#gelmorran

[thedarknesssings]

The Spider.

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: Halcyon

Prompt #6, Entry #4 Masterpost so far

((This thing fought me SO HARD. However, the prompt was to spot-on to ignore considering Fal's father's last name, and the fact that I wrote about names for my last prompt as well. This bit comes directly after this bit, by the way. Which I wrote... too many years ago.))

Uther was already talking about arcanima and what sorts of things his son could do with it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn't listening.

Falerin had managed to still the shaking in his hands, although a pair of sharp blue eyes still seemed to peer at him from the darkened corners of the room. It had been months since he'd had the dream about those eyes, and now, thanks to what his father had just said, he could put them to a person. His grandmother. The Duskwight witch, ever preoccupied with herbs and charms and fortune-telling.

"What was her name?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear me before? I brought you here to show you the possibilities of someone with a unique talent like… yours, not reminisce for what never was and never will be."

When he had said the word "yours," Uther's gaze had lingered on the tiny red glow emanating from just behind Fal's head where Ruby was hiding. Unfortunately the soft reflection of her light against a backdrop of dark hair made her easy to spot in Uther's dimly lit house. Her wings quivered softly against the nape of his neck. She had always had a tendency to hide herself from prying eyes, but that tendency seemed especially prominent around Uther. Fal casually moved a bit of his hair over his shoulder to block her.

"Look. The way I see it, you have a lot to answer for here… I haven't even touched on the fact that you had a kid with a married woman and left him to rot halfway across the world."

Uther sighed. "Her name was Laragenie Alcyone. Its a name that appears nowhere in the annals of Gelmorra, or in the Ul'Dahn citizen's registry. From all I can tell, its just a name for a fish-eating bird. Utterly worthless."

He said it with the callous contempt of a spoiled child given an inadequate birthday gift, even down to the way he crossed his arms after he was done speaking. But the distant look on his face betrayed his real sentiment.

"Honestly, I don't understand why the sudden preoccupation. Of all the things we could be talking about right now, you choose this nonsense?"

Falerin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, studying his father's face carefully to gauge his reaction to what he was going to say next.

"Its because I saw her in a dream."

Uther's eyes widened for a split second as he made a nasal sound somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. Fal wouldn't have even had to be looking directly at him to see that the revelation had caught him off-guard.

"Ah. That would be just like her to still be spreading nonsense even after her own death. She fancied herself an oneiromancer… One who can read the future through dreams. Junk science and parlor tricks, all of it."

Falerin froze. That certainly wasn't the answer he was expecting. Uther picked up the nearest book and shufffled the pages.

"…And did I not tell you that you inherited her eyes? They're practically a mirror image of hers. It's... strange. Your mind was probably reconstructing what you saw when you last saw yourself in a mirror. Not everything has to be a melodrama."

"I see." Falerin mumbled. His father's use of the word "mirror" sent a sort of hollow chill through Falerin's body as he recalled the unfamiliar female voice that had spoken to him in that dream.

…We see one another from opposite sides of a mirror of blood…

Falerin clasped his hands in front of his mouth and resting his elbows on the table to disguise the renewed shaking in his hands.

((Also, kingfisher birds are in the family Alcedinidae, a name that shares the same mythological root as "Halycon," and here's a picture of my personal favorite species because I just love birds so much you guys.))

Photo by whistling wings photography.

[ofdarklands]

moon & leaf - 11

"don't duskwights live underground" well sometimes they go out and they need the signage. they are as confused up here as you would be in a gelmorran cave*

[catboy-become-goth]

Elftober day twentysix- Comfort

Because the Gelmorran dialect of Eorzean sign language that Oteone uses is mostly tactile, they were already used to being close, but after they reunite during Heavensward, its rare to see Rati and Teo far from each other.

The cold is a good excuse for it.

[placesyoucallhome]

And that life itself could not aspire To have someone be so admired I threw creation to my kin With a silence broken by a whispered wind

All of this can be broken All of this can be broken Hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground

[yloiseconeillants]

yloise's parents left the biggest clownshoes to fill

[wyrmwinds]

I finally received my friends’ Verified Dawntrail Seal of Approval so I will be playing it (in a bit, as I am currently busy) and they have noted that Arcadion has some especially good lore/gpose stuff for me specifically while not giving any details so my current guesses are:

One of Midgardsormr’s grandchildren is running the fighting ring

Once she regained enough of her power, Azdaja wants to wreck shop in the fighting ring

Tiamat got lost on the way to Meracydia and is having a brief stint in televised bloodsport

The duskwight lore was in Gamer Paradise all along

[crystal-verse]

Fun lore:

Since he's a god, K'pheli cannot be tempted by a primal.

Odin possesses the body of whoever landed the killing blow.

K'pheli is a Dark Knight and also a system.

To connect the dots: K'pheli kills Odin, Odin tries to possess him and instead gets added to the system, and K'pheli wields Zantetsuken as his Dark Knight weapon.

[bakuzen-xiv]

wait a minute. ELF??

Bro why u look at me like that chill!!!

[iron-sparrow]

Was inspired today to make up my own tarot-inspired imagery and arcana, so here's the SPARROW AT REST.

Some lore for Yein and the origins of their moniker below. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

The "Sparrow at Rest" is derived from the Benevolent Iron Sparrow constellation named by the Que-Sae, a once well-respected clan of Gelmorran mediums and couriers. The Benevolent Iron Sparrow never migrates, choosing instead to endure all hardships in order to protect its home. It is associated with the dry autumn and the inward energies within a person's core.

The symbol of the "Sparrow at Rest," when invoked by fortune tellers, can be a warning of hardships to come or a sign of self-neglect, leading to the weakening of one's spiritual foundations. Those who draw this image are encouraged to reevaluate their current situation and learn how to better care for themselves, their home, or their loved ones.

[thedarknesssings]

Edarien Secariot.

[lilbittymonster]

OC Smash or Pass: Vaisha Soveniss

You already know how this works. "Other" option is for some sort of incompatibility or you'd just rather be friends or study them under a microscope or some secret fourth thing

Yoinking an open tag from @hazelkjt

Basics:

Height: 6'11"/~209cm

Age: 34

Gender: wizard

Pronouns: They/He

Sexuality: Grey asexual with heavy masculine preference

Pros:

Herbalist and apothecary with a broad working knowledge of plants for both medicinal and arcane uses

Well versed in basic survival skills

Enjoys a good book and loves taking recommendations

Very nice voice. Very. Nice.

Will not mind one bit if you decide to infodump to him

Cons:

Heavily prejudiced against Gridanians, especially conjurers

Has no limits they will not surpass in pursuit of knowledge, particularly occultist powers

Frustratingly private about themself

They don't shy away from violence as a solution

Details:

Grew up in part of a Gelmorran settlement that was later taken under the protection of the Redbelly Wasps.

They're a Hearer, but due to their fire aspected aether and existing while Duskwight, they've been thoroughly rejected by the conjurer's guild numerous times.

They leave the Shroud to continue their self-taught thaumaturgy skills and become a black mage. WoL!Vaisha continues on to Limsa and eventually becomes a summoner. They prefer magic that does not rely on an external source, as learning magic is something that cannot be taken away from them at any point.

They will use any form of persuasion in conversation, from genial manners to underhanded blackmail, all with the same serene smile in pursuit of their goals.

WoL!Vaisha's Echo power is to control the emotions of the people around them, for good or for ill. They cannot create new emotions, only suppress or amplify.

They enjoy the finer things in life. They relish the notoriety that being the WoL/a powerful mage gives them, and will often dress in fine linens and silks and drape themself in jewellery to supplement their natural arcane ability.

While travelling is not off the table entirely, they do prefer to stay in one place for extended periods of time.

They prefer to be nocturnal, so early risers will not see them very much.

They don't tend to put much effort into maintaining connections much farther than how useful one is to them, so creating an actual bond is quite difficult and requires a lot of patience and even more luck. So far there has been one exception.

Sexually dominant and will adapt to whatever their partner wants but mostly uses sex as a tool to further their own ends.

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #16: Third-rate

Bloody, dirty, and sore, Locke marched across the room and dropped the pouch full of Gelmorran flowers on the counter. Even cut from their roots and taken from their garden, their blue petals pulsed, flashes of scarlet light leaking from the pouch’s opening. “Rough go of things?” Odranne asked, though her face only briefly showed concern. It soon dissipated, replaced by a smile as her eyes fell upon the pouch. “Not so rough you didn’t return with the flowers, it seems. Well done.” “Only just.” Locke dropped into a chair and groaned softly. It was immediate relief for his feet, even if it did nothing for the rest of him. “Don’t think you should send anyone back there though. Whatever you’re doing, make it work just with what I brought back. Dangerous down there.” “What did you find?” She looked back up from the petals, seemingly curious. “An annoying but chivalrous ghost.”

Odranne lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?” “They kept mentioning ‘Her Highness.’ We robbed a dead princess, I think.”

“Long-dead,” Odranne said. “Centuries ago, back when Gelmorra had monarchs and nobles and, well, people. But her garden endures, fortunately.”

“In large part because of her knight, I think. They were more than happy to kill to protect it.” Locke ran his hand through his hair, brushing bangs stiff with sweat and dirt back from his face before rubbing his eye. The headache still throbbed behind it. Experience told him it was there to stay, at least until he got some food in his belly and a good night’s sleep.

“You dispatched this annoying but chivalrous ghost then?” Odranne asked.

“Nah. Not really suited to killing ghosts. Blades and bullets don’t work so good. Fought them to a draw instead.”

A draw was a generous interpretation of their duel, considering the knight had made him look like a third-rate swordsman, but they weren't present to argue that fact. Locke wondered if they had managed to save the garden, but only for a moment, then he shoved that worry to the back of his mind. It wasn’t his problem.

Odranne nodded wordlessly. Was that disappointment there, in the gentle downward turn of her mouth? Or a trick of the light? It was gone when she looked at Locke again.

“Oh, well. You brought back more than enough flowers. With a little luck, this will be all I’ll need. We can call this a success.” Odranne rose from her seat and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper and a coin purse the size of Locke’s fists held together.

“This,” she said, holding up the parcel before handing it over, “is our friend’s medicine. Do be careful with it.”

Locke wrapped the package up in his cloak and set it at the top of his bag. Barring another woodland incident, it seemed safe enough.

“And this is your pay.” She set the purse on the table; its contents clicked and jingled pleasantly. “You seem accustomed to, ah, shall we say less than ideal conditions? I expect you’ll make it last.”

Locke tilted his head to one side, unsure of what to make of Odranne’s comment, but in the end he decided it didn’t matter. After a quick peek into the coin purse — it was, in fact, real gil — he stowed it away in his bag and stood up.

“Pleasure doing business,” Locke said, though he didn’t think he meant it.

“Likewise. Safe travels, delivery boy.”

Locke nodded and made his way across the workshop. Behind him, he heard the clink of glass bottles and the click of a pestle and mortar as Odranne assembled her equipment. He opened the door and stepped through, leaving her to her work.

He walked through Gridania, head down and eyes forward, avoiding crowds when possible and pushing his way through them when it wasn’t. He briefly entertained the thought of visiting the botanist’s guild and bartering for a bit of wood, but his tools were in the nook he’d found for himself up in Ishgard. Fixing his prosthetic meant heading north again or wasting money on a set of tools in Gridania. Anything of quality would cost him coin he wasn’t willing to spend.

It was Coerthas or rebuild his arm with shoddy equipment.

In the end, he chose neither.

Locke set off southward, back in the direction of the old hermit’s hut. Were he rested, fed, not suffering a clairvoyance-induced headache, still in possession of a functioning left arm, and in the mood to potentially be hunted by a wolf-like thing with too many mouths, he’d have chosen a shortcut through the deeper parts of the forest.

Instead, he did the sensible thing this time and stuck to the road.

Not a bell before nightfall, he found himself approaching a ramshackle little inn. Grimy lamps stood guard over a worn down sign just outside, the name illegible to literate travelers, the little picture above the name eroded by time and weather until it was illegible to Locke. He ventured inside, reserved a bed for a pittance, and purchased a meal of watery vegetable soup with a chunk of stale bread on the side.

By the time he’d dunked his head into a shallow basin, wolfed down his dinner, and passed several ticks listening to two old stablehands argue about chocobo racing, he should have been ready for bed. The previous night had been long, spent delving into Gelmorra’s halls and journeying back to Gridania, and everything ached. He needed, and wanted, rest.

But before he knew it, his feet were carrying him outside and off to the side of the inn. A gentle breeze ghosted across his skin, the light chill a relief against his newest wounds. It was a clear night, perfect for stargazing, though he hardly spared them a glance as he shed his outermost layers and drew his sword.

He had eyes only for the memory of the Gelmorran knight who’d bested him.

[karygurl]

FFXIVWrite #6: Halcyon

The funny thing with amnesia is, the victim literally does not know what they're missing.

Cassandra's memories only went back to about a year before she joined the Scions, when she'd awoken startled and disoriented behind a locked door in a Gelmorran ruin. In addition to her own panic, she'd given the archaeologists who were investigating there quite a fright.

Once she'd found her footing, she'd searched wherever she could think of for fragments of anything familiar, to no avail. The elementals were little assistance despite her tutelage in conjury, their abstract understanding of the world amounting to little beyond their almost affectionate term of endearment of her that felt something like, "daughter of far earth."

It was many years and many disappointments later that she found a lead, or rather, Thancred did. He'd discovered that a simple melody that she'd often absentmindedly hum under her breath was actually a Bozjan lullaby. Though she wasn't able to follow the lead for some time, once she'd concluded her business on the First, she'd taken only a brief respite before heading to the war torn country to not only assist the resistance, but try and discover her roots.

Unfortunately, as Headmaster Montichaigne taught her much later, once memories had been seared with aether, they were locked away until their owner returned to the aetherial sea. Though she didn't consciously know the incident that led to her amnesia, the explanation felt right, that the memories she wished with all her heart to recall were still there somewhere, out of reach.

Memories of shockingly brilliant blue bricks lining the roads, dusty and warm in the midday sun. Trees with thick bark that grew in small discs, appearing almost as if to be scales. The distinctive clink of metallic carving tools striking stone. The echo inside buildings with ceilings of soaring domes overhead. The scrape of caravan wheels and plumes of dust billowing from swathes of cloth.

An older brother who always snuck her a sticky sweet, her favorite. Parents who toiled hard and loved their children just as hard.

Halcyon days, lost to her forever. But then, by the grace of Hydaelyn (or perhaps Azem?), there were just as many joyous memories to be had here in her present, too.

[placesyoucallhome]

They all laughed as he turned around slow They said you ain't welcome 'round here anymore You just might as well go He wiped the blood from his face as he slowly came to his knees He said, I'll be back when you least expect it And hell's coming with me Hell's coming with me

[theblackestnight-ffxiv]

[ffxivwrite2024] prompt 16: third-rate

“Seven hells, I’ve had it!” D’zinhla threw up her hands, scowling daggers at the paperwork on her desk.

From behind her, she registered Airraim’s curiosity-tinged concern. “What’s wrong, love?” she asked, and after the sound of a few footsteps, a hand rested on her shoulder.

D’zinhla was immediately contrite–but still very frustrated. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Airraim,” she said in a softer tone. “It’s just… Well, this folio!” She wrinkled her nose as she gestured at the offending documents. “It was so promising! There’s some very old works in here! Padjali and Gelmorran, besides Gridanian, things I’ve never found before! But because it wasn’t stored right, and especially because it wasn’t printed on the right materials, I could teach a class in incorrect archival procedures from just what’s wrong with this singular folio!”

“Mmm,” and she felt Airraim gently squeeze her shoulder. “That’s a deep disappointment.”

“Gods, is it ever. The only pieces that haven’t had parts lost to degradation are pieces I already have well in evidence in other, much better preserved folios.” She couldn’t help the scorn in her voice. “Meanwhile, the pieces new to me? I can tell, even as old as it is, that the paper was hardly worth the pulp it was made from. Too thin in some places, too thick in others, the thin places have worn away entirely and left me with missing sections.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It was kept well, there’s hardly any book-rot, the spine is cracked but that’s manageable, but when the very paper is fallen apart, that hardly helps preserve the information within!”

“Perhaps it was all the paper they had available?” Airraim ventured.

“Perhaps,” she said, biting her lip. “But that means whoever took possession of it later should have seen to it that copies were made, if not a restoration. Though there’s not a whole lot that can be done to restore what was already of poor quality to begin with.”

Her partner kept her hand on her shoulder, brushing back and forth with her thumb. “Though it could mean that copies are out there that were not kept with this piece.”

She flicked an ear. “True enough,” she conceded. “But they haven’t been found by me, or anyone I know of, so they might as well not exist until they are found. Still, I suppose that might have been done, make copies and keep the original as intact as it was… I could only hope that such copies, if they exist, were made before all this damage.”

“But for now, it doesn’t get you the new material you wanted.”

“Well,” and she hummed, considering the documents. “It does get me evidence of these songs, incomplete though they are. And they are new to me, even if they could have been whole and entire, and are instead piecemeal. Still,” she sighed, and lifted a hand to pat Airraim’s. “Thank you for hearing me out, love. I know the minutiae of document preservation hardly interests you.”

“But it interests you, and therefore, I care to hear about it.” Airraim bent and pressed a kiss to the top of D’zinhla’s head. “You heard me out about my latest batch of fragrance failing miserably.”

“But that I can follow better, it’s-” She stopped herself with a wry smile, twisting in her chair to look up at her partner. “Sorry, you’re right, thank you.”

Airraim smiled, and it filled her with a flood of warmth. “Of course,” she said. “Now- what do you need to go on from here?”

D’zinhla knew she was being shepherded away from her indignation and onward into something more actionable, but she could bite back the ridiculous obstinate urge to resist the attempt. “Well, now I need to start transcribing what I can, before this terrible paper degrades even further. So I’ll need my inks-” 

Her partner chuckled. “I’ll leave you to it then. But I think I will take this time to go put some more tea on.”

“A lovely idea, but no rush for me, I’ll need to keep it off the desk while I’m working.” She was already preparing her workspace, thinking mindfully of what needed to go where, what hazards needed to be mitigated, what steps would need to be taken. She heard another chuckle, and Airraim’s steps away, but it faded into background as she focused on the work in front of her. She could indeed salvage something of worth out of this, even if it wasn’t the prize she had hoped it to be!