#jingasa

[tobuzzu]

Sundew clothing, based off Ashigaru, Japanese light infantry! The helmet is called a jingasa, and the straw raincoat a mino. I headcanon that the poisonwings lop off their horns when drafted into the military, to make it easier to fit helmets onto their heads, to use the horns for composite bows, and for a symbolic reason as well. I also like the idea of Pantalan dragons using primitive fire arms, though not quite effective enough to completely phase out melee weapons and bows.

[pinknipszz]

short continuation of shogun!ryomen sukuna

numb is the feeling that courses through your limbs. a norimono so lavish, evident in its golden grooves and gilded glamour, is held proudly on the shoulders of six samurai whose faces remain hidden under their leather jingasa. although you do not expect it from anyone affiliated with the shogunate, much less armored men with more arrogance in their hearts than alcohol, they are kind enough to spare an ounce of privacy as you regard your parents for the last time.

you try to memorize the warmth of your mother’s arms as she weeps. “we’re sorry, we’re sorry,” a trembling hand cards through your hair. you neither comfort nor condemn her, but hold her tightly instead. when you tilt your head up, there are rivers rolling down her raw cheeks, collecting under her chin before spilling onto your kimono. you don’t know which of the stains are hers or yours. “we wouldn’t have done it if we had known— would’ve never sent you in the first place.”

your father only watches with hands curled into fists, tight-lipped and teary-eyed, but he doesn’t cry. whether he’s upset over losing his only daughter to a tyrant, or being cheated out of a potential bargain, something dances on the tip of his tongue but remains behind his teeth. “don’t say that mama,” you whisper ruefully when a samurai approaches to collect you. “don’t cry for me anymore.” but her sobs never cease, not even when you cross the horizon and your father takes his turn to hold her. 

the wedding itself is nothing significant. no ceremony, no banquet, no nothing. the only evidence of that day is a painting of you and your now-husband, wearing embroidered garbs and solemn faces, hanging high in the foyer as an example of incarnated divinity for servants and samurai alike. you lost count of how many months it's been there. whenever you cross the space, you can’t help but pause and crane up, your eyes drifting towards painted ones. the woman in the painting always stares back with disinterest.

but when you pick apart the layers in her concealed expression, you count the fear. the ire. the anguish. you recall the shogun’s only words to you that day: “did your mother cry when you left?” you think the artist must share the same twisted humour as him to have painted your reaction to such a tasteless question. when you feel your throat tighten around a broken sob, your gaze shifts to the shogun, who still radiates insurmountable power even in artistic expression. you count the tattoos on his flesh.

“don’t tell me you’re bored of it already,” a sudden voice chuckles beside you, pulling you out of your stupor. there’s a beat of silence before you stiffly turn to meet the real eyes of your husband, whose sanguine pools swirl deep with malicious intrigue. the shogun lazily tilts his head back, eyes narrowing in amusement at how your expression hardens. “i was under the impression that women like art, otherwise i wouldn’t have commissioned the artist.” you fight the urge to spit on his face.

“it’s fine,” you snap fiercely, fists clenching at your side. you don’t care if this man fought beasts with his bare hands and whispered war in the hearts of men. he stole you from your home, forced you to marry him, commissioned a painting about it, and to rub salt in the wound, displayed said painting in the foyer for the entire estate to gossip about. and while he’s off exploiting the country for his sick pleasure, you wander the halls like a ghost for people to gawk at, as if you aren’t capable of handling domestic affairs on your own.

surprisingly, the shogun does not speak of your outburst, his silence only allowing you to recollect your bearings. when you do, you desperately search those eyes for anything other than apathy. maybe a hint of sadness, or regret, or even pity. but there’s nothing. defeated, your gaze drops to the floor in a silent surrender. another battle conquered. as you wait for some sort of reprimand, or a strike to confirm rumors of his savagery, you briefly think that the shogun will celebrate this in your shared chambers later, but nothing comes.

only, your eyes widen marginally when ghostly fingertips brush against your right cheek. you watch a thumb run across the soft flesh several times, before gathering it between a finger and pinching. the sharp pain makes you yelp and swat his hand away, but the shogun merely chuckles. once he relents his ministrations, he pulls strand of your hair and twirls it around his finger. “you could’ve just told me you didn’t like it.”

(masterlist)

taglist: @yoontaedotin , @baku2345

[metmuseum]

War Hat (Jingasa) of the Ogasawara Family. late 18th–early 19th century. Credit line: Gift of Etsuko O. Morris and John H. Morris Jr., 2018 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/27594

[verysium]

would a beautiful young lady like you be so generous and besprinkle me with some sae itoshi thoughts

beautiful young lady? 🤭 anon you are so sweet. and for that, i present to you a writing idea that has lingered in the back of my mind for a while now. introducing......✨rōnin sae✨

he was originally the first-born son of a wealthy samurai clan but was ostracized due to his left-handed fighting style and refusal to conform to bushido. the night of his thirteenth birthday, he wrongfully murdered a man, and for that he was exiled by his family and later banished from the estate. forced to leave everything behind, he traveled on foot to kyoto to enter into the service of the daimyō at yodo domain, but no master or dojo would accept him.

after three years, he became a wanderer, a ghost identified by nothing except the incorporeal lingering of fear he left behind. no one has ever seen his face, nor do they know his name. a pair sharp teal eyes is the last thing the unfortunate souls see before they meet their end at the tip of his blade. he slices so clean it leaves no blood, only a soft body caught between the furrows of earth, lodged into eternal sleep beneath the snow.

working part-time as a serving girl between a soba shop and a brothel, you encounter him on one of the longest days of winter, the sole customer who dares to enter between the hours of midnight and dawn. as you set down his bowl, your eyes catch onto the silk tie fastened to the hilt of his katana, a rich hue of burgundy red. he must be a member of the upper nobility, you think. you've only ever seen the color on the obi of the wealthy patrons and the entrancing eyes of the madam's geisha. you politely ask him where he bought such beautifully dyed fabric, setting down his chopsticks with a sweet smile. he stares up at you from beneath his jingasa hat, so low on his face that you cannot see his eyes. a beat of silence passes, then two.

it is blood.

his tone is quiet, deep enough to send shivers down your spine. he waits to see the horrified look on your face, the crumpling of your delicate features so that he knows when to leave, where he is not welcome. but it never comes. instead you beam, blabbering on about how you figured he was a ronin with the number of bodies he left behind, and the number of days he says he's been here. he remains silent, though you see a flicker of something beneath the brim of his hat, the color so bright you do not know if it is blue or green.

you realize who he is. and you don't care.

that is enough to get sae interested in you, at least interested enough not to kill you. most people never hear the rumors let alone fathom his existence, yet you let him stay here with you, as if you expected his presence all along. at first, he coughs and refuses, standing up swiftly to find the exit. but when he lifts the noren and is hit with a face full of harsh snow, he begins to reconsider your offer, to wait until the storm passes.

you boil tea on the kettle as you lay out a spare futon on the tatami, lighting a candle in the darkness. in the corner, he sees a small misshapen bundle beneath the blankets, and he immediately pulls his hand back when two glossy eyes peer back up at him. the bundle he realizes is your mother, and the blankets he learns is a deathbed. you have no other kin left, no money to feed yourself, nowhere to hide the rotting body. only in time will he fully understand the ghosts of your past. you are the daughter of a prostitute; he is a son in exile. it shouldn't even be considered a match, but it strangely feels like one.

the storm passes, but sae doesn't leave. instead, you and he settle into the mundane expanse of cold routine, him searching for hire by day and you working by night. except one night, you do not return home by the tenth hour bell. it isn't until the sun carves a sliver into the morning sky that he sees your silhouette in the doorway, kimono slightly rumpled. you pull the ornaments out of your hair, makeup smeared as you run frantically into your room, slumping before your wash basin.

it doesn't take much from him to pry out an entire story from your lips. apparently your friend himeko has disappeared, the last you've seen of her was her entanglement with a young nobleman who promised to buy her out of the brothel. you sigh, lamenting that you are not attractive enough to be wed, much less make your way up the ranks of the maiko. sae wants to say you are foolish for believing a man's lies, but he holds his tongue when he sees your expression, the delicate features of your face crumbling, the same way he expected them to the night you met. it is the first time he sees you cry, and he cannot even hold you. he does not know why this hurts so much.

it's too late by the time he realizes.

you've buried yourself into him. stomped your muddy footprints all over his heart. left evidence in the snow. successfully haunted him in every single iteration. now he tells you that he would wed you in a single heartbeat. any sign of discomfort and he would not hesitate to kill. his only regret is that he wished he could give you more than this life of an untethered ghost, more substance than this lack of being. but your lips quell the storm that resides in his heart, his rotting fingers trembling as they find a home on the side of your cheeks. if he were to die, he would be content to be buried inside you, his stone cold body resting within the peace of your existence.

it is the hour between midnight and dawn when sae realizes the snow outside has stopped and that his life has only just begun.

[sorry-moots]

Inversion of Genesis But I Changed It

i literally only got back to this cuz i was bored yall, merry fucking chrysler also my beta reader flaked on me so no beta we die like... whoever the fuck idek characters featured: scaramouche, dottore, yvette 💖 cws: dottore is a bit creepy but when isn't he wc: 1,669

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Chapter Eight

The wool stockings, the starched blouse, the dense jacquard skirt, the layers of petticoats, everything you had been wearing lay cast aside on a loveseat. There was a sheen of sweat covering your body, but you felt too good to care. As you stared at yourself in the mirror, chest heaving and all, you could only think one thing…

Damn, I look good.

Before leaving Snezhnaya, you had tried to find something more suitable for the Sumeru’s tropical weather with no luck. There was no such thing as summer in Snezhnaya, so there was no reason to make or stock summer clothes.

Unfortunately, that meant walking around Port Ormos in clothes designed to brave the harshest winters in all of Teyvat. The stuffiness of your clothes combined with Sumeru’s humidity had had you fanning yourself as hot tears streamed down your face. It was a miracle that you had been able to spot the seamstress’s shop with your bleary eyes.

“Lord Scaramouche,” you had called out, panting. “We need to stop. The heat is too much.”

Now, a week later, you stood before the seamstress’s mirror in an entirely new outfit. You had worked up a sweat on the way there, but the new clothes were light and breathable and already cooling you down. You turn left and right to study the black leather pants– lambskin so you don’t develop bog bottom. The rest of the uniform consisted of a breezy white blouse overlaid with a black corset with purple laces. You had even changed your hair ribbons and the laces on your boots to match.

When you finally finish admiring yourself, you leave the dressing room only to be met with Scaramouche’s scowl.

He scoffs when he meets your eyes. “How much money did you waste on this?”

You’re still obsessing over the contrast between your boots and the new laces. “It wasn’t much compared to the cost of my usual attire.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he snarks. “Dottore never skimps on his favorites.”

Ignoring his foul mood, you think aloud. “It’s a shame I can’t wear it in this heat. It fits perfectly, like it was tailored just for me. Wait a minute…”

Just as you’re about to toss yourself down that rabbit hole, Scaramouche diverts your attention with another retort. “Well if you want to wear it and suffocate, be my guest. At least you’ll die in the right colors. How come the accents are purple anyway? Are you color blind?” he asks with a smirk.

“Oh, I chose them because they match the colors you wear,” you respond, grinning widely.

The harbinger’s eyes widen and he quickly blurts out, “I wear red, too!” He then hides his face with his jingasa, not wanting you to realize it matches the color of the fabric.

*****

After dropping your clothes off at the hotel, you and Scaramouche rendezvoused with the other agents at the new office. It took about three hours to set up even with the lower ranked soldiers moving furniture. Every time Scaramouche asked for your opinion on the positioning of the cabinets and such, you told him they looked fine. The soldiers sighed in relief, especially when they were moving heavier items.

When everything is in place and your documents are sorted, Scaramouche announces, “Alright everything’s in order, we can go back to the hotel.”

The other agents start making their way to the exit, but you tell your boss to hold on as you go through your things. You produce a delicate ceramic pot with a single mourning flower, which you set on his desk.

You look back and flash him a smile. “Now, everything’s in order!"

While you pack up your things, he sits at his desk and admires the petals on the vibrant flower. There’s a funny feeling in his chest, probably from the humidity.

“Are you coming, sir?” you called out to him. 

There’s a resemblance for a split second. Both you and the flower are full of life, persistent even in the harshest conditions, and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

*****

The silence of your room rings in your ears. You can think of a few ways to wind down before you go to sleep but you don’t feel like doing any of them. You haven’t even showered or put on your sleep clothes. You’ve just been staring at the ceiling thinking about Scaramouche.

Thinking about how he disappeared with her.

Yvette didn’t have much to do during the journey overseas. You had seen so little of her that you had forgotten she was even part of the harbinger’s retinue. Still, you don’t understand why she's staying in Scaramouche’s suite.

Are they an item..?

Before you can entertain that line of thinking, a frantic knocking comes from your door. You get up to answer it and silently admonish your guest for rapping their knuckles on the door again without waiting.

You’re met with a distressed Yvette. She’s signing at light speed, miming, and pointing but you can’t figure out what she wants. Suddenly, she brushes past you and grabs a pen.

You search your desk for something to write on but she grabs the first thing she sees, the book you’re currently reading.

“No!” you shout, your voice fraught with dismay. She doesn’t hear you. She’s deaf, she can’t hear anything.

The resignation sets in quickly. What’s done is done and, at the end of the day, it’s just a book. Not even your favorite book.

When she finishes writing, she tosses the pen on the desk and holds the book at eye level. The inside of the cover now reads:

Please come

Harbinger mad !!

With a grim look, you move the book so it’s no longer obstructing her view of your face and say, “Take me to him.”

She leads you through the corridors until you reach his room. You could hear his shouting all throughout the halls, but you were still jarred when Yvette opened the door.

Before you transferred, you had heard rumors of the Balladeer’s violence, but you had never bore witness to it firsthand. He stood in the center of the room with a Fatuus suspended in his grasp, his other hand balled into a fist.

“I told you to take your needles and fuck off!”

So, that’s what this is about. Though the man was too proud to admit it, you knew that the tests that Il Dottore administered took a great toll on his body. He was always pushing Scaramouche to his limits, seeing how much he could take before he gave out. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.

You were frozen in thought, not sure what to do, when a familiar fragrance wafted in the air. Everything seemed to slow down as you realized what you needed to do. The soldier’s begging and pleading faded into the background as you made your way into the room. The only sound was your heart beating in time with your footfalls.

Your gaze travels from his sandals to the veil on his jingasa to his arm. Your eyes stay trained on his fist as your own hand moves towards it. Barely conscious of what you’re doing, you grab his hand and hold it to your chest.

“Your tea is getting cold, sir.”

All of the noise in the room comes back. The whimpers of the agent in Scaramouche’s grasp. The worried shushing of the Fatui in the room. Yvette nervously shifting her weight. Your steady breathing.

Every muscle in his body tensed before relaxing. A second later, the Fatuus was on the ground, hyperventilating but unscathed. You let go of his hand.

“Everyone out.”

You straightened and composed yourself, ready to take your leave as well when added, “Not you.”

Once the other operatives had scurried out, he seated himself and turned to you expectantly. It took a second, but you were able to deduce what he wanted. Soon, the two of you sat drinking tea in the silence, as if he hadn’t been about to kill a person just moments before.

He didn’t need to dismiss you. You knew once the tea ran out, he would have no further need for you.

The tea set wobbled on the tray as you made your exit, but only started to clatter when a new presence was made known.

“Thank you, my dear [Y/n],” the doctor patronized as he sidled up to you with a bemused smile. “You seem to have quite the hold on our Balladeer. I can’t imagine what would have happened to poor Henry had you not stepped in.”

You draw in a shaky breath to respond. “It is my pleasure to contribute to the Fatui’s cause.”

“Is that so? With your new attire, I would have thought you were trying to distance yourself from the organization,” Dottore remarked, his smile turning into a grin. “Not that it looks bad… Though, they did get your corset size off by a couple centimeters.”

As your earlier suspicions are confirmed, the lights flicker. You can’t know for certain, but your instincts tell you that you’ll be safe, like someone’s watching out for you.

Squaring your shoulders, you looked Dottore directly in his eyes. Or where they would be. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention, my lord. I will visit the tailor first thing in the morning and request that they alter it,” you responded evenly. “That said, I’ll need to retire early so I can do that without impeding my work. If there’s nothing else, I must bid you goodnight.”

Even in Sumeru’s warm weather, Dottore’s chuckle sends shivers down your spine. “I could think of a thing or two…” he starts and the lights flicker again. “...but I suppose I can wait.” 

With that, the light fixtures around him finally fizzled out and you went your separate ways. Once you were far enough, you let out a sigh of relief, thanking the Archons for watching over you.

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tags: @lacunaanonymoused, @dollpoetwriting

[magua-vida]

Another preview for Various Types of Ozen Fanart I Frequently See

This is taking me too long honestly, but gotta prioritize finishing my clients' first. This one's supposed to showcase the "cool" type of Ozen fanart depicting her in a... well, a cool way.

This is my first time drawing Ozen in her delving gear. I had more difficulty than usual and realized that in this outfit, the designer seems to have elongated her limbs and broadened her shoulders (aside from due to her pauldrons) to emphasize her looking even bigger than usual. Her overall silhouette here is T-shaped too, especially with her jingasa. The visual weight of her gear is more focused on her upper half so much that she can be easily mistaken for a man for a shape that's typically masculine if it wasn't for the quick reveal. I quite like her outfit.

[the-littlest-kojin]

♢ -  FINAL BOSS Armor for Shio

A jingasa, pulled low over dyed hair.

Heavy armour, patterned with a shell motif. Green, thick, and ornate.

Bare hands, pale and unadorned. Thick metal boots, layered and heavy.

A sword, simple and plain - but crackling with raw power, the spoils from a life of god-slaying, a job that finally broke her.

And an expression of cold dispassion from a Kojin who was pushed too far.

[puttystudio]

Cyber Jingasa

Open to pre order now

Please contact me via inbox if you’re interested

Or contact me on Twitter @put_padee

[peashooter-in-exile]

Japanese jingasa, 18th-19th century

from Czerny's International Auction House

[mythriteshah]

Pg. 19: Himlamb Shogun’s Haori

Hailing from the Far East, the Samurai slash their way into the battlefield of high fashion.  Taking from the traditional Hingan ways, the Himlamb Shogun’s Haori is ideal for any wandering swordsman.  The Jingasa takes from a previous PiB Catalogue item and has improved it, sporting a beautiful translucent veil that obscures the face in a 315-degree radius, and upon it is a Hingan word meaning “Winter”.

“A blade of blue-white / Cutting through a silver storm / Brings iv’ry silence.” 

The artifact weapon whose name speaks for itself: the Hyoga-no-Tsurugi - “Sword of Glaciers” when translated from Hingan.  The kanji written upon the steel is a herald to the promise of a long and deadly Winter - one wrought by its wielder’s hand.  Feel the snow and ice dance around your blade as you gather your Kenki for powerful and swift strikes, and your “Setsu” Sen will innately be stored, forgoing the need to gather it for the powerful Midare Setsugekka.  However, the wielder will find its ice-based attacks enhanced with the fury of a blizzard guiding their sword.

Bring your own storm of cold blood as the Himlamb Shogun.  Your mysterious visage will leave passersby amazed as you journey through snow-kissed glades like a fashionable silver specter.

(Credit and thanks to sapphrix.carrd.co/ for the creation of this masterpiece!)

[starlitwishes]

Once again, someone is poking fun at his Jingasa… he looks annoyed.

[darkspear-dancers]

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

Edenia Jadedawn's armour is quite unique; thunderforged monastic raiment enchanted with techniques learned from the Throne of the Thunder King.

Her jade jingasa oscillates with energy, but it is the Emperor's Capacitor that benefits her the most; absorbing kinetic energy, and redistributing it to repel other attacks or to enhance her own with crackling jade lightning.

A lifetime ago, Edenia came to Pandaria as a conqueror, a warbringer among the Dominance Offensive. She was critically wounded by the Thunder King in an assault on Lei Shen's throneroom, but this armour saved her from certain death; she wears it to this day. A necklace of moonjade, also swiped from the Thunder King's treasure troves, completes the electric ensemble.

[ Thank you so much, @saltsparkle !! ^^ ]

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Japanese Jingasa Antique Helmet Hat with Family Mark Mon Crest φ16.92 Japan 44 ebay japan-bonanza-store

[ugetsu-urabito]

Journal Entry: Daughter's (Re)Training-Day 1

I had found a decent enough location to evaluate my daughter's skills as what she referred to her new training as... paladin, it's a small location within the lower extremeties of La Noscea, just north of Moraby. My gaze was fixated to the east to watch the time, the sun has yet to fully rise as I awaited Ko Zakura's arrival, she isn't late to my requested time... yet. Just prior to the first rays of light escaping the horizon, I heard the soft scraping sounds of metal rubbing against each other from her plated boots as she approached. I lifted my gaze to peer at her from under my Jingasa, her choice in armor wear was rather... interesting.

Ko Zakura wore a bright-golden plated armor that seemed to glow whenever light struck it, with a long flowing drapes made of a very thin material, I am unsure of what it would be called. However, despite the rest of her body being well covered with plated gauntlets and greaves to match her chest piece... her lower extremeties were not as well guarded, all she had covering that region was a plated tabbard that covered her crotch, the back area was more exposed and showed a black bikini. Is this a fashion trend of Eorzea?

"I pray you've rested well, daughter." No sooner had those words left my lips, that her expression shifted towards one of distaste, was she not pleased with my greetings?

"Good morning to you too, Father." She retorted in an annoyed tone. "Did we HAVE to come out here this early? The sun hasn't even rise..."

The tone she was taking me was unacceptable, so I interrupted her before she could finish her response, "A Samurai is always early to rise." I snapped, then turned my attention towards the east as the first rays of sunlight had penetrated the skies, I smirked towards her and continued in a lighter tone, "Besides... what was that you were saying about the sun not rising yet?" Her expression narrowed to that of a disgruntled tone at my poor attempt of a tease. Giving her no time for another retortion, I continued with briefing her on a minor task that I managed to overhear at a nearby village during my scouting of the area, since my arrival to the continent.

"You are here to deal with a minor nuisance of some river toads. I want to see how you handle this situation, you will also need to collect their legs and deliver them to a woman at the Red Rooster Stead, nearby, I recall her name to be Arenlona." Already I have discovered the first issue to be addressed for her soon-to-be training regimen... getting past her disgust of ruined fashion.

"What?! B-but, toads are gross! I'll get their blood and gunk all over my armor!" She whined.

I fixated my glare upon her as she started to cringe in slight fear, in one of her letters that she had written to me, I recalled her mentioning about a company mission to deal with a frenzied Morbol in one of the swamps of the Black Shroud... perhaps it's time to remind her of worse creatures than an overgrown amphibian. "Would you rather fight another Morbol in the swamps of the Black Shroud?"

The threat worked as she unlatched her shield from her back, the shield was once owned by her elder brother, whom was lost many years before. My Daughter groaned as she began making her way towards the mouth of the cave behind me. "Nooo..."

Seizing the perfect opportunity to brighten her mood, I added, "Then 'hop' to it." Which earned an ashamed growl from her, "Really, dad?! Heavens... you're so embarassing!"

A bit of laughter couldn't be helped as I let out a chuckle, "That's part of my job description as a father." Though other than her cringing at my laughter, I noticed that her sword still sat in its sheath, why had she not drawn it yet? "Draw your sword, Ko Zakura." I reminded her. Thus her next mistake occurred... letting down her guard as she turned her focus upon me. Before she could respond, I saw a long deep-colored tongue lash out and wrapped itself around both her legs, then pulled her further into the cave. Keeping my calm, I strode towards the cave's entrance myself to watch her reaction, assuming she would be able to escape the creature's clutches.

Unfortunately, with her struggles, she drew ever closer to the massive toad's gaping maw as its long tongue retracted, still with no progress of her escape. As she raised her arms to shield herself from her impending doom, I shook my head in disappointment and drew my trusted katana. With a swift and precise focus, I dashed towards the beast, and thrust my blade deep into its gaping maw, then turned the blade upwards and launched myself up into the air, slashing the creature's head and upper back in half. After landing near my daughter, I flung some of the blood, that coated my blade, into the water at my feet as my glare remained upon the defeated giant toad.

As soon as I heard Zakura's movement from behind me, I kept my back to her and growled with disappointment. "You dropped your guard... that is why you must always have your blade drawn." Using the inner bend of my left elbow, I wiped the remaining blood from my blade and flung it downwards onto the ground, then sheathed my katana and marched back towards the mouth of the cave in discontent, turning my glare towards the ground and never once glancing back towards my daughter, "I've seen enough, let us return to your company. I have much planning to do."

From behind me, I could hear the soft splashing of her feet trudging through the waters of the creek as we exited the cave. We travelled the remainder of the journey back towards her company in silence. Upon our arrival, I immediately dismissed her and returned to the Drowning Wench in Limsa Lominsa. I have a lot of work to do with her... my stay in Eorzea would have to be extended.

[bluemooncove]

They stepped through a doorway in the entryhall and out into a beautiful courtyard. At its center was a small orange pond surrounded by a grove of trees. The cool breeze and fresh air felt nice after having spent the night in what was basically a fortress. A little ways away a forge seemed to be set up. An enormous bronze sculpture resembling the head of a dragon was mounted above it.

"Now you will have the opportunity to meet the main pair who keep everyone's equipment within their best shape. Blacksmith is the finest craftswoman I've ever met we're lucky to have them."

At the forge were a pair of women. One an enormous muscular lady near seven feet in height. A pair of distinct curved horns protruded from her forehead. With one hand she swung a hammer that met with hot steel. The other woman was a tiny lady not even four foot in height. On her head she wore an oversized jingasa. Wrinkles covered her face. As the smith hammered this woman tended to the fire, controlling it with a mixture of tools and some sort of supernatural force.

They finished as the group approached. The huge lady shoved the hot blade into a nearby bucket of water. It was then that she spotted the others, her face lit up with joy.

"You're this season's new apprentices aren't you? I'm so happy to meet you all, I'm only a few years senior to ya so I still remember what it's like to be joining. Don't worry, most people are really friendly. Isn't that right granny?"

"Oh yes, things are quite peaceful now. Much better than when I started, with all that guild war business. Dreadful stuff."

"Woah! The guild wars? That would mean you were a member over thirty years ago, wouldn't it?"

"I've been around for a lot more than that, young lady. I was getting up there in age by the time we faced Gevurah."

"Eh, I know I'm not good at this whole timeline thing but wouldn't that have been something like fifty years ago?"

"Not quite ~ but my great grandma is a hundred and twelve."

"Huh! No way!? I get she's wrinkly and all but there's no way she's that old and still working with the guild."

"No really it's true! Granny is just an eighth gnome, so she's got a bit of a longer lifespan."

"Oh that explains why she's so short."

"No she's just old!"

"No, I'm just old!"

"Huh?"

"That's what happens when you get old! You get shorter!"

"Ma'am please stop joking around. You are the smallest woman I've ever seen!"

"No it's true that's what happens when you get old. Granny used to be my height but being old makes you small."

"Spru- Dusk Witch I'm not losing my mind, right? This is weird?"

"I can't understand why you guys are acting like this. It's perfectly normal to get short when you are old. Have you never met an old woman."

Dragoon coughed loudly.

"Anyways! Firetender here used to be Blacksmith before she passed the title down to her granddaughter and then great granddaughter. While most are not guild members, much of her extended family help with the procuring of resources of with working in the smithy."

"Oh, that sounds really nice! My family was like that too. Hey ... what is with the horns? Are those a gnome thing too?"

"Gnomes do not have horns."

"Oh no! I'm only 1/64th gnome. I'm just also 31/64th human and 1/2th oni on my father's side. Oh ... um ... by the way. I think your leech friend may have dived into our pond while we were having this conversation."

"SEEKER DON'T BOTHER THE DRAGON KOI"

[easel-eisel]

jingasa are the best helmets tbh nothing compares