Couple of dozen soldiers. They want to clear us out." They turned to look at me. "It's on you, Red. Our men could overrun theirs, but not with those armors with them. What do you say we give them hell?"

I remember feeling myself grin as I looked to the others.

"Right. Ilysa, give Ren and Lanna a little boost. Dameron, you rain some hell to give Ren a shot at one of 'em. Lanna, see if you can't briefly commandeer one of their machines to cause problems. Nene, once Lanna's clear, burn 'em." I drew my sword and readied my shield, confirming my instructions with everyone with a nod.

"Right, Red," Ren fired back as he started to pull some throwing daggers from his belt. "So what are you gonna do?"

"I'll be right there with you."

What followed always was a bit of a blur.

It's hard to really key in on things; we've always just trusted each other to have each other's backs. I saw Ilysa draw cards and pass blessing both to Renolt and Lanna. As soon as Dameron's massive fireball caused the Imperial ranks to shake for just a small moment, one of Ren's daggers had found purchase right through the neck of one of the pilots.

Nenera and I moved to draw attention, getting quickly behind cover and providing enough of a distraction for Lanna to swing around, quickly leaping up to the disabled pilot's machine, reaching in, grabbing the controls and letting loose on the Garleans themselves. Dashing out from cover and cutting through the line of soldiers with other Flames at my back, Nenera's Ruby followed through and unleashing hell upon the remaining armors as Lanna fell back.

And amidst the chaos, pressure from all of us on the now-scattering force was all that was needed. A few well-placed cuts to fuel lines and joints from my sword and the encouragement of levin, wind and ice joining soon after the explosions were the only things we needed to disable the machines. And so, we charged ahead.

Or in any other case, we would've charged ahead.

A small pain that I'd dismissed in the back of my skull, now radiated throughout my head. The deeper we got into the Castrum, the deeper the feeling had got. I had dismissed it as a lack of rest, but this wasn't just a headache. It felt like I was being pulled.

Pulled away.

As we advanced, I stopped, and clutched my head, and looked ahead in the distance. My breath caught and I was filled with what I could only call dread. Ilysa and Nenera, who had been tending to the lightly wounded in the back, caught on, and Nenera was with me first.

"Cel, love, what's the matter? Why've you stopped? Are you hurt?"

"…Something's wrong, Nene." My eyes were fixed forward.

"Well, it's war; I'd hope—"

"No. Nene, listen to me," and I crouched to meet her eye level, hands on her shoulders, though I could still not bear to look anywhere but into the depths of the Castrum. "Something is wrong. Something feels wrong. We need—we have to retreat."

"Retreat? Love, are you mad? Th—"

I had finally turned to look at her.

She never told me what it was in my expression that convinced her. I just remember her looking at me with some level of horror, swallowing, and nodding.

I sounded the call to retreat. Our men seemed confused, at first, but the urgency of the call convinced them of its seriousness.

We'd started to fall back. I like to think it was the urgency with which I was waving men back that convinced them it was serious. Our men had stopped to help the wounded to get back, as well. Among the wounded had been a few Garleans as well, and several Imperial soldiers had advanced… confused as to the sudden ceding of ground. Still, they didn't chase, choosing to gather their wounded.

The pain in my head suddenly felt like it might split it in two.

I yelled to my men to hurry.

One of the Imperial officers met my eyes in the confusion.

I yelled at him to run.

We were told there was a flash of blue and white, right after. None of us remembered.

All we remembered was waking up outside of the Castrum, our wounds being tended to, having been too close to the blast.

...did those Garleans make it out...?