#hrothgar would be proud of them

[thearunadragon]

Eragon and Orik

This is a more realistic art piece than usual, but still maintained my style (AKA: the only way I know how to art.)

They are discussing war plans but also they are brothers your honor

[kassil]

So let's follow through on what Square-Enix has given us about the Hrothgar, shall we? Whether or not the development team has thought about the implications or not:

Male Hrothgar are far more common than female Hrothgar.

Female Hrothgar are said to have a natural disposition for leadership.

So from this, we can infer a few things. (fair warning: some queer shitposting past the cut.)

First, if females are "relatively few in number" then in order for the population to not dwindle they need a high birthrate. If the hrothgals don't spend all their time pregnant, that implies that hrothgar have litters. Congrats, Hrothgar players! You have a bunch of siblings!

Second, the gender mismatch strongly suggests polyamory in the form of one woman with a harem of husbands/consorts is going to be a common situation; siblings from the same litter might well have different fathers, which can happen with cats.

Third, the gender mismatch combined with the Disposition for Leadership also strongly implies that child-rearing duties fall to the men in the family, so Hrothgar lads are gonna be the proud papas toting a kid or two around when the litter gets born, probably the ones that they're going to be directly responsible for seeing to adulthood with the family. Hrothgals probably raise their daughters directly, as a matrilineal process.

Fourth, this implies that the overwhelming majority of direct monogamous pairings among Hrothgar will be completely homosexual, and could suggest that many Hrothgar are bisexual! Good for them, really, they deserve the intimacy.

Last, I would like to call SE out for being absolute cowards in setting up all these implications and only giving Hrothgals the human-standard pair of boobs, and am choosing to believe this indicates that when given the right pheromonal signals that Hrothgar men will lactate for their kittens. How else are they gonna feed that hungry litter?

(Edit: No wonder Hrothgar players have tended to be wholesome in a weird way, right?)

[rederiswrites]

I feel so drained. It's been such a week. The same pain we're all feeling, of course, with a few extra things thrown in for fun. Animal death to follow, if you don't want to deal with that.

The kids all adapted readily to a classroom environment, despite my worry, and did so well so calmly that I'm very proud and much reassured. It was still four plus hours away from the house every day. They all helped keep the chores done, so the drain was mainly psychological. But I don't like driving, and sorry everyone, I don't like being in town. The seagulls I could hear from my parked car the fourth day were almost hilariously welcome. Parking lot rats, but that reminder that nature exists was a balm to my soul.

Kiki died yesterday. He'd been in rough shape, but still enjoying life. We knew it was a matter of time til something critical failed, and that there wasn't anything likely to help him short of truly major expensive things that still might well not help. Then he declined rapidly this week. I held him for the last three hours. He cried terribly if he wasn't held, and Phantom had to hold him while I got dressed, so at least we know being held was a comfort to him. It was an expected death, and timely in its way, but when at last he didn't draw another breath, I was so, so tired.

I put him where Ciri could check him out and understand, however her mind understands these things. I didn't think to do that when Hrothgar died, and Ciri went around the house meowing for him for a week. It seems to have worked, because she's quiet today. After he died, I went straight to bed and slept til it was time to leave for class, and then stayed parked next to the class and slept in the car.

When I woke up, the car wouldn't start. Left something on, I guess, though I couldn't figure out what. Jacob was on his way home, but turned around, and the car jumped and started up just fine. In fact, before @mythicalfungi0-0 's dad showed to collect her, so before we would have left anyhow. So again, nothing but a psychological drain, really.

On the way home, we listened to music--Phantom has some great tunes fit to the times that I'll have to share with you. After a period of silence, I said, "OH! We need crocus bulbs." And Phantom said, "Oh! Right!" to the bewilderment of the Borrowed Girl. Crocuses, to go on Kiki's grave, next to Hrothgar's by the pond. It lies next to a large rock projecting from the ground. Someday we'll etch their names into the stone. I've ordered them, in a different color than the ones on Hrothgar's, so that we can think of both of them when they bloom.

I got a good night's sleep last night. Spoke to my friend who fosters kittens this morning. Today, I will keep planting flowers. I think the future will have flowers.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

get 🫵 asked ‼️

2, 23, 25 for jia

H for jiraak

and 🤝 for you >:3

HELLO BELOVED‼️ I'M MOST VERILY GETTING ASKED, THANK YOU SO MUCH! 🥰💖

2. First time meeting their best friend

answered here!

23. First display of their powers or abilities

answered here!

25. First major success in their story

Oh, definitely killing Alduin! And it’s a double success for Jia, because she had just come out of a very serious injury back then—at her first battle in the Throat of the World, the World-Eater almost ripped her arm off. Her shoulder and collarbone broke, all her left side down to her pelvic bone was marked by huge claw marks, and on top of that, she was launched into a rock and hit her head. I think that, if not for Paarthurnax who carried her away to High Hrothgar and the Greybeards who healed her afterwards, Jia would be dead. Imagine a person, even a Dragonborn, carrying on after that, striding into Sovngarde with hope in the heart still, killing a God, and saving the world. I’m just so proud of her…😭

H. First time sharing a bed (non-sexual)

AH, it was at Candlehearth Hall in Windhelm! Jia had just come out of Ulfric’s palace, where he’d made a very tempting but ambiguous offer to her, and while she and Miraak had rented separate rooms, she couldn’t sleep alone that night, she was very nervous and restless. Nothing happened between them, except that they found comfort in each other’s arms for the first time in forever… Here’s the part from the fic:

“I don’t want to stay alone tonight.” Her confession, as if it is a stretched rope, on one side of which hangs the trust and safety, and on the other the reserve and indecision. “Can I lay down with you? Just—Just to sleep together.” She hastens to clarify when she detects Miraak’s look touched by a tint of darkness, and a breath is caught in his throat. It should be desire, she acknowledges, but it is neither profane nor carnal. No, it is the first time she sees a feeling so pure yet so ardent sculpted on a man’s face like a brand. And maybe there are indeed many things Miraak lusts to act upon now, this moment when he is almost losing his mind from all this—all this hunger. Without words necessary, they lie down on the harsh, unkempt bed that welcomes the sleepers with prickling straw for a mattress and timbers full of splinters for a bedstead. But to Jia and Miraak, this is a luxurious bed made for lords and jarls and Kings, soft and restful for the weariest travelers. Because this is a bed where they no longer lie alone and wanting, but next to each other and so during the night, their dreams may get interweaved, and their darkest secrets may get buried inside one another’s skin; if they still have any secrets left untold. 

🤝 - Favorite "first meeting" scene you've written between two characters

God will punish me for this, for I have sinned, but my favorite first meeting is… is between Jia and Caranthir… OKAY, LET ME EXPLAIN.

There’s this sinister atmosphere when these two meet; you know something very bad will happen, you know Jia is in grave danger, you know he’s like a vulture who scrutinizes its prey to destroy it, and at the same time, you can see the glint of obsession in him, his sadistic need, even his secret, twisted infatuation with her.

For a moment, he stands there, towering above her shackled, paralyzed form, his eyes glinting in gloated triumph and leering at every feature of her face. As the realization finally strikes him, a scathing grin twitches the edges of his mouth. “We Altmer, you know, have a long memory. And this head right here,” he says, slowly dragging his palm above her head, a travesty of a tender gesture, “reminds me of the one I took from the shoulders of a certain Imperial about... twenty years ago. Ah, such a troubled man he was that one. However, as he was churning in his lunacy, he kept murmuring two names—the one belonged to his Nord paramour, and the other couldn’t have appertained to anyone else than…” His hand viciously balls into a fist within her hair and whispers, “You might have poisoned the other morons, but know that I cannot be put down by the likes of you. Worry not; I have something for you, bastard. A gift—a repayment in kind, for all the things you have done and all those you might have done if I had not trapped your inexistent brain with that exposed wine cup. And I will rejoice to listen to your cries and pleadings for mercy and swift end... Elettra.”)

The fact that he knows her true name, the fact that he knows everything about her as he instantly understands she’s Remus’ daughter. He’s AWFUL but I like to think he’s a mastermind...

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Adventure

I've been comm'd by Agi's FFXIV in-game husband Dandelo to write a series of fics as he goes through Dawntrail.

In this first fic, Dandelo reemerges from his self-imposed exile post-Endwalker after the loss of his family and discovers a new adventure is precisely what he needs. SFW.

Dandelo Marx blinked.

That’s Agi’s home away from home.

But this isn’t Mist?????

WHERE AM I?!?!?!?!

“Oh fuck me, it’s Dandelo! Hello!” Agnes Currai Varlineau shouted from the now-open front door and rushed to hug the hrothgar. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

He embraced his friend and sighed. Still smells like cookies. She must keep whoever makes that shampoo in business. He then released her and took in Agnes’s features. Still the same Agi. “Alright. Been doing a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

The hyur nodded, smiling warmly. “Well, why don’t you come in? Estinien and the children will be so happy to see you.” As she led him inside, several thoughts went through Dandelo’s mind.

CHILDREN!?!?!?

I thought there was Esme?????

Esme…and one more?

Damn, Agi.

There were, in fact, two more.

***

“So, you want to get back into things, eh?” Estinien asked as he poured Dandelo some coffee. With the boys napping and Esme playing with multicolored blocks (Agi said they’re a gift from Master Beatin and Fufucha), the three adults were able to catch up mostly unimpeded.

Dandelo nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I think there’s been enough time for reflection and wallowing in horrific grief…I’m ready to have an adventure.” And live again.

Agnes shimmied happily as she sliced a piece of lemon cake with cream cheese frosting for him. “That’s so wonderful!!! Whenever you want to jump in, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m not sure how much of my letters you read…” Every word, Agi. Sorry I didn’t respond most of the time. “But I’ve been improving myself through taking a more active role in learning other classes so I can be a better mentor.” After handing him his cake slice, she sat back and laid a hand over her heart. “I’d like to think they’d be proud of me. You know? Their knowledge and experience were invaluable to me when I started. I hope I can do the same for others.”

Oh yes, Agi’s adventuring mentors.

The ones who died in the Calamity.

The ones who continue to inspire her even now.

Goddamn, Agi.

The highlander then giggled. “Oh dear, that’s quite enough of that. But yes, my dear friend, I’ll be there by your side whenever, wherever.” Her brown eyes widened. “How’s the cake?”

Dandelo smiled, taking a bite.

GODDAMN, AGI---THIS CAKE IS SO GOOD!!!

“The best fucking cake I’ve had in years.”

Estinien, can you not make fuck me eyes at your wife right now?!?!? I’m trying to eat this delicious cake!!!!

***

A few days later, in Sharlayan, Dandelo waited with Krile and G’raha outside whatever the hells this place is called. It’s a library. Nearby, Agnes leaned against a tree and gave the hrothgar a thumbs up. She had previously been contracted by whoever Wuk Lamat is to serve as one of her champions in whatever the hells it’s called. However, beginning the contest in her condition at the time was not possible.

Because Estinien would’ve killed them if they insisted on it.

Waiting until his dearest friend had her twins was quite literally the least this Wuk Lamat person could do.

And as luck would have it, she asked Wuk Lamat to meet with Dandelo to add him as another champion.

“Listen, mate---I told her you’re very dependable, very strong, very funny, great to be around. I think this is a slam dunk!”

“Sorry to keep you all waiting!”

Dandelo turned.

He saw a female hrothgar approach, waving at them.

Holy shit.

AGI, YOU DIDN’T SAY WUK LAMAT IS HOT!??!?!?!!?!?

AGI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen was, apparently, Wuk Lamat, and she needed his help in securing the throne of her nation.

Whatever you want me to do for you, ma’am. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Everything. Kill anyone you want me to take out. You just say the word.

Dandelo was trying not to pay attention to Agnes doubled over in laughter.

Come on. It’s not that obvious.

Right?

I’m an older guy. She’s a younger, extremely hot princess who needs my help.

Right.

***

“You should’ve seen his face!” Agnes cackled, sipping her snurlberry lemonade at The Last Stand. She was recounting her and Dandelo’s afternoon with her husband and children as they had dinner.

On Agi because she insisted, and you don’t say no to her.

Dandelo rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.”

Agnes shook her head and picked up a fry. “Mate, you practically had little hearts in your eyes. Honestly, it was really cute!”

I am not cute.

Estinien glanced down at Esme, who was eating a fry exactly like her mother. Wow. Just…wow. “Uncle Dandelo has the hots for a princess. Isn’t that something, Es?”

OH COME ON!!!!

The toddler nodded happily and then ate another fry.

“See, even Esme thinks so!” Agnes teased with a wink. “Truly though, you deserve to be happy again. I say---go for it!”

***

After dinner, Dandelo found himself on the bench swing outside, beer in hand. He smiled when he saw his friend join him. “Go for it, huh?” he teased as he sipped.

“Yes. I think you should.” She laughed nervously. “Obviously, it’s your choice. The loss you endured was terrible---all-encompassing and colored your spirit for so long.” Turning her head, her gaze met his. “However, you’ve come out the other side…” That grin!! “Mostly hale and whole.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mostly.”

She giggled and gave him a nudge with her elbow. “And remember, all the grandest adventures have a love story! Why not have it be yours, Dandelo?”

Why not me?

Why not…

She’s right.

You know she’s right.

But it’s like with coming back to adventuring…

One step at a time.

“You think this is going to be a grand adventure?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Agnes leaned back and looked forward towards the Ruby Sea. How the fuck did she get a beachfront Medium in Shirogane?!?!?! Chuckling softly, she smiled. “Of course. I’ve got a…good feeling.”

Agi’s feelings are usually right.

I hope she’s right.

[meximango]

Day 9 - Lend an Ear - Luvon + Strum - G

Summary: Luvon gets worried when his mentor is gone for too long.

A near season had passed since Luvon’s mentor last visited, and he was beginning to get antsy about it. 

Normally the bard tried to stop by at least once a moon, so he must have gone really far away this time. It meant he’d have a lot of great songs to sing when he finally did arrive, but Luvon would take more frequent or longer stays over extra fascinating tales any day. Especially as Strum got older, there was no telling how long the visits would continue, when the final visit would be… It may have happened already! Luvon had always been a worrier, something his mother chastised him for repeatedly, but he couldn’t help it! Their village, nestled in this cave, was safe, but the star beyond these passageways was not. It was something drilled into his head ever since he could remember. The desert was unforgiving, and beyond its reaches lay all sorts of paths of destruction. If they were lucky and didn’t bear witness to any of the horrors out there, if they kept praying to the star, then maybe they could be spared.  But that left his mentor completely vulnerable out there! Could nobody see what a problem this was? What if Strum broke a leg while on a trip, and he couldn’t escape a monster chasing him? What if he got crushed by a frenzied crowd because they liked his music too much–or worse, hated it! What if he fell overboard while sailing or his airship blew up, or an incurable disease got him, or he stumbled into a war zone, or a giant plant swallowed him up– What if he wasn’t coming back? 

What if he was already dead? 

How would Luvon even find out? 

The others in his village tolerated Strum, as he used to be one of them, and so was one of the few trusted to trade with them, but nobody would go out looking for him. Lack of caring, and not being allowed to leave, by the rules of their Seer. Only hunters and those willing to cut ties could come and go. Luvon was the only one fussing over his mentor, so he doubted he could convince one of those people to ask around at the nearest oasis town about an old hrothgar with a lute. Luvon decided if Strum hadn’t appeared again by heavensturn, he was going to sneak out and find him all on his own, the rules be damned. He excelled in his sightless navigation studies, so he knew how to sneak around noiselessly and dexterously. Certainly he’d be able to get past everyone while the town slept. He steeped in worry for a few more weeks and nearly unraveled the bottom hem of his dress with his ceaseless fidgeting whenever he thought about Strum’s absence for too long, but his plans need never be put into motion, as the news came to him that his dear mentor was finally in town again.

–

Strum had trained his eyes back to a state where he could see Luvon coming, but he barely had time to brace himself with his cane before Luvon barrelled into him at full speed. He’d just barely settled into his temporary room and let out an amused chuckle as his little protege clung tightly to his leg. “Hello, my sweet Lulu. I am happy to see you, but you’re shaking like a leaf!” He petted the child’s hair and the shaking only got worse as Luvon buried his face into his robes, and Strum realized the kid was sobbing. Ah, that explained the lack of words of welcome. Most likely overcome with emotion, he would be unable to speak or form words for a while. He just needed some time. That was ok, Strum still had to unpack, and he didn’t mind providing comfort. He could get started on the stories and music, though maybe he would avoid the ones with too much violence for now. Several bells passed, and eventually Luvon settled down into his lap. The stories turned into lute practice. He was glad that despite their time apart, the kid had kept up with his studies. Strum was so proud of him, and told him as such, which only seemed to embarrass him, oddly enough. “You seem preoccupied and not quite like your usual bubbly self today, my child. Would you like this old hrothgar to lend an ear to your troubles? I am always willing to listen.” Nearly half a bell passed without pause–though Strum did at some point force a glass of water into Luvon’s hands and bid him to drink and gain some breath back. Now that he was talking again and started up, it was difficult to get him to stop, but Strum was patient. Luvon’s family rarely actually listened to him, so he would do what he could to understand the child. 

It seemed Luvon suffered from a lot of anxiety and had been working himself up into bouts of panic these last few weeks–about his safety, from being away for so long, which sat heavily on his conscience. Strum knew he could not make any promises to stay safe or never leave the village again, as this place was stifling to him. He could no longer live here for extended periods of time, and the outside star forever called to him. 

As the star called to him, he believed it did to Luvon as well. It’s what inspired him to take Luvon on as a student in the first place. He saw something in him that reminded him of himself. While the other villagers completely spurned those who weren’t from here, the child yearned to learn about people outside this village. He was afraid to leave the caves, and was far too young yet to do so anyway, but Strum could tell from the way he lit up as he spoke of other places and cultures, that Luvon wanted to experience and discover these things for himself one day. 

And one day, Strum would need to have tough conversations with him–about the sacrifices that come with deciding to leave and pursue his passions and chase curiosity. He would offer to restore his sight, to the best of his abilities. The spells and alchemical procedures are not so easily undone, but if Luvon chooses it, he won’t hesitate to help heal what he can. To leave means to live with the disappointment and possible disgust or ire from the other villagers. It is taboo to leave, and would change Luvon’s relationships forever. He would also need to learn to fight, even as he’d hoped Luvon would never need to use the skills, gentle as his soul is. If he didn’t want to become a bard, then he could teach him the moves of a pugilist instead, and how to go onward toward the fighting style of a monk. Or perhaps he would like to learn how to heal? So many possibilities, but he would let Luvon choose. There were so many choices already taken from him, after all. 

He knew that time marched on and took its toll on his body. He was not as ancient and fragile as Luvon must have thought, young as he is to compare to, but that did not mean his time was unlimited. Due to old injuries, he used a cane. His fur was beginning to gray and wasn’t as sleek and shiny as it used to be. He wore spectacles to read. He would continue to travel as long as possible, though,and he could not promise to stay safe, as something could happen to him at any time. There would be no way to guarantee he will be back as often as he’d like, but he did pinky promise to do his best to be cautious.  In Strum’s opinion, continuing to live in this village would only make Luvon’s anxiety and worries worse, but the boy was still growing and he couldn’t take him from his family. The boy’s parents were already not that happy about how much time their son spent with him, believing that he was putting silly ideas and scary concepts into the child’s head. There is nothing wrong with teaching him what this star has to offer, hmmph! He would come back more often. He would. He would take the mentorship more seriously, especially as it broke his heart to see how much his extended leave affected Luvon. He would watch Luvon grow into his own person, encouraging him into authenticity. To not let this village stomp him down and mold him into some featureless, obedient, lifeless husk. He’d help him escape, if that’s what he wished. Just as he escaped so many years ago.

In the meantime, he had some more stories to tell. As he played his lute and Luvon grabbed his own to join in the harmony, his face finally smoothed and free of tension and worry, Strum sang tales of distant lands and couldn’t help but be filled with hope.

[heretic-altias]

FFXIVWrite Day 21 - Grave

A story of endings and new beginnings.

Don’t know my characters? Here’s a basic breakdown to help you out!

~

Kito walked slowly down a long ruined street. His memory was really the main thing guiding his steps. Nature had started to reclaim the fallen city of Bozja over the years, and plants were slowly overwhelming the stones that had made up the pathways. Kito found he liked it better like this though. It was quiet at least. The last time he’d been here, the city had been a warzone. The air had smelled of smoke, and under a darkened sky the entire place seemed like death. Now at least, the sun was bright in the sky and life had returned.

He wasn’t really sure what had driven him to come here. He had only once before, when the resistance had first reclaimed the city. Then he had stacked some of the bricks and stones in the ruins of his childhood home. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was a small sign someone remembered. That his father hadn’t simply been wiped from existence.

Kito was not the man he was when this city still stood. That man could not even have imagined the burdens he carried now. He didn’t dislike who he was now, but his existence was darker and heavier than it had been. Something had been lost along the way, but he wasn’t sure exactly what.

Hatchlings do not know of the darkness in this world. They see only light. Your path was harder than most, but all see into the shadows eventually. Twintania’s gentle reassurance interrupted his thoughts.

The ancient wyvern landed nearby, studying her surroundings.

“It was a bit of a better sight before it was destroyed” Kito told her, speaking out loud this time.

In their shared mental space, he offered her memories. Memories of his childhood spent running down these streets, the buildings tall and proud and the people bright and lively.

Twintania nodded, offering only her silence as respect for what had been lost. She chose to wait where she was and offer Kito space, both physically and mentally as he continued down the path.

He eventually reached the place he’d wanted to go, the sad stack of bricks marking it out for anyone who passed by.

They had never found his father’s body, Kito was fairly sure a lot of them had never been found with how thoroughly the city had been destroyed. But the last place Kito had seen him was here, and so he viewed his old home as a grave. His father’s grave. Maybe one for part of himself too.

He had only survived on sheer luck of not being in the city at the time. He had been off on a trip with a botany class to go and see plants that couldn't be found in the city. He’d begged to go on that trip, unaware it would end up saving his life. Of course, the moment what happened reached the group, everyone had rushed back to the city to look for their families. To Kito’s knowledge, nobody had found any survivors. Only people like them, who happened to be elsewhere, had been spared.

He could still vividly remember stumbling down ruined streets looking for anything. But the only thing to survive in his home had been the old sword hung over the fireplace. Kito would later learn his brother had survived too, having also been out of the city, but things between them were… complicated these days. He’d thought that sword had been the only thing left of his entire life as he half dragged it out of the ruins with him, refusing to let go of the only thing he could find. The same sword he now wore comfortably strapped to his back. The same sword that he had wielded to fell countless foes and save countless lives.

The soul crystal embedded in its pommel had taught him much about his father he’d never known. He’d known his father had been an adventurer for a long time, returning to his homeland in Bozja eventually when he’d found Kito abandoned as an infant. Really the moment he’d decided to retire was all Kito knew of his father’s adventuring days. When asked, the old Hrothgar would simply laugh and say Kito was too young for those stories. Even when he was as old as fifteen summers. But the soul crystal revealed so much more. His father had tried and failed to train as a dark knight, and while the greatsword had been his weapon of choice his emotions had overwhelmed him. Worried he would hurt people if he wasn’t careful, the Hrothgar had decided it was better to stop adventuring and leave it all behind.

Kito had managed to conquer the demons his father never could. He had become a dark knight on a level that had allowed him to stand against primals, dragons, and all sorts of other foes. He’d carried this sword to the edge of existence to battle despair itself.

Something about the gravity of what he had done in stopping the final days had drawn him back here again. He kneeled in front of the pile of stones and bricks, and while he said no words his thoughts conveyed it all. Here he was again, stronger than ever. He had lived and honored the legacy left to him with accomplishments most people could never dream of.

And in that moment he knew what it was he wanted. What exactly had brought him here. He had done enough to honor the past. This would be his final farewell to all he had lost.

From this point forward he would forge his own path. Find his own way.

And so when he returned home he would hang this sword above his fire just as his father had done. And he would go on to forge a new path all his own. 

He was not done fighting for this world. But there were other ways to fight his battles, other weapons to wield. A chance to create something rather than build off what was left to him.

It wasn’t really the end. Just a new beginning.

[bitterfates]

FFXIV WRITE 2023; PROMPT 5: BARBAROUS

As he often did for his own amusement, her friend had managed to test her nerves again.

This time, he chose to push her buttons right after their regular sparring time. As per usual during their matches, she drew from her large wellpool of aether to hurl spell after devastating spell, forcing her partner to dodge or counter with automatic, pinpoint precision. They fought well past the bell they normally used as a mark for a midday meal; when they both came to a standstill, they were breathing heavily, stamina all but spent, clothes ruffled and not damaged beyond repair.

That would have been the end of their training for the day, had her friend acted with some sense. Instead of signaling to call off the spar, the “big cat” Emegen affectionately called Vitty stayed in a loose fighting stance, a wide and toothy grin seared on his face. She had told him about how her countrymen from the Steppe would challenge her in the past relentlessly, so she knew he knew that she would take this as a provocation to continue fighting. Normally, she wouldn’t take the bait and would easily brush him off, but today felt different, and so she was different as well.

Emegen stepped one pace closer to him, testing his resolve. He did not budge, so she took another step; same result. When it was clear that Vitty would not be running from her, she strolled towards him, intently focused on the prey in front of her. To his credit, he met the predator in her unflinchingly, never once backing away or shrinking from her gaze.

With only a handful of strides, the distance between the two lessened and became close to nonexistent; though she had to crane her head back a fair bit to look at his face, it would be clear to any knowing passerby who had control of the situation.

“Yield now, or I will make you.”

A bark of a laugh met the command. “You know my answer, princess. Try and prove your words.”

What happened next could only be described as a whirlwind of movement, primal and artless and entirely physical. Blows were traded and blocked as fast as acted on; hair and fur yanked and pulled on by claws and hardened nails; shouts and pained grunts filled the air around them. 

Their struggle for dominance ended swiftly, with the proud Auri mage digging the heel of a boot firmly into the robust Hrothgar’s thin chest piece. Slitted silver eyes narrowed and met taunting teal. Neither let up for what seemed like an eternity, still wrapped up in the high of battle, until they simultaneously smiled and began laughing with each other.

When she was more settled and less likely to want to keep attacking him, Emegen tossed him a heated look and teased, “Do you yield now? Or will I need to teach you this lesson again later on? I could use another chance to rest my feet.”

In his typically brazen way, Vitty flirtatiously moistened his lips with his long tongue and retorted, “Why wait when we have the time now? I need the reinforcement for a lesson to really stick. The sooner the better, preferably in a soft bed, for the rest of the day.”

The words were crude and obvious, and made Emegen roll her eyes…but she moved her leg all the same to allow him up to make their way back to their shared home to begin the “supporting exercise”.

[soulstitcher]

Marks of Pride

A/N: A little sequel to Body of a Saint! I need some feel-good stuff right now. Everything in my life has gone to shit, and writing this helped get my mind off it all. Plus probably the biggest chunk of Aegis’s backstory so far!

———

While Aegis had her gripes with her body, there were some parts of herself she rather liked. Though she wanted to cut her hair again, she quite appreciated its softness, especially since it gave her and fellow autistic Urianger something comfortable to run their hands through. Her eyes had gone from eerie silvery green to a much more flattering moonlit blue. No matter the amount of muscle she had, she was always strong enough to kick someone’s ass. Her nose, her mouth, her cheekbones, all of it was shared with her late father Temujin, whom she had loved dearly.

But the things she loved most of all were her tattoos.

Aegis had ten of them in all, each of them with its own story. The Rus had strict customs for tattoos. Only witches could be practicing tattoo artists, and the art was taught as a required part of the protection branch of witchcraft. Aegis was a witch herself, so she was allowed to ink her own tats; while she was proud to be a witch, that was one thing she’d always had a problem with. The arms could only be inked with symbols denoting status or accomplishments, the greatest example being the triple moon witch’s mark. The rest of the body was fair game.

Of the ten, three of them were her own work. Alas, the first one she got was not. Its story was told over dinner one night at Camp Dragonhead.

“Those three crossed blades with the flowers inside your arm…where did you get it?” Haurchefant had asked curiously.

Three crossed blades with flowers on the sides. The emblem of Gunnhildr’s Blades. The black stick-and-poke had been done by her old friend Rostik, after she had been unofficially adopted into his unit of Bozjan artisans and soldiers as a Garlean slave, when she was fifteen.

“You studying witchcraft, lass?” he’d asked her, when he learned it was her first. “You’re not a witch without any marks,” he’d said with a wry grin.

The emblem gave her the right to not only wield gunblades, but also make them — for a long time the only non-Hrothgar in the world with that right. What she remembered most clearly was how the only reason they didn’t get into trouble was because they’d used a needle and gunpowder, and the needle was easily hidden. Rostik was right, of course; a witch was nothing without their marks. And so she was proud to be able to ink her own witch’s mark beside the emblem at age eighteen.

After receiving a raven on her leg a year later, she hadn’t been able to pay much attention to her ink in the years since. Surviving the steppe, then Othard, then Eorzea had taken up all of her time. But after fighting Shiva and being hit with a longing for home, she got a needle and more gunpowder and put a simple snowflake beside the raven.

Aegis spent the rest of the Dragonsong War itching for another one, and she finally got it after conquering Bardam’s Mettle. She remembered vividly how she and Hien had cheered.

“We did it, snowdrop!” Hien cried, as Aegis bounced up and down giggling. She jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. “We’ve been dreaming of this day for years! We are baatruud!” He put her down and cupped her face in his hands. “Your papa would be so proud of you. And you can finally get some more ink!”

“You know what that means, right?” she reminded him with a wicked smile.

It had taken him a minute, but then he remembered that she wasn’t the only one, and his gleeful expression had been replaced with wide eyes. “…Oh shit.”

Aegis had cackled long and hard, echoing through the mountains.

And so the two friends (and Lyse and Gosetsu, once they’d wrangled them into the yurt) got their yol feather tattoos on their arms together, Aegis patiently explaining the process to him and stifling her laughter when he squirmed. She was happy to rag on his honor in a way he allowed nobody else to. What did he mean he was nervous, she had sensory issues and had four of them already! What was he so nervous about? It was enough to distract him from the pain and the sight of the needle, and at the end of the day, they had beautiful feather tattoos to show for it.

She got three more in rapid succession, all on her leg and all for fights she’d loved — a lotus for Lakshmi, a train for the glorious Phantom Train, a simple crescent moon for the tragic Tsukuyomi and the last with her signature — bringing the total to eight.

After a while without any more, she got the last two in her collection, two she knew she would treasure for the rest of her life. It had been years in the making, but she’d finally earned an Archon mark, for her theory that the inexplicable power of Rus witchcraft came from dynamis. It took a lot of time and effort (and rest, what with doing her research from her bed as she recovered), but she managed it. While everyone knew she loved to learn, Thancred liked to say she also did it out of spite, which was to some extent true. A lot of Sharlayans had a low opinion of the Xaela, even those from Kievan Rus, so to prove that she and her people were not savages in one of the greatest ways ever was incredible.

The last one…it made her heart swell to remember it. It was the first tattoo she’d gotten on her other arm, and the first with any sort of color. It was a beautiful sea turtle. Her very first date with the love of her life. How they’d helped newly hatched sea turtles make their way to the ocean. The day she knew for a fact she had fallen so totally, so irrevocably in love with Erenville.

Aegis got up one day and caught herself in the mirror. She felt better, stronger. More herself. She saw the reflections of her tattoos and grinned as she flexed her arm. There was a rugged beauty to gunpowder ink.

A wet nose pressed against her shin. She looked down and saw her goldendoodle pup Jasmine sitting pretty at her feet, tongue lolling out happily.

“Your mama’s feeling pretty today, isn’t she? Isn’t she?” Aegis gushed as she reached down and vigorously pet her. Jasmine woofed and basked in the attention, even rolling over so she could rub her belly. Aegis giggled happily as she laid down on her side to scratch under her jaw. Then she switched to her back so that Jasmine could jump on top of her and lick her face.

As she laughed, she raised her right arm and gazed at the Blades emblem, then raised her left and looked at the sea turtle. All the memories she had kept close to her heart, all the lives intertwined with her own, all immortalized in soot and ink.

She couldn’t have been more proud.

[toadeyes-miqote]

This be lengthy. I had to go back to Proud Creek to confirm the general location XD

Yes Moon Miqo'te who grew up in North Shrouds - off Fallgourd Floats(northernish Proud Creek) though not born in the Shrouds

2. Ishgard and the Steppes. Home away from home.

Ishgard - started on account of guilt. But Lord Edmont made it clear he treats her as a daughter. The Steppes - Hylnyan started off on a working vacation in Doma to help with rebuilding. But the moment she started staying with the Mol tribe and doing some Khagan duties, the Steppes lifestyle reminds her of her hunter-gatherer life in the Shrouds and it just fits. She hunts and rides with the Dothari and Qestir as well.

3. Normal enough she has Moon Miqo'te friends in Gridania. Her own wandering behaviour is normal enough for her village's system. She understands the problems of the Shrouds Miqo'te due to the calamity, a lot more of them are looking else where for a better life. That was how she's started off. The least she could do was establish a skills training program with her guilds and the cities of Ishgard, Mor Dhona, Idyllshire and Doma (talks with Thavneir in the works) where skilled workers would come in handy in rebuiding, teaching and small jobs.

4. Lives over at Fallgourds region. first time in the big city. Neutral since Gridania has a large Moon Miqo'te population. although Leih has to teach her city etiquette, people have weird ideas about Miqo'te.

5. The Shrouds as of 6.4. Her Shrouds born mother met her non-Shrouds father during her travels. They had to send Hylnyan(still infant) back to the Shrouds since they're weren't able to look after her where they were for whatever reasons(again normal village practice). Both status unknown after the calamity. I would like Dad to be from Dalmasca or Meracydia but holding off. Hylnyan is taller than the average Shrouds Miqo'te.

6. No. but Hrothgar stands a chance since I thought of them as the colder climate revolutionary cousins to Miqo'te(blame Azem)

I will lol if dad turned out to be Hrothgar because blame Azem

FFXIV culture and geography questions!

Trying my hand at one of these lists! Reblog if you want people to send you a number, or just answer them all for character development reasons. I'm not the boss of you.

Is your WoL/OC of a species considered native to the area where they grew up? Are they an immigrant? A refugee? A member of an established diaspora? Did they grow up moving around?

Most of us are travelers, but does your WoL/OC currently have a particular place they consider 'home'? Is it the same as where they grew up? If not, what makes it home for them?

How does your WoL/OC relate to the culture of their species as established in lore? Do they consider themselves a typical example of their kind? Are they in touch with their heritage? How does this affect their interactions with others of their own kind?

Is the city associated with your WoL/OC's starting class the place where their journey actually began? Did they actually come to it from outside as shown in the game, or were they born there? Do they feel welcomed or alienated by the city and its culture?

Which, if any, of the major cities or cultures does your WoL/OC consider to be their childhood point-of-origin? Why did they leave? Do they go back and visit? How do they feel about coming from this place?

Has your WoL/OC ever canonically fantasia'd to another species? Have they considered doing so? If so, what made them choose that species? How does that affect their relationships with those who were born as the species they changed into?

[astraleras]

Well. It's 12:30 might make a post that's been simmering in my head for.... a hot minute

FFXIV x Guilty Gear AU, anyone? :3c

Currently I don't know how to plot this as its me just kicking my feet and giggling making designs for characters and fitting them into the world OK! Let us start with our party (Might not even be in the Seventh Astral/Umbral era!!)

I dont have much ANY tangible sketches for Sol but he's going to be a Xaela subspecies Au'Ra (Draconic features and that hourglass shape? Very Sol.) adventurer, who wields a Gunblade (making him a Gunbreaker!) He's not too far off Guilty Gear canon, most likely to be protagonist since references to the sun hahahah :) (Maybe Order Sol having the role that Ardbert had??!?!?!!?!?!)

Ky is an Ishgardian Elezen for sure, it just, works. And he fits being a Red Mage SOOOOO much (Lightning magic, cool sword/rapier and the acrobatics) The design below isn't set in stone it's just a maybe place holder, looks nice tho!!

Justice/Aria is also here. She is girlbossing so hard, I think she'll swap to Sage or maybe stay as a Paladin after her whole Justice alias is known since she can do that. Raen Au'Ra this time, so cool. I think Asuka might do his gay magic and muck up Arias memories (or not) Also design below woooo!!!

Axl, I am pushing the cat boy Axl agenda making him a Mi'qote, Seeker of the Sun since of course he is. BUT. He's a Reaper!!! His Voidsent is named Megumi hehehehe (Im so mean and cruel to him sorry Axl :() Also I-No is there too, she is a Miqo as well, but a Bard (They have the guitar from that one crossover, I think) look at how bad I am at drawing witch hats haha

Dizzy!! She's a mix between a Xaela and Raen Au'Ra!! Ponytail for the hair this time, she looks nice in a ponytail :) She fits being a SCH so, she be Scholaring woohoo!! The clothing is so badly drawn and just a place holder but you get the gist

This. This Venom design is so slay, he's a Viera AND a Dragoon, how homosexual of him!! I think the Assassin's guild would be up in Ishgard since maybe Slayer is Ishgardian, I don't know!! But look at this design, I'm so proud of my creativity (Should Robo-Ky be a dragon? Hmm....)

Asuka. Hyur, Midlander (since he's mid, KIDDING!!) Though, I might make him a Mi'qote later if I feel like it. He is a Summoner, he be summoning. That's it, it's an Asuka.

Raven :) there is no bird races in FFXIV. A pity. So, he's a Padjal, their cool and live for a while and I have a few Vieras already so ja. Black Mage since he is EVIL not really, just is good as magic and big ol robes, so swag.

Zato. Probably just going to make him a Hyur (Maybe Garlean???) since he is boring (affectionate) and he is a Dark Knight!!! I already have like two Reapers so yeah. Also big chunky armour, finally he isn't slutty lol.

THATS ALL THE PICS I GOT!!! HERES A LIST OF EACH CHARACTERS RACE AND JOB

Sin- Au'Ra/Elezen . Dragoon

Ramlethal - Mi'qote . Dark Knight

Elphelt - Viera . Machinist

Leo - Hrothgar . Paladin

Testament - Au'Ra . Reaper

Happy Chaos - Au'Ra . Machinist

May - Lalafell (From somewhere in Doma) . Warrior

Chipp - Mi'qote (Limsa, says he's from Kugane) . Ninja

Millia - Viera . Dancer

Johnny - Hyur . Samurai

Anji - Hyur (Doman) . Dancer

Jam - Hyur . Monk

Baiken - Hyur (Doman) . Samurai

Potemkin - Roegydn . Monk

Bridget - Viera . Astrologian

Nagoriyuki - Roegydn (somewhere from Othard, Gosetsu did it lol) . Samurai

A.B.A - Hyur . Warrior

Bedman - Lalafell . Summoner

Slayer - Elezen . Monk

Giovanna - Mi'qote . Monk

Goldlewis - Hyur (Highlander) . Warrior

Faust - Elezen . White Mage

Answer - Viera . Ninja

Yaaaay :)

[breakers-of-dogma]

Under the Crimson Moon

Everything will burn, Neo promised himself. Everything.

The guilt eating him up from the inside had its own voice by now, and he has learned how to tune it out. But this one particular whisper always hit him where it hurt the most.

He is already ash.

He looked at Ethys tossing and turning in his sleep, new scars adorning his skin and serving as burning reminders of his failure to protect him; his failure as an older brother. This time, patience resulted in naught but punishment for reluctance. But that, also, paved a new path in his mind. One he dared not take before - but all laws have been broken so far, so why shouldn't this one be broken too?

The proud monk sighed heavily, turning to the wall connecting the cell left to their own, and knocked thrice.

"So you have decided to give it a try?" a deep voice replied to that signal; even though it was but a whisper, it resonated within the walls like approaching thunder.

"Indeed I have," Viera's voice sounded younger than the other one; almost boyish. But there was a certain note to it, a certain weight in the way every word was spoken, that showed it was used for years and years more than one would think.

"You have the stone?", the other voice said; and Neo looked at the white gem imbued with a symbol of a wooden staff resting gently in the palm of his hand.

"I do," he said, after a slight pause; to which the voice replied: "Well then. Let us start."

● ● ●

One could not just change the job stone you are attuned to. As with everything else, it came with a price. However, the art of white magic was able to help him bridge that gap, even though his own aether suffered; for white magic he was drawing aether from the land itself. Give and take, take and give; a little bit of his life, for a power that could heal them and ensure they could survive any ordeal. It was only fair.

The white mage has helped him learn how to heal himself and how to attune to the aether of the world itself; something he knew only briefly before. Thankfully, when Garleans were sending him on missions, he would often choose the albino Hrothgar to accompany him, as they thought Neo could only fight. After all, they thought he was a monk, a simple martial artist - and they did not know much about the way aether worked.

It was on one of these missions where he first dreamt of lilies.

He was laying in a valley full of white flowers, staring up at an endless expanse of cloudless sky; the sun nearly blinding him. The mountains rose to the sky steep enough so that he knew he could not climb them, and, when he got up to inspect his surroundings more, the valley seemingly had no exit.

Time may have passed, or may have not - but the sun started setting, and the sky burnt orange and red, like a fire spreading through the dry fields after a hot summer. Mesmerized by the sight, he barely noticed that the lilies started changing their color. It was only a blink before he woke up that he realized that they went from pure white to blood red.

Opening his eyes and seeing that he is yet again in the tent where he went to sleep, Neo stretched, lost in his thoughts.

Lifting up the piece of fabric separating him from the outside, he was greeted by the sight of a lit fire, with a cauldron already set over it, with something in it bubbling and giving off a mouthwatering scent.

"Slept well?", the Hrothgar asked, lowering his glasses. He was sitting next to the fire, with the book he was reading now resting open in his lap. The expression of concern washed over his face briefly, only to be replaced with an inquisitive look. "I'd say not, judging by your expression."

"I... had the strangest dream," Neo sat down next to the man. "I woke up in a valley full of white lilies, with no escape route. But I... did not feel trapped. I felt..." his ears twitched at the very thought of saying this, "... at peace." At this point, he started braiding his hair - a morning ritual he kept from the days long gone.

"Ah," the man next to him did not seem surprised in the slightest. Quite the opposite - he looked relieved.

"Darko, do you know something about this?", Neo looked into Hrothgar's red eyes - which, he just now realized, were the same color of those lilies at sunset. Finishing up one of the braids, he clasped his hands and rested his chin on top of his intertwined fingers.

Darko took the book from his lap, using a leaf to note where he left off, and put it next to him. "Oh, I do. Dear Neo... White magic can bring both solace and misery. Do tell me one thing before I go on - have you seen the red lilies?", he moved and crossed his legs, leaving both of his hands in his lap, his eyes inspecting Neo's face.

Neo, of course, did not show emotion - he has long ago forgotten how to be candid - but he did answer: "Yes. At the very end."

"Well, well, well... I think we are both ready to think of an escape now."

● ● ●

Darko disappeared not long after that conversation. No one knew what happened, and the Garleans surely would not divulge any details. But Neo knew that the first step had been taken. However, doing every mission without a monk job stone did take a toll on his body, as it needed the extra push of those ancestral techniques stored in the stone to execute the level of skill they expected of him. Without them, Neo knew that they had very little time to carry out whatever plan he could think of.

And then, they broke Ethys.

One time too many a hit, a scar, an insult... And he was shaped just into what the Garleans wanted - a mindless murdering machine. With nothing but bloodlust driving him, keeping him alive, Neo's little brother was reduced to animal instincts, losing almost every bit of humanity he had.

But those animal instincts told him to keep close to Neo and listen to him; so Neo has been carefully using that to help Ethys hold onto whatever little bit of sanity was left in his head. Nights after missions, where his little brother returned covered in blood and full of new scars, were spent reminiscing of the life before this; of their childhood and teenage years; of the light that still shines behind the bars of the prison they were locked in.

And nights where Neo was alone, he was biding his time and planning the escape. One thing he knew is that they, for sure, would have to leave their humanity behind. Because if they wanted to escape without anyone knowing, everyone in this complex would have to die.

Including other prisoners.

Knowing that did not make it any easier, but as time passed and he saw Ethys fall deeper and deeper into the red abyss, his resolve only hardened. Every mission he was sent on was dealt with as quickly as possible - Garleans thought the targets were dead, and the targets were given a chance to keep living in return for a favor that Neo could call in at any time.

● ● ●

There was another Viera in this complex; Andromedas was what he called himself. Neo used him to keep an eye on Ethys when he could not, as the bard was particularly infatuated with bloodshed and carnage; gladly following and supporting Ethys on any mission the Garleans sent them to. He also had this habit of making every battle and adrenaline high into a song - which was not particularly weird for, well, a bard.

Neo's efficiency and will to listen to Garleans left him with a lot of time for himself, and a lot of time to hone his skills as a white mage. In time, he managed to heal every scar on his body and repair all damage Garleans have left on his insides. Although it was not in accordance with the beliefs of white mages, he took aether from the land - it had to be done so his internal aetherial balance could be restored. All of this would matter in the grand scheme of things so, over time, he stopped worrying about details.

If any lives were to be lost, it is a necessary cost to pay. If any innocents were to die, it is a necessary cost to pay. It is a burden he will bear, alone. If it is a price to pay for his brother and him to leave that place alive, it is not too high. No price would be too high for that.

So, he called in a favor. He told Ethys that he has a plan and that he only should wait. Any day now, the plan will be set in motion. He watched his brother wait, go on missions, kill, lose control, come back to him, and cry in his sleep; wait, kill, return; wait, kill, return; wait... And, one day, Ethys was fed up.

● ● ●

Hallway echoed with sounds of metal meeting the flesh, screaming and cracking of bones broken over and over again. Neo knew the last mission Ethys was on went awry the moment they put his brother in solitary confinement, but he didn’t anticipate such a rebuttal. He knew they were valuable assets, not something they’d want to lose - but the loss won’t put a strain on their forces, regardless. After all, the Alaudae always had a fresh supply of recruits from all the prisoners the Empire had taken.

After the initial rampage, the guards passed by quickly, dragging the black-haired Viera by his ears and legs; and Neo couldn’t help but shudder. He knew what’s to come - they went through enough together that he felt Ethys’s pain as his own, and vice versa.

Hours passed. Sitting in the corner furthest away from the entrance, Neo hugged his knees and rocked forward and back, trying to shut out the screams of despair coming from chambers too close to his cell. Enveloped in darkness, the Viera felt loneliness and emptiness overwhelming him, in a way that never happened before. Ethys was tortured before, yes. And he was sitting in this same corner when that happened, doing the same old motion, trying to cradle himself as if he were in his mother’s arms, seeking the basest of solace he knew every time it happened. But this time it felt as if… He will be truly alone again.

When the door to their cell opened and they threw Ethys’s body inside, he immediately felt what’s wrong - the spark of life was dying, waning before his eyes as surely as the sun sets and the night comes. He knew, he knew from the bottom of his heart, and from every word he ever heard from Darko’s lips, that there’s no saving him. But…

He was his brother. His other half, and the only one he had in this world.

So he grabbed the job crystal in his left hand, nails digging deep into his skin, cutting it apart and adding more blood to the pool on the floor.

He will not let this be his brother’s end.

He drew on all the aether of nature he could sense - he pulled as much as he could and siphoned it all into Ethys’s broken body; the wounds healed, but the flame… barely flickered.

Neo gripped the crystal with all his might, his long nails reaching the bone, blood flowing freely, and pressed that hand above his brother’s heart. Their blood mixed together and he focused on fanning the flames - letting his own blood and aether enter the body of the broken man, making them flow and mimic the life that was waning.

There was no light, for this spell was anything but white. The only color he could see was red, like the lilies burning in the sunset, and he focused on that.

If this magic can break a man so easily with stone and air, with fire and water he will make him anew.

As long as the fire of his brother’s soul is burning, he will be the unstoppable current that halts natural progress and then reverses it. No matter the price.

He felt his arm burning, falling apart - his skin was peeling from the tips of his fingers, then hands, and the entirety of the forearm. The flesh soon followed, flaying in pieces and disappearing into red dust that scattered all around them. A passing thought about red lilies’ petals passed through his mind, but it was short lived - once his bones started disappearing, he did all he could to shape the blood that was flowing through the exposed flesh, bending it to his will, stopping the flow and using it to keep the stone between them.

Consciousness fading, he focused on the magic still and...

Moments after, he fell down.

The thing he woke up to was his brother’s heavy, pained breathing. And there was no sound sweeter than that.

● ● ●

Some time passed before Neo could gather the strength to do anything but sit and watch his brother lay on the floor. He tried to make that as comfortable as possible, but even dragging a pillow under Ethys’s head has left him breathless. Every movement was hard now that his left arm was but a stump, with everything under the elbow gone and the rest being a painful mass of overly sensitive muscles and tendons.

He thought of laying down and resting a bit more, and that very thought was irresistible. So, he dragged his body to the bed and let the darkness take him. It was not often that sleep came easily to him, so, even in these circumstances, he welcomed it with open arms. He fell asleep tightly holding the rosewood branch he was permitted to keep, as none of Garleans thought he would have any use of it; and let the aether flow and heal him while he rested.

When he opened his eyes, Ethys was not there. Only the pool of blood remained, the door quickly shut…

And he heard his brother howling in desperation.

Again.

That sound was what spurred him into action. He took one of his braids and removed a pearl he kept at its end as an accessory. He uncased it, revealing a linkpearl hidden inside - after some fiddling to place it into his ear, he whispered a few words and the last step of his plan was set in motion.

● ● ●

The whistle of a bird signaled that the shipment of ceruleum tanks he ordered was waiting just outside the complex they were in. Neo grabbed the bars of his cell door and yelled…

“WAITING’S OVER!”

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. Guards were taken aback by him making noise, especially unprompted - and all they could do was look at him in surprise. After these brief seconds of shock have passed...

There was no more silence.

Ethys has broken the walls of the torture chamber he was in, grabbed one of the bars to use as an improvised lance, ran to Neo’s cell and ripped the door right out of the goddamn wall. He finally could go on a rampage, and the months and years of waiting showed themselves in the chaotic cruelty he exhibited in battle.

Meanwhile, Neo was fiddling with his linkpearl. Not soon after, explosions shook the opposite side of the complex. That was when Neo took the rosewood branch from the bed, where he left it, and became the light that blinds - drawing on every last bit of aether he had to continuously cast spells, keeping his brother alive and his enemies confused. Together, they wreaked havoc. As their part of the complex was mostly empty, there were not many guards, especially not after last night’s event. Easily overpowering them, the pair of brothers reached the only other occupied cell - the one Andromedas was in. He was already at the bars, drinking in the battle happening before his very eyes, ears perked up and a smile almost breaking his face in two.

"Will you die with us, or here?" Neo asked, knowing the answer. Andromedas moved away from the bars of the cell and Ethys ripped out the door with his bare hands.

"Let's go." Ethys growled deeply, trembling, trying to control the bloodlust. "Let us go!", he yelled, yet again, while Andromedas was staring at him in awe.

The rest was a blur - a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline kept him going blindly forward, equally blinding his enemies. As they reached the middle of the complex, where the only entrance was, they saw the smoke had already seeped its way there; and most of the guards left their stations to deal with the distraction in the other wing of the building. As for the ones which did not, they died to Ethys's lance as soon as they were seen.

And, just like that, they were free.

● ● ●

All people knew of this incident was that the whole complex went up in flames; leaving naught but ash. The group made sure to not leave any survivors; as the people delivering the ceruleum tanks were just hired hands.

Necessary sacrifices, all of them.

And now, their existence was known only to a few ones whose lives were spared by Neo; and he made sure that they know it must stay that way.

Darko got them places in a free company in Thanalan, a desert city-state so painfully, yet sweetly, reminiscent of Dalmasca of their childhood. But that Dalmasca was long gone - twenty years is a lot, even for a Viera, and he knew better than to dwell on the past.

Before settling down, however, he paid visits to families of some prisoners, delivering the news of their death and gathering information on the state of Eorzea. Of course, he ensured his ears nor face were ever visible; the only thing they could discern was his honey-sweet voice, making them want to give him everything he asked for. And they did.

Then, he went to the people who owed him favors. Not all of them, of course - you can never know when you may need a favor from someone. But it was just enough of them to gather funds and get a house in Goblet to open a... tavern.

Because, you see, spending almost twenty years as a conscript, forced to kill and facing the possibility of death every day, changes you. So, he decided opening an innocent little tavern where people could gather and have fun would be a perfect front for them to keep doing what they are now doing the best.

Andromedas was their resident bard, singing both the popular and original songs; mingling with patrons, and gathering information in pauses between performances. Neo was the bartender, putting his rusty knowledge of alchemy to use once again; ensuring everyone would feel at home during the hours they were open. And Ethys was the bodyguard, ensuring everything is all perfectly nice and sweet and legal; and that everyone is happy and enjoying themselves.

However, there were times when Neo would get a request from a patron, and Ethys would disappear for an hour or two; returning with a smile on his face and a little bit breathless and flushed. Or, when Clan Centurio was hosting big hunts, Neo and Andromedas would join them to learn about Eorzea further, and to get more contacts to help them with other types of work.

The tavern became known as the best place to spend time if you are an outcast, as no one could touch you; or if you had a request you think no one else could fulfill. But the latter was only known to people in certain circles, and they knew that every request had its price in gil... or favors, if you could not afford the gold.

However, after returning to Thanalan, Darko has disappeared from Neo's life. He could not know whether it was because his methods conflicted with Hrothgar's views; or whether the man had decided to help other conscripts he knew; or, perhaps, he decided to join the battle on the Bozjan front? None of that mattered, though.

All of the sins Neo has committed have served their purpose and they finally had their place, and the place had its name.

Under the Crimson Moon.

It was their own hideout, where they were finally free.

[wraithdeer]

Uncle Vas

Another short snippet of the hrothgar family me and my friends have made in ffxiv! Olavi is my oc and Vas is @theabsolutevoid‘s character. Vas is a terrible Garlean guy and Olavi is a former experiment who doesn’t remember he’s an experiment!

The sun had risen on Limsa Lominsa once again, its many citizens rushing about their day or strolling about slowly and having pleasant conversations. Laughter could be heard and children ran about the plaza as Vas looked up over the aetheryte. There was someone going by the name ‘Duskrift’-a name no one should know since it had been wiped from the world forever ago and he wanted to investigate whoever was gallivanting about with it. There was also reason to believe an escaped Garlean experiment might be connected to it-two birds, one stone as they say.

First, he went to Hawker’s Alley, asking around about an acquaintance of his, one of the merchants noting they had seen ‘Olavisch’ a few hours before, picking up some supplies for the Bismark. After getting the information, he paid the culinarian’s guild a visit, taking a seat on the patio as he watched the operations of the restaurant. It was busy as always, orders being placed and carried off while people arrived and left satisfied. Vas ordered something small as he waited, eventually seeing a hrothgar with white fur and black hair in cularian’s clothing, using a rag to clean his hands. The young man looked tired and, even from a distance, he noted him favoring one side over the other in his movements. Vas watched the hrothgar let out a sigh before smiling slightly as he looked up at the sky as he was able to note some scarring around one eye. That was in line if he was a former experiment. Vas paid for his food as he stood, leaving. It was time to gather more information on this ‘Olavisch’. 

Vas made his way to Gridania next, hearing more just in the Caroline Canopy from green adventurers about heroic acts of not just Olavisch but his friends he would venture forth with. Many noted he was quite the affectionate sort and the group of heroes could be seen exchanging hugs or sitting close with each other. Going to the various other guilds in the city state, he found that the hrothgar had indeed taken all of those available in the city and actually excelled in every one. Vas noted it all before making for his last stop. 

Ul’dah was known for its marketplace as well as a fairly outright underbelly of crime. It seemed this is where the young hrothgar had begun his adventures though that made his job a bit harder. People wouldn’t exactly make note of him when he was just a nobody. Luckily, just has he had in the other city states, Olavisch did have an unyielding interest in gathering and crafting. Severin of the alchemist guild couldn’t be bothered to answer anything but the other guild members spoke highly of Olavisch to the point some viewed him as the guildmaster when Severin was too busy with his own work. The weaver guild master was easier to speak to, speaking highly of Olavisch and sharing a story of the two of them assisting a lalafel of the miner’s guild fix his looks so he could court a noble lady. Sweet but otherwise uninteresting. At the end of the day, his conclusion was the same as the other city states: he was noted as a kind, if odd, hrothgar who travelled with his friends. The answers he wanted would not come from people with only a passing presence in Olavisch’s life. 

It was time to get the answers he wanted. 

--

Olavi had been working with Naldiq and Vymelli’s for a short while, working with Brithael to gain a better grasp on blacksmithing as he hummed to himself. The cool breeze was welcome as he organized his tools and the materials he needed. He was the only one still around, everyone having gone off to the Drowning Wench after a very productive day. Again. Olavi’s ears twitched as he heard footsteps approach, looking over and turning to see who was coming to the shop so late. He was surprised to see a hrothgar with dark grey fur and white hair-for a moment he thought it was his father but, looking closer, the man’s nose was too slim and face more broad not to mention for obvious scars and an eye patch. 

“Ah, apologies.” he said, offering a smile as he grabbed a rag to clean off his hands of grease and sweat. “The Blacksmith is closed-the armory as well I believe.” he told the hrothgar who blinked at him before pausing as Olavi tilted his head, curious. 

“Are you Olavisch? Olavisch Duskrift?” he asked. “Apologies, you and your friends saved the life of one of my friends in Thanalan.” he told him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

“Oh, its no trouble!” he assured with a smile. “I am always happy to help people. And Olavi is fine."  

“So I’ve heard! I do some work as a merchant and you seem to have made quite the splash amid almost every guild there is.” Olavi laughed at that, looking embarrassed as he shook his hands a bit, Vas noting it. 

"I just like making things. And the best crafters at least have an idea of how others work." 

“It seems like you have more than ‘an idea’ of how other crafters work.” he joked as Olavi, chuckled, his voice having a hoarse edge to it as he fiddled with his work bench, wanting something to ground him. 

“Your voice sounds hoarse. You alright?” Vas asked as Olavi nodded. 

“Childhood injury.” he told him. “I’m adopted. My father found me severely injured while he was travelling and adopted me after helping me heal.” he said, tools in his hands, barely minding the man there. “When no one stepped forward to claim me, I was adopted. He gave me his surname and everything.” Olavi said, voice more even as a warm smile pulled at his lips. 

“You sound like you care for him a lot.” 

“Oh, I sure do!” he said. “Mikosch-my dad-is...He’s just the best sort of father I could ask for. Him and my sister. I don’t know how I could be so lucky to have such an amazing family.” Olavi said, completely missing the man freezing at the mention of his father’s name. “I want to live a life he’d be proud of-I mean, he already says he’s proud of me but...I don’t know how to put it, I want to do everything I can to make him happy. I want to give him everything for being there for me.” Olavi said, a smile on his face. 

Vas stood back, frozen to the spot. Miko? Miko was alive? He had to know where he was. But first...He looked at the hrothgar, still going on about his family. Voice, eye, and some neurological damage. That gave him an idea of what kind of experiment he might be. More importantly, something he could do to confirm he was an experiment. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a vial of liquid. Smell is quite the trigger for memories and the chemicals used around younger experiments are quite...distinctive. Subtly, he walked about and began spilling some around the younger hrothgar as he took a step back and waited. It only took a few moments for the smell to fill the area around them and immediately the man before him froze, immediately stopping what he was saying. Vas watched his muscles work in his back, hands on his own weapons a moment. The room was silent and tense for barely seconds but it seemed agonizingly slow. 

In the end, it was Vas taking a stance that set him off, the man seeming disconnected from the person he just was. 

“I’M NOT GOING BACK!” he roared, grabbing for his sword by his bench but Vas was ready for that. Rushing forward, he landed a devastating punch in the gut that doubled over the smaller hrothgar before landing another on the back of his head, knocking him out briefly as he slumped to the floor. 

“Good enough evidence for me.” he muttered to himself as he took out some eye drops, opening one of Olavi’s eyes as he dropped them in. “You’ll be fine. Just something to make the last hour a little foggy.” he muttered. “I still need you to lead me to Miko after all.”

[darksiders-scenarios]

Yes please I would like you to rewrite the dragonborn and skyrim one please! Oh but please keep the other one up it had me laughing out loud!

I did my best to behave this time! disgracefulsin (it will never stop haunting me-). 

Ask:  “ I am curious…how would thefour horsemen, azrael,Alya and Muria react to being in skyrim and their s/o isthe dragonborn?”

***

War: It comes as no surprisethat War is regarded as the greatest warrior since Ysgramor, for his honour andhigh principals. It further comes as little surprise that he is chosen tobecome the new Harbinger after Kodlak’s demise. With his unwavering support andguidance, you work hard to repress your natural instincts to control and createhavoc that stems from your dragon blood. You are often reminded to use yourpowers for the betterment of the Empire, not for personal gain. Though he nevervoices it, War’s admiration and respect for you surge that much morewhenever you are able to overcome your innate bloodlust and hunger fordominance. A marking of a great hero. With his leadership and being your truestcompanion, you can rest assured that War will always support your path tofulfilling your destiny as the Dragonborn.

Death: You are in deep denial about your Dragonborn“destiny”, attempting to conceal your identity and desiring nothingmore than to live a simple life with your friend. The burden of being the lastDragonborn, coupled with being the only one to defeat Alduin… You want no part in defending the“Fatherland” especially after you were almost executed due to a“misunderstanding”. Let them burn in Alduin’s fire. Though Deathclaims that he cares little for the politics of Skyrim, he often voices hisdisdain for the civil war whenever you hint that you want to side with theStormcloaks. He upholds the view that both sides are as deluded as the otherand reminds you of the real threat. However, Death understands your resentment,and he promises you that he will personally build a cottage for you. Once thisis all over, you and he can live the life that you both so desperately need.

Fury: She is extremely proud of you, remembering how you started with nothing but theclothes on your back, now witnessing your ascension through the ranks of Thanesin major holds; earning the respect of townsfolks and influential leaders,extending to even your enemies. She is impressed with your remarkablediscipline as the Dragonborn, your ability to repress the urge to indulge inyour inherent draconian ambition to dominate. A discipline that she herselfonce lacked, and the consequences still haunt her to this day. She is alwaysvigilant and circumspect for fear that your powers will be exploited by petty mindswith petty ambitions. The Greybeards find solace in the knowledge that theDragonborn has a trusted guardian for a friend.

Strife: Being a non-human Dragonborn makes it an easy target forridicule and humiliation. Why should you care for the denizens ofSkyrim after everything you’ve suffered at their hands? The racism, theprejudice, the injustice? Why? Everything is clear to Strife, your hunger for vengeanceand violence emanates from your dragon blood, augmented by your bitterness.Justifiably so. Strife sympathises with you, although he is cautious to notvoice his opinions. The last thing you need is the assumption that you arebeing pitied. But when he sees you belittled by others, Strife fights for youtooth and nail, demanding respect for you and your voice to be heard. And adamn earth-shattering one it is too. With Strife’s unyielding support andfriendship, that wall of resentment gradually begins to crack and you slowly learn toembrace your role as the Dragonborn. Not to mention, the tally of who has themost dragon bones, and kicking Nazeem’s backside.

Azrael: You are dismissive of your Dragonborn title, treating it as acurse; an invitation for more unrest and conquest in this already brokencountry. With your past life drenched in crime and murder, your ties with theThieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood, it comes as no surprise for the Archangelthat you are now guilt-ridden and depressed. But Azrael sees it for what is,you crave companionship the most. But he has had enough of seeing you atthe Bannered Mare all the time, snapping you out of your miserable stupor. Itis through Azrael that you begin to embrace your identity, accepting theperspective that ridding Tamriel from the threat of Alduin is your step toatonement. Though Azrael doesn’t accompany you on your quest, he maintainscommunication with you through a psychic link, serving as your guide wheneveryou sought it. He stays at High Hrothgar, learning from the Greybeards andtheir grandmaster for ways to further support you. Now he always looks forwardto your return, for your safety primarily- but also the guilty excitement thatyou will be bringing him all manners of books, scrolls and tomes.  

Alya: You have a beloved friend in the form of the greatest blacksmithin all of Tamriel. With her acceptance into the Skyforge, Alya forges only thebest durable weapons and armours for you in your quest to defeating Alduin.True to her “A Maker, not a warrior” de facto moniker, Alya is ahighly sought smith. Denizens all across Tamriel, the wealthy, the mercenariesand many others travel to Jorrvaskr for her smithwork. The most popular errandsfor the companions are to deliver the best quality materials for her. Businessis forever thriving. Now, upon discovery of your Dragonborn nature, your needsare top priority, excelling those of the Emperor himself. It also helps thatyou have mastery in the art of weapon enchantment, acquired from your advancedstudies at the College of Winterhold.

Muria: Your inherent abilities for absorbing dragon souls andmemorising spells accelerate your grasp in all the schools of magic, alchemyand enchantment arts. Muria appreciates your semi-pacifist nature; you arereluctant to use your destructive powers, resorting to calming andincapacitating spells on your enemies unless absolutely necessary. Your mindsetstems from a strong ethical standpoint, a trait that Muria greatly approves andrespects. She trusts that you are responsible in your duties and knows that youvalue her counsel should you require it. Of course, it helps that she is alsothe Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold.    

[whenaltsattack]

FFXIVWrite 2020 Prompt 3: Muster (Atropos)

CW: Death, blood

A picture, a sketch, a Viera woman standing tall and awkward in the back with three Hyur and three miqo'te arrayed around her, their arms wrapped around her and each other. All of them are smiling, even the Viera. The picture is much creased, faded, tattered at the edges, yellowing with time.

"MUSTER UP!"

The phrase was bellowed through the underground tunnels of the small sanctum where the organization made it's home. The young men and women that made up the newest group of foundlings stumbled out of their simple rooms and met up with each other in the halls, jostling and leaning on each other. They had snuck out the night before, gone to one of the cheaper bordellos, gotten shit-faced and wrecked on cheap alcohol, somnus, and aether-dusted mushrooms. Their eyes were still bloodshot and the bellowing voice rang like bells of doom in their still-addled heads.

"*****, c'mon!" called Matthias, a young Hyuran man, hooking an arm around her waist and steering her towards the dusty subterranean training room. "Eyes open and shoulders back." He teased, slurring a little as he mimicked the voice of their arms-master.

She couldn't remember his face, or her name. Static in her ears, a blank blandness where his face would be. Dark eyes. She remembered dark eyes. They had dust on them and had become like raisins in the heat, wrinkled and lifeless.

She smiled at him sheepishly and let him guide her, her long limbs showing a disturbing tendency to tangle up and trip her. They met up with another Hyur, then a miqo'te woman who wrapped her tail around the Viera's wrist like a soft silk bangle and groaned dramatically as they passed through a small square of sunlight cast by a narrow, street-level window.

Tan fur, tan under the rusty brown that spiked it into unnatural spines, sticking straight up in the sun. What was brown on the fur was red on the mosaic, spreading in loops and spatters.

Another two miqo'te met them in the training room. Brother and sister.

Cousins? She couldn't remember. They hadn't found enough of the bodies to tell which was which so they had burned them on the same pyre in the pauper's field. She remembered the smell.

A Hrothgar man stepped into the training hall with the last two Hyur at his heels, both young men. All the youths arranged themselves loosely at attention, their spines snapping straight and their heads lifted. Despite their bleary eyes and their pounding skulls, they were proud. They were capable.

They were gone. The underground tunnels were gone. A traitor's bomb, they'd said. Imperial technology, they'd said. All of Rabanastre had been targeted, they’d said. Nothing personal.

She folded the sketch up carefully along it's creases and slipped it back into it's hiding place. She shed no tears- those were as lost as her name. Turning onto her side, she turned down the flame in the lamp and closed her eyes.

"MUSTER UP!"

[shadowsflame-ffxiv]

Umbra Mortis (Pt.1)

“Zane RUN!”

He didn’t mind the tone Rukh used, it didn’t bother him that the Hrothgar sounded like he wanted to throttle him. It had been accompanied by the staggering behemoth of the Magitek armor, and the accompanied high pitched whine that he had grown used to in his years. 

Seven Seconds. 

He had seven seconds until the armor powered up it’s main laser cannon. Time enough to bolt, to sprint ahead and get to the side to...he saw Kast, Kast who had been pinned to the jungle floor, Kast who had been shot multiple times. His heart clenched, the decision made somewhere between second five and six. 

The blond Keeper hit the ground and rolled, black and blue two-toned eyes stared into his own green and grey, and Zane felt a pang of guilt, of sorrow. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to tell him he loved him. He had a million things he wanted to say...

“Mama! MAMA!” Zane snapped awake, shrieking and pulling at his blankets, the last thing in his mind the heat of the laser cannon as it collided with him, the stench of burning leather mingled with flesh, the pain in his body and then nothing. 

“Shanna? Oh, Shan, what happened?!” The soft lilting voice full of concern soothed his sobs, and he looked helplessly at the blonde Seeker in his doorway, despair radiating off his form. 

“Mama..mama there was a boy and he...I got hurted. I got hurt real bad and he was so sad mama, the Crystal cried. Mama..” he whimpered and curled up in her lap, small tail twitching as he cuddled into her chest, trying to get his emotions under control. 

“Shan, it’s okay...it was a nightmare, you’re safe, you’re home and you’re here at my heart.” She said softly, rocking his toddler body as she rubbed his back. 

Zane wanted to correct her, that wasn’t his name, he didn’t understand...but as he looked at his small hands, he just wrapped his pudgy arms around her neck and soaked in her warmth. This woman was familiar, somewhere in his mind he knew. Mama, she was his mother...he was home.  “Shan guess what? Your Papa is coming today!” 

Zane looked up into her soft blue eyes, her honey blonde hair framing her face in frizzy curls. Images of a man, with bright red hair and an easy smile, with eyes like his own, green like a verdant field of grass, with scars across his lip and nose, and rough hands. “Papa?” he asked softly. 

“Mmhmm, you better get ready.” she smiled mischievously at him, and another memory came unbidden. 

Zane smiled back, sniffling one last time before he nodded. “Okay Mama.” 

She put him down, and he went to wash himself from the basin, scrubbing tears from his face and fussing with his dark hair to get it just so. Then he put on his shirt and shorts, frowning when he couldn’t quite figure out one armhole. He went to her in the kitchen, pouting at his uncooperative clothing, and she laughed softly. It was a beautiful sound, like the bells in Ishgard on a clear day, and he found he wanted her to do it forever.  They had a breakfast of dried meats and scrambled eggs, Zane fidgeting on his chair, small legs kicking idly with a weird excitement as he watched the front door.

“Go Shan, go on! He’s coming!” His mother said suddenly, and he quickly leapt off the chair, feet carrying him even though he felt half in a daze, quickly hiding in the closet by the door, crouching down to keep hidden. 

There was a knock and then the door opened, and the Miqo’te from Zane’s memory came through, his leather duster hitting just at their dirt floor. The male was burly but in an agile fighting kind of way, his short red hair had beads hanging in leather decorations down the right side of his face. The Miqo’te turned and held out his arms for the blonde, pulling her in to kiss her, and to keep his back to the closet.  “Shayna, I’ve missed you. And where’s my little cub?” he looked around curiously in the kitchen. “Has he run away to finally become a feral kit in the forest?” he teased.  “That surely is where he’s gone, Veth.” Shayna laughed. “He’s around somewhere I’m sure. Have you already been to see Lara? How are Ohna and Rehna?”  The crimson haired Miqo’te nodded. “I have, they’ve gotten so big! I think they’re ready for their first Hunt. I want to call a tribe meeting, and have them go out on the next full moon at the end of the month.” Veth seemed focused on the conversation, but his tail gave him away, twitching in anticipation, and he couldn’t hold back the grin to Shayna when he heard a soft swish of feet on the dirt floor.  Veth gasped, letting out a good cry of pain when teeth sank into his thigh and twenty-five pounds of four-year-old collided with him, falling to the ground and letting his son scramble over him, proud as Zane hit multiple weak points with little blunt nails while they scrapped. It took him a bit to actually catch the boy, but finally he wrapped the wriggling child in his arms and laughed. “Do you yield, Little Sun?”  “Never! The Oh Tribe never suddenders!” Zane said strongly. 

“Surrenders.” Shayna corrected airily as she watched them wrestle. 

“Mm, then you give me no choice!” Veth snickered as he began to tickle the boy mercilessly, holding him tightly to not let him squirm away. “Yield!”

Zane pouted but finally stopped squirming. “Fine, I sud-..surrender.” he whined, and then squealed as Veth peppered his face in little kisses. 

“Ew! Papa stop!” he huffed, escaping as his father let him go, wiping off his face and glowering at the older miqo’te. 

Veth chuckled, getting up and scooping the boy into his lap as he sat at the table, giving him a little toy he’d brought along to keep him entertained. He smiled as Shayna brought him coffee, sipping it thankfully. 

“Shan had another bad dream last night.” She said finally, sighing as she watched their son play. “Thev I’m getting worried, even our Seers weren’t having dreams like this so young.” 

Thev brushed Zane’s hair from his face, frowning as he studied him, looking deep into green eyes that matched his own. 

“I think we should bring him to see my father. He might have more knowledge than even our Seers, as they’re still young by other Tribe standards.” he said finally. 

“What if they want to take him? I don’t want to lose him.” Shayna fretted. 

Thev grinned, this time feral. “They won’t. I’ll protect my progeny with blood and fang until not a one would stand against me. You have my word as Nunh. Still, it would help to know more.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the squirming boy who had finally gotten bored of his toy. “Mama? May I go outside please?” 

Shayna nodded “Go on, stay in the yard and as far as the tree line.” She recited, and waited until her son recited it back to let him run off out the door.  Zane ran outside, standing still and stretching his little arms over his head, turning his face up and smiling as the sun beat down on him, warming his skin. Bare calloused feet lead a path across cracked desert ground as he scurried this way and that, chasing small lizards and bugs into the trees, but always keeping his yard and house in sight. 

He had followed a horned beetle up a tree to a place where the trunk went mostly horizontal, when the bug suddenly froze, and he blinked in confusion at it. He poked it, trying to get it to move, but it was hunkered down. He had the sudden urge to do exactly as the beetle was doing, a weird palpitation of danger hitting him, something was here and it was wrong. The dark haired youth looked up, green eyes widening when he saw a pair of slate grey eyes staring down at him, barely twenty feet from him in the same tree. There was a weird crackle around him, as if he had magic hiding him, but somehow Zane could see him. 

The fact the man was a hoor, he thought that’s what his mama said, registered before he suddenly launched himself back as the man tried to grab him, and Zane’s reflexes managed to catch himself so when he hit the ground, he was bolting. He heard the figure hit the ground and Zane forced himself faster...how had he got so far into the trees? Why was he so far away? 

Suddenly with a muffled cry he was tackled, everything that was light becoming darkness as the figure forced him under, no light entered around the monster that had caught him, all he could smell was gun oil and all he could feel was treated leather. Until he became aware of another sensation, a dagger against his throat, tracing gently along his cheek at the tip. 

“I wondered who might volunteer first.” 

A deep voice filled his trembling ears, and Zane growled as he did exactly what his father had taught him. 

A surprised hiss and the removal of the blade against his neck came when Zane sank his sharp fangs deep into the arm by his face. He didn’t stop to think about anything, bolting again as the man rolled off of him. He thought he could make it, he could do it he could get help. 

That thought was ended as a dagger slammed into his leg at his thigh, making him cry out and fall. The monster grabbed him, picking him up and grey met green again, anger on the man’s face palpable. 

“That was stupid, boy. I was going to kill you quickly, but now..” 

Zane didn’t realize it was strange he could understand him, he didn’t know he shouldn’t be able to understand the high Garlean the man was speaking. 

“My Papa will kill you, nothing is stupid if it meant I got away!” He replied with as much of a snarl as he could, tears running down his cheeks from fear and pain. 

Everything seemed to stop, the man’s eyes widening. “You...understand me.” he said, head cocking to the side in curiosity. 

“W..What?” Zane blinked through his tears, staring at him in confusion. 

“How, in a tribe of savage beasts, how do you understand me? Is Her reach truly this far?” The man was rambling, grip tightening on Zane’s arms and it made the boy whimper. 

“S-Stop...Stop please.” He begged. 

“A Sign...this is a sign.” He continued to ramble, a sudden terrifying grin sliding across his face. “You will be Mine.” 

“Let me go. LET ME GO!” Zane kicked and squirmed, but he couldn’t stop the man from pulling his arms behind him, binding him with rope and shoving a cloth gag into his mouth. 

“Be silent boy. I am going to let you decide. Your family, your friends, and your life..for me. Be Mine. Whatever I want you to be, and they live.” The dark voice whispered, his mind fuzzing, the world suddenly shifting and seeming to shatter. 

Suddenly, he wasn’t a little boy, he was himself, not a child but as he was supposed to be, still bound, still gagged, staring at Melachi who gazed down at him with terrible grey eyes, sightless but full of rage. His forehead had a jagged hole, which slowly dripped blood. 

“Choose..they will die, Zane. Come with me...or they die..”

He could smell the burning, the rancid odor of flesh in fire, and when he looked behind Melachi he could see the Vanguard. The building crackled in a blaze, and he could see figures. His mind supplied who was where, they were all there, dead, burning...he screamed against his gag, screamed as pain flared in his body and his back felt like it was on fire.  “Choose Zane...you have to Choose...”

“MAMA! Mama!” Shan screamed, twisting in his sheets as he sobbed violently. 

“Shan?! Shan oh my little sun and soul, shh.” His mother’s touch and voice soothed away the night terrors, and he buried his little face into her shoulder as she pulled him into her lap. 

“They died Mama...they died and the Crystal...she was crying. I had to choose...Mama I don’t want to go away..” He sniffled as she soothed him. 

I don’t want to leave...