#half Elezen/half Garlean

[theimperialnuisance]

“You picked the wrong person to mess with!”

Have an Atticus and his friendly voidsent for your Wednesday afternoon c:

[charmiespecs]

Light Party 🔥Four characters in my FFXIV FC adventuring together! After all that healing, Mylon definitely appreciates the marshmallows!

[agent-jaselin]

drawing Astarion as an elezen like "put that elf into a taffy puller"

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #19 - Taken

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #19 - Taken

Note: Continuation of this story and this story!

Trigger Warning: Mentions of injuries and being injured/choked.

Briar swallowed carefully, lips thinning as it made his throat ache. He reached up, slim fingers brushing over the bandages still carefully wrapped around his neck. The wounds were healing steadily, but the damage had been done. The chirurgeons had been optimistic and supportive as they tended him. They kept telling the half-Elezen that, with time, the pain would lessen and he would speak again.

Green eyes slid shut as he leaned back on the pillow, breathing slowly. Technically he could speak a few words, but it hurt and his voice was raspy and strange to his ears. It was simply easier not to.

But it was strange to have no voice of his own so suddenly. Briar had never realized how much he valued his own laugh and his ability to voice his thoughts until it was taken from him. Until Zeno had half-crushed his throat, metal claws tearing his flesh. It was a blessing he had not bled to death, but he had not expected to be robbed of something so vital.

Tears stung the corner of his eyes when Briar suddenly thought about what he could not do again. He couldn't call Jack, his sheepdog. He couldn't whistle for his sheep. He couldn't sing 'the morning song' to his chickens.

He could not speak the names of those he cared for.

A thousand little comforts and freedoms were taken from him with one flex of the Garlean prince's hand. A brutal violence done to him so casually and easily that it was unsettling. By a man who called him 'beast'. A man that killed far more casually and callously than any animal Briar knew of.

Yet here he was. Voiceless as any 'beast', robbed of something so vital that many races referred to themselves as 'Spoken' with pride. The half-Elezen wondered if he could be called 'Spoken' when he no longer had a voice to share with others.

Shaking his head with sudden frustrated anger, Briar opened his eyes and wiped them. He shoved messy red curls out of his face, absently tying them back as he moved to stand. He wobbled a bit, still weakened by the injuries but he couldn't stand the walls of the infirmary another moment.

He needed to get out. He needed to breathe in open air and see the sky denied him for days. He needed to feel part of the world again. Even if it was only for a short time. Briar wanted to feel real again. In the quiet corner of the infirmary, he felt like a silent ghost watching the rest go by.

Fortunately for him, there were enough wounded to keep the chirurgeons busy which allowed Briar to slip from his room unnoticed. He felt better as he walked, although he still had to touch the occasional wall for support. He breathed a silent sigh of relief as he stepped out into the afternoon sun and felt a breeze against his skin.

As always, Rhalgr's Reach was a bustle of activity. It allowed the half-Elezen to make his way toward the river in the middle, finding a quiet corner where he could slide down to sit on the short grass and lean against one of the warm stone walls. He closed his eyes and simply breathed, focusing on the sun and the wind, on the warm earth beneath him and the quiet water beside him.

Briar wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, not sleeping but almost dozing, simply trying to quiet his mind before a voice startled him. It was sharp in his ears and close enough that he jumped, eyes snapping open as he turned to look at the white-haired Elezen marching toward him with intent. His ears tilted back in a bit of worry.

"Briar!" Alisaie said as she halted in from of him, hands on her hips. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting!"

Briar opened his mouth to answer, but the effort made him grunt with pain, hand to his throat. He shook his head and just gestured around with helpless frustration. He rubbed his neck and patted the ground beside him, attempting to convey what he meant. What he needed in that moment.

For a moment, Alisaie simply glared at him, blue eyes narrowed. Then she studied his face and sighed. "I suppose I understand," she huffed, suddenly dropping to sit beside him. "I hate convalescing as well." She looked at him a moment, frowning. "How are you?"

Briar shrugged, rubbing his throat again, feeling the tingling itch of healing from the claw-marks. He attempted a smile, but he suspected it was shaky given Alisaie's expression.

"Right," she murmured. "Stupid to ask. You can't--" She looked a little stricken for a moment. "You can't yet. You will. It'll heal, Briar. It will."

Briar couldn't help but smile at Alisaie's determined voice. He wasn't sure he was as certain as she was about his voice returning. Still, if Alisaie Leveilluer wanted something to happen, it was very likely to. She was too fierce and stubborn for it to be otherwise.

Alisaie studied Briar's face and blew out a breath, reaching over to rest her hand on his. "It's going to be all right, Briar." Her fingers curled around his firmly.

Briar turned his hand to squeeze hers back. He might not be able to speak, but he did mouth 'thank you' to her. She nodded and leaned her shoulder against his as they settled against the wall in companionable silence.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 1: Rekindling Ties

Prompt: Steer - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Cornelia eir Lucretius, mention of Callistus pyr Durandas (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning: None

“Corrin, I can’t approve this.” One of the individuals in charge of Corrin’s research division tapped the paper that the woman had lain down in front of her, a frown on her face. “You want to bring a former Garlean military officer to serve as your bodyguard?” There was more than a little incredulity in her words as she lowered the glasses she wore down the bridge of her nose. “Your travel isn’t even that dange–” 

But whatever else she might have been prepared to say was forestalled when Corrin’s hands met the top of the table with a resounding thump, setting the various delicate and indelicate research materials atop the makeshift desk to rattling. 

“I am telling you that he comes highly recommended from a friend of a friend, and he has a vested interest in the research I’m doing as a Garlean himself!” The half-elezen was ferocious whenever she wanted something; from research materials and grants, to now this new request. But pulling a soldier from out of Garlean territory to do it?

“Asking for something of this magnitude is–” Once again, Isabel tried to cut Corrin off, but the half-elezen woman shook her head. “I’m calling in my favor to do it.” Each person had been granted one after a particularly difficult exploratory expedition had resulted in precarious circumstances. 

Each of them had been granted a singular favor to be called in at a later date. One that would be granted without question. If Corrin was using hers on this, it meant it held some kind of significance. 

Isabel sighed and leaned back in her chair, pulling her glasses off entirely to rub at her eyes. “Alright.” She relented at last, breathing out a sigh when Corrin straightened from the position she’d had looming over her desk. “Alright, you can fetch your requested bodyguard. I’ll arrange the paperwork with our superiors and get our liaison with the Eorzean Alliance to have things arranged on their end.” 

“Good.” Corrin looked self-satisfied and folded her arms across her chest, nodding. “I have never made a poor decision when it comes to the direction of our research and my handling of it, and I wouldn’t start now. If you cannot trust me not to steer you wrong in this then we’ve got bigger issues, Isa.”

The slightly older of the two women snorted, and ultimately she gave a gesture, waving Corrin off.  “You know I trust you. With this, my life, and just about everything else. Now get out. I have fresh paperwork I have to tend to, thanks to someone.”

Corrin’s smile never lost that edge of satisfaction that made it almost sharp on her otherwise unremarkable face, even as grey eyes gleamed. She snapped closed the book she had brought in to lay beside the paperwork she’d slid over to Isabel, and started for the door. 

“Make sure I’m cleared for a week from now! I want to get him settled into Eorzea before we immediately traipse halfway across the world.” The door closed with a click behind her as Isa gave an incredulously startled protest at the closed surface of “A week!?”

But by then, Corrin was already out of range, heading down the hallways of the headquarters that she and the rest of her research group were currently occupying in Mor Dhona. “A week, Calli. Just like I promised.” The words were uttered under her breath as she practically sprinted down the hall to her room to start packing. It would take time for the trip, and all of her cold gear from her last foray north was buried. 

She was about to cross from the world she lived in now to the world she left behind. And with quick work, she’d hopefully stride back across those lines unscathed with her friend as she tread the ruins of her former homeland, and brought the halves of her past and future colliding with one another.

[astarmaux]

Character Profile

basics ––––

NAME: Saedre Astarmaux

AGE: 30

RACE: Half-hyur/elezen

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

MARITAL STATUS: In a relationship w/ @voidtekarc

SERVER: Diabolos, Crystal Data Center

physical appearance ––––

HAIR: White with very, very faint light blue sheen under certain lighting.

EYES: Purple with golden flecks

HEIGHT: 5'9"

BUILD: Slender

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Two small beauty marks. One just under the left of her bottom lip and the other just below her right eye.

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Usually wears large round spectacles, books, satchel of odds and ends, cloak (she loves her cloaks), and whatever else she may need at the time.

personal –––-

PROFESSION: Traveling scholar and educator specializing in aetherology and astromancy.

HOBBIES: Reading, seeing the world, unearthing hidden treasures, and consuming copious amounts of coffee.

LANGUAGES: Common

RESIDENCE: Old Sharlayan

relationships –––-

SPOUSE: Never married.

CHILDREN: None but may want to have children one day.

PARENTS: Iaerian Astarmaux (father; alive), and Edone Astarmaux (mother; alive)

SIBLINGS: Ithyae Astarmaux-Burnes (sister; alive)

OTHER RELATIVES: Edwin Burnes (brother in law; alive), Alphant Burnes (nephew; alive)

traits –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable/ in between

cautious / reckless/in between

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic/ unemphatic / in between

optimistic/ pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured/ in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

additional information –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently/ to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

possible hooks –––-

Aetherology and astromancy - Loves talking with others who have a passion for the subjects as well.

Fellow Sharlayan? Let's nerd out.

Traveler - Always eager to travel and for good adventure.

Her relationship with a Garlean may or may not be to everyone's liking. Idk.

Honestly, whatevers clever!

what I’m looking for ––––

Saedre could always use friends, enemies, colleagues, etc.

oocly, I am ––––

Not a new FFXIV player. I've been here awhile.

Semi-selective RPer. I've seen too much in RP communities that I am very cautious even though I tend to be pretty welcoming unless given reason otherwise. I am also just not someone who RPs every single day of the week nor wants to, so this doesn't always fit in well others who RP pretty consistently. Being selective saves myself and others time so I like to be upfront.

NOT interested in ERP ever.

you can contact me via ––

Tumblr DM @astarmaux

Discord - Ask me.

In-game on Diabolos - Saedre Astarmaux

Tumblr DM @astarmaux

Discord - Ask me.

In-game on Diabolos - Saedre Astarmaux

[winterdeepelegy]

Prompt #24 - Bar

Glace had already been here for a couple of bells, and though he nursed his way through the first pint whilst enjoying minimal conversation, he was halfway through his second when three Hyur men arrived. He ignored them at first, including when he heard them making snide remarks outside about his chosen mode of transportation, a motorcycle parked just on the edge of the fence line. There was still plenty of room for chocobos, carts, and all manner of other steeds to be accommodated. "Bloody godsdamned machine," one of them scoffed. Glace heard what might have been the disgusting snorf of a throatful of phlegm being spat... and it better not have been at his ride. He noted this and took another swig. He counted the pairs of footfalls entering the tavern behind him - two of the men entered. The third didn't make his appearance until after the telltale sound of something large and metallic crashing onto its side in the dirt. Glace slammed his tankard down onto the countertop and clenched his jaw, but he neither turned to look at the men nor did he say anything. Not yet. Not with Brass Blades sitting at another table close by... as if they would have done much. One of the newly arrived men laughed, "Tell me you didn't!" "Shite sure I did... damn thing has no place here," answered the third man. "...Bring that Garlean heap o'trash here, the whoreson deserves to find his toy broken." Glace's lips curled back with a snarl, and the barkeep moved down to the far end of the counter with a sighed "Not again" and ducked down like he was looking for something. Rather, he wanted to avoid getting in the middle of the brewing storm. One of the Brass Blades got up to see what happened outside, the other remained at the table with a wary eye on the small group. "I should've pissed on it too," said the Hyur. "Prob'ly would've peeled the paint right off it." He finally decided to read the room and noticed a lack of what he expected - there were no Garleans in the room. He'd incorrectly assumed the identity of the motorcycle's owner and noted the only other plausible owner was the Duskwight standing at the bar. "Oi, mate, you know anything about the metal monstrosity outside?" Glace licked his lips and stared down into his tankard for a moment, seething regardless of the gelid calm in his posture. "Yeah," a hefty pause, "It's mine." "Oh, well then... serves you right. Bloody arse, you've got no --" Glace moved before anyone else knew it was coming. He was a dark blur as he lunged from the bar counter to the table, grabbed the Hyur off the ground by his throat and plunged him through the thick wooden tabletop. The surface was reduced to large splinters and the Hyur now laid there in silence; that was except for the strangled groan he let out from under the Duskwight's iron grip. The man's comrades ran back outside with hardly a moment's hesitation after such a monstrous display of strength from an Elezen. The nearby Brass Blade, half in his cups, stood up with a hand on his sword but hardly had to advance on the confrontation due to the now bloodied Hyur landing on his table next. Glace threw a substantial amount of gil onto the counter to pay for his drinks, as well as the busted table, and left to inspect the damage to his motorcycle. He found the other Brass Blade talking to the other men who ran outside but paid them little mind. The bike was damaged, the paint scuffed and dented in a couple of places, but it was nothing he couldn't fix. He looked up and locked eyes with the Brass Blade who shook his head and went back into the tavern. With consideration to how this all began, he wasn't going to hold Glace accountable, not when the instigator was still present and easy to apprehend.

[forgotten-contract]

How they met; Krile + Silvaire

While Silvaire met the young woman known as Krile only in passing at the foray into tracking down the missing scions - as attentive as he was to skills of others, the man made it quite apparent that he had no interest in helping that situation, and left it to the Warrior of Light to handle. It wasn't until that same Warrior of Light requested his assistance with the plight of the Warring Triad that he was properly introduced - and strongarmed - into meeting the Lalafell on open terms.

She was clearly able to piece together his lies and half-truths, just as sure as she was aware of the guarded nature of their young companion Unukalhai; yet she unaware of how that the Elezen lord was actually quite similar to that displaced 13th resident. Through the events Krile kept her peace about picking into Silvaire's secrets, although not without a passing comment here and there at his expense; a type of pointedness that brought more questions to the minds of the Scions who'd - up to this point - held his lacking interest in their affairs as common sense. Krile was the first to properly point out the ease in which he would relent to the requests of the Warrior of Light alone; as if obligation demanded a polite hand. Silvaire for the most part found himself at odds; both in the Promethian curse of well controlled annoyance, as well as a genuine respect and admiration for the way the Lalafellan woman could handle him in almost all conversations. Krile and The Warrior of Light were the only two to properly notice the change in his demenor at the death of Regula; unknown to them, the history of a relationship of having raised the youth alongside Varis lingered in the history of this once-Garlean hound. A sorrow buried just as quickly behind the umbral dark of his voidsent affliction, brushed away as 'a waste of time'. After all is said and done, Krile and Silvaire leave these lengthy exchanges with the knowledge that the other is someone to keep an eye on - for good or bad, was yet to be seen.

[velnica]

🎄 Happy Starlight 2023! ✨

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

Love ~ Vel, Fjora, Cora and the bard unit

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

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

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

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

Warrior of Lights:

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

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

The Twin Adder Bard unit:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Supporting casts:

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

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

[autumnslance]

send LOST for a scene from my muse's past in which they felt lost, literally or figuratively {Zaine}

He was supposed to protect her.

Zaine's axe and armor, Evienne's spells and social acumen. They were a matched set of opposites, a team that had traversed the realm for months now. That's how it worked.

On reflection, he really hadn't known her that long; less than a year. Yet everything they had gone through made it feel much longer, or at least more intense. They had shared their histories, their hopes, more than a few secrets.

Never a bed, though; as much as he'd come to love her, it was not in that way. And she was still mourning the loss of her spouse, besides. So fierce friends and comrades they were.

...They had been.

Zaine was going to tear Gaius van Baelsar into pieces.

"Hey," Yda said, wandering over to sit with him.

"Hey," he replied, taking a deep breath and sitting up. "You doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. How--"

"How about Papalymo? And Thancred?"

She frowned. "They're all right, Zaine. Everyone is."

Not everyone.

Before he could say more, she stuck her finger against his lips. "How are you?" she demanded to know, glimpses of her blue eyes through the mask showing her own sadness and resolve. She removed her finger.

Zaine slumped. "I keep feeling like I did everything wrong. Missed something, forgot something. If I'd been a little more on guard--and I know, I know that's not how it works, I know you all rushed cuz you only found out too late, but I--" He rested his head in his hands, clutching his hair.

"I feel like 'it's not your fault' won't help, huh?"

He huffed out a bitter laugh. "No." They were silent for a moment. "I know he targeted her as a caster, as a threat. Even if I had been in her place, even if I had been on guard. And I know...Evienne chose this, same as the rest of us, but it...Gods, this hurts."

"Of course it does," Yda replied softly. "It will for a long while."

He sat back now, leaning on the wall behind him, Yda watching. "If I knew anything of Eorzean etiquette as a boy, I forgot it. Evienne, though...she had impeccable manners. And took it upon herself to teach me better. My rough soldier ways grated on her lady's sensibilities." He smiled thinly. "I don't think I'd have made half as good an impression on all those people without her. And nevermind how many of her own heroics have been overlooked. It's not fair."

"A lot of things aren't," Yda said. "Minfilia's speaking to her sister, and her son. He's so little."

"Yeah," Zaine said. "Not much older than my sister was, when we lost our father. This kid's lost both his parents now and I don't...I feel like I should say something, but what? 'I was your mum's partner but failed to protect her from a Garlean bullet'?"

"Zaine, you can't say that."

"No, of course not, I just," he pinched his nose, trying to stay the renewed feeling of prickling heat in his eyes, threatening another deluge. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. She would know; that's what she was good at! It's all her clever words and maneuvering that's made me seem a hero; people think I know what I'm doing, but I don't. And there's still so much happening, no time to sit here and wallow, but Sisters help me, I don't know how I'm going to do it without her!"

The tears fell despite his attempts; guilt and shame as much as grief pouring from him. Yda was silent, simply holding his hand, squeezing tightly, a reminder he had more friends and allies, more people to help, to rely on.

Just not his companion.

--

((As the 1.0 WoL, Zaine traveled around with a Path Companion, who I decided was a prim & proper elezen conjurer named Evienne. There is, however, a famous scene where Gaius shoots the Path Companion, and then fights Thancred, Y'shtola, Papalymo, and Yda. In Zaine's continuity, his Path Companion dies from the injuries inflicted in that incident.))

[myreia]

Gimmie Hilda or Minfilia!! (from @tsunael)

Hilda, yes!! I have Minfilia coming in another ask, too. 👀

Meeting Hilda is one of the most bizarre moments of Aureia’s life. She had a sense of what life was like for half-elezens in the city due to some of the weird microaggressions made towards her when people didn’t recognize her as the Warrior of Light, but because she’s not from Ishgard, she didn’t really fully know what it all entailed. Aureia doesn’t think much of being half-elezen. It wasn’t really a factor for her growing up; there was far more emphasis on her and her family being non-native Garleans than divisions between Hyur and Elezen. So the whole situation in Ishgard is odd, uncomfortable, and hurts her brain when she thinks about it too much.

So tracking Hilda across the city, slowly putting the pieces of the puzzle together to figure out who the Mongrel is, Alphinaud making some very bizarre comments about the appearance of the person they’re searching for…

(Aur thinks it’s both hilarious and also very weird that he calls Hilda’s features “striking” when he’s literally been attached to Aureia’s hip this whole time—Aureia who is also a half-elezen with "raven hair" and "ruby red eyes", it was just a bit of a… “say what now, Alphinaud?” moment for her jokes on me for unintentionally designing my WoL to look like an NPC THIS WAS NOT PLANNED.)

Aureia warms to Hilda right away. They don’t immediately become friends—there’s too much going on for that—but Hilda’s a pretty steady presence in her life and the reason that she finally becomes comfortable in Ishgard. They get along really well. They have similar senses of humour. Hilda’s much more brash and extroverted than Aureia is, but they are both headstrong, prone to teasing the people they like, and will not put up with bullshit.

(One common bit of bullshit is people mistaking them for each other or assuming they are sisters—they are both very much not pleased with that, although Aur does think it’s hilarious that Hilda could be her for a day if she really tried.)

Hilda brings a very firm sense of normalcy to Aureia’s life. She’s also not afraid to confront her on her habits or if she thinks she’s being an idiot. There are times when Aur is a bit envious of her—she’s envious of how easy it is for her to be social, how casual relationships/romance/sex are a breeze for her, and it really has less to do with Hilda herself and more about Aureia seeing something that comes naturally to others that she very much wants but has kind of given up on and doesn’t know how to go about navigating it on her own terms.

There’s a bit of tension that develops between them because Aureia is still figuring out what her feelings for Thancred are (fact: messy) and she finds out (possibly in the worst way) that Hilda is having a casual thing with him. She’s upset, but at the situation (and at Thancred, and at herself), not at Hilda.

The end result of this is—Aureia ends up with Aymeric (the healthy option), Hilda’s casual thing ends since it was bothering her friend, Thancred wasn’t worth it anyway, and Aureia’s happiness is way more important than that.

Anyway, tl;dr—they’re best friends. Solid. They love each other, they’ll always be there for one another.

Just don’t call them sisters.

[ask me my OC's opinions on NPCs!]

[witchloversupreme]

So, I was thinking about Garlemald lore again, because I'm mentally ill and obsessed, and I had a kinda fucked up thought. Explaining it is gonna take some doing, so stay with me.

If the garlean historians are to be believed (and the Sharlayans agree (As seen in Encyclopaedea Eorzea 1), so they're likely correct), roughly 1500 years ago, the garlean people lived in Corvos alongside the G tribe, in a situation probably not dissimilar to the M and Ala Mhigo, with a sedentary tribe fairly peacefully sharing their territory with a nomadic one.

Okay, so, here's where shit gets a little bit tricky.

There is only the ONE race of Garleans (Unless you count Jullus and Cid as a different race for being Short Kings), unlike all the other species of humans, who have at least two (Midlanders/Highlanders, Xaela/Raen, Dunesfolk/Plainsfolk), and sometimes even three (Duskwights/Wildwood/Ishgardians, Hellsguard/Sea Wolves/Far Eastern). This implies a very, very small, and very specialized population. A population that could, very easily, be displaced by a larger, more powerful group, like (as the historians posit) a large tribe of Elezen from what would later become Bozja, who, very likely, were themselves, forced from their homelands by invading Roegadyn and Hrothgar. If this tribe was sufficiently large (and magically skilled) enough, they could have very easily expunged the proto-Garleans from Corvos and forced them northward.

The Garlean historians claim that this forced exodus pushed them all the way into north central Ilsabard, but this is incredibly unlikely, as no matter how devoted to a people's total annihilation a tribe may be, hounding them the entire distance from Fantasy Greece to Fantasy Siberia is more than a bit ridiculous. But I digress.

What is more likely is that the Garleans were forced more westward, nearer to proto-Werlyt, where they likely settled for a time, before expanding north into the mountains which cut the continent in half (it is still violently upsetting to me we don't have a full map of Ilsabard). A few centuries of relative peace followed, where the proto-Garleans expanded ever so slightly further north, before, once again, they lost a war, most likely one against Hyurs and Raen from either Proto-Werlyt or Proto-Thavnair, and lost their southerly territories.

With no other option but continue colonizing northward, the Garleans did exactly that, eventually founding "Garlemald", the city, a few decades later, and the rest is, quite literally, history.

Now, with that lore dump out of the way, we can get to the real meat of my thought.

Almost all evidence points towards the Garleans simply being another species of human, just like Hyurs, Elezen, and Au ra, and not a "created species", like the Ixal, and, therefore, they definitely had a mirror race on the other shards.

But where the fuck are they?

I have seen neither hide nor hair of a single Garlean, be it in the flesh, as a statue, or in a tomb in Amh Areng, Kholusia, Lakeland, or Rak'tika. There's absolutely nothing to show that the Garlean people existed on the First, which is very, very fucking strange, as even the Amalj'aa and Ixal (sort of) have mirrors on the First in the form of the Zun and the Amaro.

I can think of two answers to my question:

The Doylist answer, (which is much less interesting), is just that Square either forgot to make any Garlean NPCs for the first, or decided against depicting First!Garleans, possibly because the race both didn't have an equivalent from a previous FF game, like the Hrothgar/Ronso, or Elezen/Elves, nor were playable, like like the Au ra/Drahn, or, because the Garleans are the go-to "Bad Guy Race" and they didn't want to confuse players.

The Watsonian answer, (and the one I subscribe to), is that the First!Garleans are extinct, having been driven to the brink by The Flood and over the edge in the ensuing century of strife, alongside many, many other species and peoples.

[tallbluelady]

For the NPC thoughts thingy, how about one stalwart ally, Lucia Junius!

Lucia! Reflecting my thoughts on her when I first saw her, Rowan thought that she was half-elezen, half-hyur. She hadn't ever seen an unmasked Garlean woman in her lifetime, so she was rather shocked that Lucia hailed from there (and on top of that, was Livia's sister!).

Rowan is very grateful that Lucia is on her side, and for her support of Aymeric. (Honestly, it probably made turning Aymeric down slightly easier to know that he was going to be so well supported no matter what Rowan chose.)

Thanks for the ask!

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #12 - Quarry

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #12 - Quarry

Trigger Warning: Blood, violence, injuries. Not overly graphic, but present because, well, I wrote Zenos for the first time!

This is my particular take about how the end of Rhalgr's Reach (aka the first time meeting Zenos) went for Briar.

Briar's ribs ached as he panted, one knee on stony ground and a hand steadying him. With his free hand, he reached to touch his side. He grimaced as each breath caused pain and a glance showed his fingers smeared with red. Gritting his teeth, the half-Elezen glanced at his bow, but the weapon was useless now. The slash of a sword had severed the string even as it sliced into his flesh. Forcing the pain and fear away, Briar turned his eyes toward his opponent.

Zenos yae Galvus.

The crown prince of the Garlean Empire was an imposing, alien figure in his eyes. Towering near two fulms over Briar, he was wrapped in jagged, dark plate armour with a bone-white mask. There was only the occasional flash of light from the eyes within to mark the prince as a man instead of a machine. As he watched, Zenos flicked his sword absently, sending drops of blood across the sand to clean the blade.

All around them, there was chaos in Rhalgr's Reach. The dead and the dying were everywhere. The Ala Mhigan Resistance was desperately trying to their own against the Garlean soldiers. Somewhere nearby Y'shtola lay in the sands, protected by a frantic Lyse. Krile, Aliasaie, and Alphinaud were doing their best to get the wounded to safety.

But at the moment, none of that mattered.

In this moment, there was only Zenos and the wide sand stretched between them as the statue of the Destroyer looked down.

"Will you run, Beast?" Zenos tilted his helm as he took a step toward Briar. "Will that fierce spirit break?"

In answer, Briar stood slowly, hearing the soft platter of blood drops hitting the sand. Reaching for the sheath on his thigh, he pulled out the curved knife, gripping it as he walked to meet Zenos.

"Good!" The laugh boomed out of Zenos as he walked faster. "Let the beast bare its fang at me!"

Without meeting to, Briar showed his teeth at Zenos, green eyes sharp as he darted forward. He twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the slash of the long samurai sword. Briar lashed out, knife scraping along Zeno's leg near the knee. He gave a frustrated snarl under his breath as he threw himself away to avoid a backward strike at him. The Garlean Steel prevented Zenos from being hamstrung, but the boldness of Briar's attack had him barking another laugh.

The Garlean prince attacked in a flurry of strikes, although his movements were almost lazy. Briar hissed and twisted, dodging and twisting, forced back step by step. But he gave grudgingly, teeth still showing and eyes locked on Zenos. While his determination did not waiver, he was not the warrior Zenos was and his stamina faded.

A small stumble was all it took for a brutal backhand to slam into his chest, sending his slim frame through the air to crash on the blood-stained sand. Briar rolled and twisted, coming to his hands and knees, body heaving and sweat drenching his thin leather armour. He started to rise, only to give a strangled gasp as a gauntlet-covered hand seized his throat and jerked him upward.

Briar gagged, vision blurring and full of spots as Zenos squeezed with casual viciousness. The sharp points of the armour pierced his skin, sending trickles down his neck and chest as the half-Elezen dangled from the ground. "Pathetic," Zenos sighed, voice strangely soft as he brought Briar closer to his face. "Such potential to be a fine quarry but--!"

His words turned into a grunt of surprise as Briar twisted suddenly. One hand grabbed Zenos's wrist, jerking the armour aside just enough for the half-Elezen to plunge the short blade into the Garlean's forearm. At the same moment, Briar coiled like a snake and slammed both heels into the prince's helm with everything he could manage. And it was enough, if only just.

Zenos staggered back, grip loosening around to drop Briar to the ground. The half-Elezen sucked in a deep breath, only to cough and spit blood from his injured throat. His fingers were still curled around his dagger though, now red with Garlean blood. He staggered to his feet, free hand at his own throat to try and staunch the bleeding.

Zenos stared down at the slim little Eorzean with wild red hair and green eyes that gleamed with a quiet fury. He watched as Briar showed his teeth yet again in a blood-tinted snarl, even as he swayed in place, dizzy from wounds and lack of air. That savage gaze did not waver though, despite blood trickling down Briar's chin and his thin chest heaved with the effort to breathe.

The Garlean tilted his head, absently reaching up to remove his helm. He shook long blond hair out of his face as he hooked the helmet to his waist. He studied the slow drip of blood from his injured forearm. He reached up to wipe away a small smear of blood from his nose. Elegant features furrowed a bit as he considered the battered but defiant Briar. The sight of the slim half-Elezen still standing his ground made Zenos's lips twitch up in a very faint smile.

Then Zenos simply turned away. Without another word or glance, he simply stalked away, departing the field. Briar stared after him, watching the last of Garlean soldiers quickly moving to follow their prince out of Rhalgr's Reach.

Only then did Briar shudder, knees giving way so he fell to the sand. He gave a strangled gasp, spitting out blood again. A wave of pain and exhaustion swam over his vision and he only dimly heard General Aldynn shouting his name and calling a healer. Briar made an effort to rise, but darkness washed over him. The last thing he was aware of was Raubahn's hand catching him before he hit the ground as the pain faded into nothingness.

[heirbane]

Stjarna wants to know, and of course, with honesty, how it felt to crawl out of the Praetorium, barely alive, what kept Gaius alive in those moments.

It is not something he consciously remembers. Like a word out of a reach, a thought once recalled but unavailable, the aftermath of his fall from grace exists - but not for him.

Valdeaulin does. It is the Duskwight's recollection that Gaius has memorized: the image of a corpse shambling from the rubble, helm shattered, body contorted in such a way that he believes the man to be but a twisted flame. But he lived, carrying himself on his own two feet.

Gaius van Baelsar hadn't died when Agrius fell; but to most, he did die in Praetorium.

The men scarcely had escaped the fire when the Legatus collapsed. Valdeaulin attempted to drag the man away from the rubble, but found the armored bastard to be too heavy for him alone: and there were too many around, clinging to life themselves. He would not rely on their dying delirium. If any of Gaius' soldiers caught him with their officer, Valdeaulin feared he would be followed and killed, too.

He ripped off layers of metal, hot and smoking. Gauntlets, their magitek communicators shattered, were thrown into the abyssal chasm left behind by Ultima. There was little left in terms of under armor on Gaius: the flames of death had burned so fiercely that it melted most of the ceruleum polymer.

By the time Gaius was in a state that could be removed from resting place of their soldiers, Valdeaulin had, well and truly, believed him to be dead. The corpse would still be a trophy the Garleans would search for, and the Duskwight had nothing to lose. If he could not have the man's life, he thought, his head was a suitable alternative.

Gaius' first waking memory was of a shack outside of Thanalan. The smell of sick and sweat had bile in his throat. For but a moment, he thought he had awoken alone, the early morning still quiet and calm.

The false hope did not last long. He heard whispering pleads, a hissed order, and then traction on his leg. No alchemical concoctions would have silenced the sound that burst forth from his lungs, ragged and burning from smoke inhalation, before he returned to his fitful haze of being.

Valdeaulin never told him who he had threatened. He never shared who the medics were that came and went, supplementing the Gridanian's own conjury, or if they had been alive to go at all: but the elezen was not the only one tending to him, that much was certain.

Maybe his suffering - those gasping, conscious moments when he awoke in agony, when bone was set and burns re-dressed - was deserved. Maybe this was to be his lot in life. He had spat upon Hydaelyn for over half a century: to be greeted by a roiling, furious mockery of the aetherial sea would be suitable for him. He would drown in the water just as he had suffocated in the flames, never greeting death and being allowed to slip under the tide.

But those blinks became more. He would surface, the sound of his own voice foreign and wrong. He would hear Valdeaulin's pacing, his mumbling. He would feel the sting of a blade upon his skin, the pinprick promise that he lived yet.

And, eventually, he would muddle his way to his thoughts. If he had died, he thought, his savior would not be afoot. If he had died, he would no longer feel the throb of broken bone nor the horrific itch of new skin.

Death was peaceful. Living was not. And so he had to still be alive, grasping at the edges of existence between one potion and the next.

Valdeaulin would state it took the fallen hero nigh two full moons to even begin to return. Gaius felt as if it took autumn and winter and further before his body felt livable and consciousness as if it were not a damnation.

(Valdeaulin had doubted he remembered any of it, he would say, until the night he roasted a hare, the smoke curling into their cabin, the smell of melting flesh and heated entrails enough to have Gaius finally - finally - on his feet, upheaving in a sound half-sob and half-fury.

He did remember.)

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 20: duel

“I am Yaellia quo Ivros of the Twelfth Legion, and I will not allow you to pass!”

There were many things Yaellia disliked about her job. Her superiors; they were cruel and short-sighted to a man, and if the Crown Prince were to suffer a tragic accident tomorrow she would be hard-pressed not to cheer. (If it was rem Lupis, she might actually cheer; how a woman could be so cruel to her own countrymen she didn’t want to know.) The pinched faces and bruised limbs of the local populace; she’d seen the same in Corvos, and it disgusted her. Her country called itself strong, yet it trampled on the weak instead of raising them up. It created its own weak links, and was then somehow offended when they were shattered. There were days she could barely stand to buckle her own armor on, never mind march out into the blazing sunlight of Ala Mhigo to escort supply convoys or scout for rebel activity. Even then, she couldn’t bring herself to scout particularly hard. Something about the supposed rebel scum being malnourished and dressed in rags gave her sudden, acute vision problems.

It would change, she vowed every night. When she was tol Ivros, van Ivros, she’d make it change. She wouldn’t let anyone go hungry in Garlean lands again, whether they were pureblood citizens or not. Nobody would be able to stop her, not even the Emperor himself. In the meantime, she’d swallow her fury and fight on. If it gave her the opportunity to rise higher and pull the Empire up with her—to make it stronger, better, to strengthen every link in the chain—then she would fight to her last breath.

The ragged—rebel? Adventurer?—in front of her didn’t care how conflicted she was. Then again, she was sure he had his own reasons to fight, and they probably weren’t so dissimilar from her own. Maybe he was Ala Mhigan himself, seeking to liberate his homeland in fire and blood and the utter ruination of local infrastructure. Maybe he was from farther climes, come seeking gil or glory. Maybe he just really hated the idea of Garleans having a refrigerated storehouse full of cheese and vegetables. She couldn’t tell, and it wasn’t as though he was going to slow down long enough for her to ask.

Shame, that.

She’d barely issued the challenge when he was on her, swinging a two-handed greatsword as though it was no lighter than a feather. Now, that was just unfair. While the rest of her team was dealing with his friends—she knew without looking that Quinctius had just scored a headshot—she stood between this man and the door. He was stronger than her, but slower. She was levin-fast, but she knew that sword could cleave her in twain.

So she danced, spinning out of the way of one strike and leaping away from another before dashing back in. Parry, feint, flow like water, be the dream of steel—she had learned swordsmanship from the best. If she goaded him, drew him away, it would be a true duel, and she would be able to strike him down without fearing his comrades’ immediate retaliation.

He let himself be goaded. In fact, he seemed to welcome it; his cheeks were red with fury behind his explosive freckles, and when she landed a solid strike with her lefthand blade under his guard he roared. She pressed the attack, pushing him back. She could feel her own stamina failing; for her sake and his, she had to finish this quickly.

Behind him, one of his comrades screamed. For the first time, the man’s control faltered; he jerked, eyes widening, and half-turned back to where the fallen elezen lay with one of Celavi’s arrows in her stomach. Had Yaellia been a less honorable woman, it would have cost him his life.

Not after just gil or glory, then.

She made a decision. Perhaps it was unwise, but there had been enough death today. A good healer could save that elezen, if they moved fast enough.

As their blades clashed, pressing them nearly body-to-body, she hissed, “Run.” Please, she thought. Please. I don’t want to have to kill you.

He bared his teeth like a wolf. “Never.”

Darkness erupted from the ground under their feet, and she flung herself backwards before it could unravel her. False gods, she hated when people used magic on her. And worse, now that his comrades saw it they were fighting with renewed fervor.

Plan B, then.

“Retreat!”