#lyrin'a

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 22:  To No End

Prompt: Veracity - FFXIV Write 2022 Characters:  Isolvar, with Vaelanys @thornsofsunlight and mentions of Lyrin’a @hiraethwyl​

Madness lurks inside of love. 

A fact Isolvar tastes every time Vaelanys steps into his view.  His gaze follows the man like a magnet draws him there, unable to remove his attention until Vaelanys has passed by.  There isn’t a damn thing he’d not do for this man.  And that in itself is a terrifying oath given who Isolvar is.

He is Eternal.  Whether he likes it or not, despite the fact he understands aging, Death does not touch him, not like it will the mortal beings that plague the worlds throughout the universe.  He will always be there, always linger in the dark or the light.  A being whose sole purpose in life is to cause discord and destruction.  

Yet he loves.  The embodiment of that love is a man with more kindness than any other he’s crossed paths with, than he deserves.  A man who could bend the stars to his will, if he merely smiles toward them.  In truth, he can’t blame Lyrin’a for the way he’s seen him look at Vaelanys, for the things he seems willing to give up to be in his presence.  

The tasks are merely a distraction.  A way to cast the miqo’te out of sight for a while and maybe someday these inane tasks will destroy this want in the healer, if not the man himself.  Perhaps he should have feelings for that desire, but the core of him demands.  Demands destruction of harmony.  

The wood of the chair beneath him creaks with the slouch of his figure further down.  An elbow props on the chair arm, and he blows out a long breath.  His gaze snaps up, latching on to Vaelanys once more when the man moves past the doorway out in the hall.  Flowers are bunched in his arms, dried no doubt and about to become pulverized for whatever new tea blends his beloved spouse has in mind.  

Destruction for the sake of art.  A very tasty art.  Isolvar has long enjoyed the teas Vaelanys makes.  From the dawn of their relationship, a cup of tea has been steadfast between them.  The way they dwindle their evenings down and wind up entwined together in the softness of a bed.  

He’s never broken his vows to him.  Always him and only him.  This flame has never burned like this for any other he’s ever met, and he knows now Vaelanys is his destruction.  The one thing in the universe that can cause him discord and make him ache in a myriad of ways.  The sound of Vaelanys’s voice drifting down the hall causes Isolvar’s eyes to close.  An ache rises in his chest, in his loins.  

His hand comes to grip the chair arm, the wood creaking again in protest.  Silver eyes snap open to glare at the fire in the hearth.  Cold water will do nothing for him, unlike how it will snuff the blaze in the fireplace.  There’s fingerprints on his soul, on his heart, on the silver blood that flows in his veins.  This will have no end.  He is Eternal.  His flame will burn as long as he continues.  

Isolvar lurches out of his chair, a storm in his eyes and a purpose in his stride.  His figure darkens the doorway into Vaelanys’s workroom, dwarfing the shadows in the space with his presence.  His hand reaches out to grasp onto the elezen’s arm, hand firm but not meant to hurt.  A simple tug and he brings them flush against one another.  His eyes sliver with the descent of his head, his lips proving hungry the moment he claims Vaelanys’s mouth.  

Madness lurks inside of love.  

[houserosaire]

Prompt #29: Fuse

He had long ago given up on seeing Priarch fuse itself into a singular, coherent, functioning unit. They were mercenaries, a diverse crowd with an equally varied skillset and moral code. Most of them had never been soldiers. He was used to the arguments, at the meeting table and away from it. Was used to having to raise his voice into the middle of it, and to being astounded that a point that seemed obvious and concrete to him generated such a myriad of opinions he could scarce keep track of them all.

If they had been soldiers he would have disciplined them. Tried his best to hammer them into a shape sharp and precise as a sword. But they were not, so instead he simply watched them, tried to learn the shape of them, the things they did best and the things that they needed.

He might have written it all down in notes easily enough:

Edarien:

-Strong magic. Strange magic if the way the others react means anything.

-Lonely. Needs a friend and sometimes a voice of reason. 

Inwa:

-Healer. Trustworthy. Kind and merciful.

-Too merciful sometimes. Needs someone to make sure his own kindness doesn’t kill him.

Louvel:

-Strong fighter. Cares deeply for those he loves.

-Uncontrolled temper. Does not like or trust me. What he needs must come from someone else.

Lyrin’a:

-Steady. Good healer, and calm and reliable in crisis.

-Dislikes conflict. Needs someone to hear him and help him be heard.

Okuni:

-Clever. Quick. Determined. Variety of skills. Magic? Knives.

-Needs to be reminded not to rush into things alone or tackle more than she can manage.

Talia:

-Sniper. Very good. Several other magical talents I probably don’t even know.

-Needs reminders of morality sometimes. Friends. Doesn’t need most of it from me.

Idristan: 

-Magic. Very strong.

-Soft heart he doesn’t want anybody to know about. Fragile pride. What he needs isn’t for me to provide.

Elias:

-Good-hearted. Means best for everybody. Hard to read.

-Clumsy, but usually manages. Not always sure what he needs. Perhaps nothing from me. 

Teagan:

-Fights with her fists. Surprisingly capable. Battle rages.

-May need someone to help her out of rages sometime. May not need it from me.

Latika’a: 

-Hiding several capabilities under several acts. Good when he settles down to heal.

-Needs? Inwa will sort it out.

Sui:

-Healer. Sound insights. Voice of mercy.

-Needs someone to guard his back and temper his mercy. That is me.

But he did not. He kept his private assessments in his thoughts, and tried his best to remember them when they were needed. He might have liked to pretend they would all come together when the moment demanded like the pieces of a puzzle or the many links that together made a shirt of mail. They did not usually. They scattered, they argued, they raged.  He wasn’t certain what held them together at all sometimes. But something did. 

That same something carried them to victory as often as not. He frequently thought that their enemies would truly find something to fear if they ever managed to put themselves together. Sometimes, though, he wondered if they were not more fearsome just as they were.

@thedarknesssings for Edarien, @blisteringstar for Inwa, @louvel-roche for Louvel, @hiraethwyl for Lyrin’a, @liminal-storage for Okuni, @reddevil-xiv for Talia, @roses-and-grimoires for Idristan, @gorgagne-viperidae for Elias, @punches-and-cream-puffs for Teagan, @latikaa-renaz for Latika’a, and @bookbornexiv for Sui, @priarch-enterprises-ffxiv

[hiraethwyl]

without taking new screenshots, post photos of your OCs as...

Romanceable NPC

Quest Giver NPC

Final Boss

[blisteringstar]

#1 Envoy

Mentions of: Silvain, Sui, Edarien, Isolvar, Lyrin'a, Helios, and The one character of Jae's that I forgot the name of.

Priarch was a place where many things happen. For one of those things that happened to be someone looking for their lost family was not unusual. Edarien took on all sorts of jobs and put them up to all manner of odd jobs in order to fulfill the company standard. Had it not been for the work of the company, he would have never realized he was someone else's missing son.

The more this man spoke, the more Inwa could feel a sense of dread. He knew this incident. His family went missing after a party at Isolvar Ravendarke's manor. Now he was facing persecution from the Inquisition under suspicion that he may have been his family's murderer in order to inherit their name and fortune.

This man was not at fault for the disappearance of his family. If anything, it was Inwa's fault he was in this situation.

---

It was a masquerade and Inwa had decided to wear flowing white robes. On paper, it was an event Edarien was invited to, but he had passed it on to the others. They were to attend this party and that was all they were told. Their allies The Covenant of Ash would also be there among many of the nobles of Ishgard that evening.

Priarch didn't know much about the evening going in, but they did know that the noble holding the party had a connection to the ink. That was all Inwa needed to know as he stood by himself, hands gathered in front of himself politely and looking at the grandeur of the hall. It was as gilded and opulent as the books he had read as a child described. The sweet scent of perfume filled the air as bodies swayed and spun with the music that felt like it was coming from everywhere.

Inwa felt like he was suffocating.

It was as if every person of status was in that very building. It set his nerves on end. The ink was a formidable and night unstoppable. If this party was being run by their infectious enemy, every person in the manor was in danger. What's more, Inwa was the only one for malms with the unfortunate power that could counteract that toxic substance.

Inwa had a mission, he had a hope and an intention, and that was why he stood alone. At least, he intended to be alone. It would have been safer if he set out to find the danger in the building and handle it on his own.

When Sui and Silvain walked up to him and began conversing with him, it was almost maddening. The Flame had done nothing to stop the suffering of those with the ink. He shouldn't have needed to stand alone, but there was no other way, wasn't there?

Yet he was getting distracted by Sui's sweet, innocent desires. Inwa should go with them, and so Inwa did. Despite the darker feelings dwelling in his heart at the time, he found himself bending far too easily to Sui's wishes. He glanced at the two mysterious figures by the library in passing and continued on with going upstairs with the couple as if it had been the idea the whole time. With every second that passed with them, that feeling of suffocating had grown. It was like the ink was everywhere and nowhere and only he seemed to feel as if ink-soaked cotton had filled the hall.

The Flame was a curse more than it was a help.

Everything had changed in an instant. People were clamoring up the stairs. The ink was being filtered out into the hall through the perfume and had become pouring from everywhere. No wonder it felt so suffocating. Silvain instantly became protective of Sui and Sui in turn of Inwa, pulled him along towards a side room. Some of their allies made a deal with someone and a portal was summoned to get them out before things got worse.

Once they got to the grand staircase, Inwa broke away from the couple, watching them rush for the portal and off to safety. Pushing down his hood, Inwa turned for the staircase, taking a few steps to look down the steps to the darkness below.

He intended to stay behind. He was the only one infected with the flame who would risk their life for something like this, and that was exactly what he ended up doing. Down those stairs was Isolvar, The Thorn that was in control of everything that had caused the troubles and murders they experienced.

All he had to do was go down those steps and burn what little he had to at least see the other patrons out of this situation. He could feel the fire within himself begin to burn hotter just to stave off the strength of the ink in the air, threatening to consume him.

A hand caught his arm, stopping him from going any further. When he turned his head, he met Lyrina's concerned gaze and insistent pull toward the portal. At this time Lyrin'a was just the medic of The Covenant of Ash; a keeper that shared a similar position to the one Inwa held in Priarch.

At the moment, his care and concern were getting in the way, and Inwa wished he could have screamed or pulled himself away. His anger was as hot as the fire in his chest and he wanted to fight with the other miqo'te about why he should leave him there.

Biting his tongue the number of people trying to usher him to the portal grew as the others noticed Lyrin'a and Inwa by the stairs, Inwa bid the downstairs one last look and then turned, heading for their exit.

If he had been braver, he would have taken his arm back and gone down those stairs, ignoring the cries of anyone else.

---

Now, all these years later, Inwa could look across the room at the consequences of the choice he made that night. He no longer held the flame. That power was given back to its proper owner and everything set back to normal. The ink was no longer held by Isolvar. It was now owned by the man who used to master the flame, a man that Inwa knew too well.

The desire to tell him the truth of that night sat in the pit of his stomach as heavy as stone, but he held back. How could a layman understand such a vast concept? He might as well tell him his parents were whisked away in the middle of the night by fairies and the outcome would be the same.

So, Inwa tells him they will look into it. It wasn't a lie. They would do their best to find out what happened to all of those people. If he had to appear before Helios again for the sake of a stranger, he would. It was his hesitation that night that led to this situation and Helios' poor handling of a power he never intended to use to help the victims of the ink.

Inwa and Helios were inexplicably linked, and even if it drove him to insanity to attempt to squeeze responsibility out of the unfeeling monster Helios could be, he would.

[reddevil-xiv]

Prompt #30: More Valuable Than Gold

Prompt 30: Sojourn - FFXIV Write 2022  Characters: Talia, mentions of a lot of Priarch.

Home. Home was Faerie. In an embrace of dark and tanned arms, lifting her gaze to black eyes filled with the shine of stars, and jade ones that glittered like a shine on the moon. Home was dark and light wings wrapped around her. Home was the scent of cold winter, and fragrant roses.

Home was her husbands, was Idristan and Caedh, and the safety of the dark of space and the brush of cold over her skin, and such boundless love she felt it might shatter her into pieces for the wealth of it poured into her heart by those two souls twined with her own.

But there were other places for her, that were home in different ways. In little ways that filled the other spaces in her heart, ones carved out just for these people who she rushed endlessly into danger with, who she would give so much to protect.  

Draped on the bed in Inwa’s Shroud house, cuddling him while he cuddled a green rabbit, the pair of them talking about every topic that crossed their mind, from troubles to jubilations, teasing one another about this or that, talking about priestly duties and far off lands, about traveling worlds and sights still to see on the one they currently called home until he drifted off and she lay there, listening to the sound of his heartbeat while he slumbered.

In Louvel’s cavern home in Dravania, milling about in the kitchen until they inevitably ended up downstairs, with a pipe and bottle passed between them while they contemplated anything that crossed their mind, no matter how simple or how cursed or how important, until they passed out in a drowsy, senses-addled haze with familiar ease, comfortable sharing space in a way that lie beyond need for definition besides ‘trusted soul’. 

Perched on a stool in Okuni’s house, relating gossip back and forth and talking about weird life changes and the way everything stayed strangely the same despite how different things were. In the endless hours in conversation about the paths they had walked and the roads that lay ahead of them while they drank down stolen alcohol and spiked coffee, and the day rolled its way by and time slid away from them.

On a couch in Rosaire manor in Ishgard, sipping whiskey with Silvaineaux and discussing whatever moral dilemma might be on her mind, sharing commentary about Priarch’s various foes, and planning trips to the biting cold of Coerthas while she chipped away at the reserve that held Silvain as a wall, looking hard for the glimpses of the humored young man she knew lie beneath, hidden in slight smiles, and the tempered mirth that often filled his eyes. In things meant to remind him he had a friend who would never care if he was a Baron, or a Commander, only that he was himself.

Slid down in a chair in Covenant beside Lyrin’a, her head tipped to his while they talked about whatever casual thing might strike their fancy. It was an easy thing, soft and warm and a chin resting on a head while arms draped lazily around shoulders and he sipped at tea steeped from leaves that she had brought back from whatever latest trip she had been on. He never asked, she never told, and it was a delightful game to watch him try something new while she looked smug and enjoyed the quiet and comforting peace between them.

In working in any kitchen alongside Teagan, telling her that it was okay not to be okay while they beat down dough and talked about how different life was, in simulation, in scheduled fights. About the performances and the ways it was fine not to smile all the time, how it didn’t diminish the sunshine in her soul. How proud she was of her friend and all she’d come. In offered hands and suggestions of stuffed animals, in promising to spar and somehow never getting to it because the day was filled with other, brighter things.

Lazing in Latika’s apartment and hands that cared and a fluffy tail that was picked at when he was nervous. In flirtatious banter that was light and carefree, in gentle hands that tended wounds, and warm words that encouraged the heart while simultaneously keeping personal space because there was respect and there should never be presumptions about his welcome although he absolutely was, without fail, welcome and invited because there was care.

Sitting on a desk in Edarien’s office, in shared drinks, in banter that was cheerful and teasing and tension that never ceased, but real care and concern–all that needed to be done was ask, one to the other in either direction with secrets always, always kept–in the braid and brush of fingers through blue and black hair, in the peek of ice blue eyes over her tomephone screen while she typed away at work or something and he nosed into things in return. In humor while they talked about runes and magic and life and the secrets they both sometimes had to keep.

It was all of these little sojourns into the lives of others, where they opened something of themselves and shared with her, that she found her other comforts. Found where she knew she was welcome and where she could offer a welcome in turn should they ever want it. Should any of them ever want it. She was ever a guest in the lives of others, though they may never realize the places they held in her heart, or the way she treasured each of them.

[liminal-storage]

Interlude: Rage in a Page

Prompt: Hackneyed

Characters: Kuni Muinvel, with mentions of Keldrin @roses-and-grimoires, Talia @zoetic-tome, Latika'a @latikaa-renaz, Silvaineaux @houserosaire, Inwa @blisteringstar, and Lyrin'a @hiraethwyl

Content Warnings: None.

"'While I must admit that the author of Occult Fan's primary articles does have a very distinct sense of voice, this writer finds that the subject matter is one which audiences are sure to tire of in good time.' He says this as if he himself isn't writing about the same topics!"

Latika'a's voice fell like a blow upon her ears. The dramatic reading set her to wincing, tail flicking in mild agitation. Really, it was her own fault for bringing in her mail and leaving it within his reach. The copy of a rival occult magazine sat taunting her with its glossy cover until Latika'a snatched it up.

Kuni tried to focus on her drink, picking through a small stack of letters with feigned interest. She watched Keldrin stalk across the room in a pair of ridiculously tall, ridiculously shiny heeled boots to lean around Lati's shoulder. He wanted in on the dramatic reading too.

"'Horoscopes and recipes are all well and good, but any reader of a more refined taste can recognize that the trite, repetitive verbiage Miss Umbral uses is a sign of a greater problem afflicting authors.' Oooh, he called your writing 'trite.' That's just cold."

Suddenly, the table beneath Kuni's hands bore a few more scratch marks. Latika'a continued with his turn to read.

"'Allowing writers of a feminine persuasion into the space was perhaps the greatest mistake a publishing house could have ma---' Oh that's wildly sexist."

"Enough," Kuni hissed, standing up to snatch the magazine away. "I suppose I should thank this guy. Having fanmail and hate mail in equal measure is a true sign of success."

That was to say nothing about one particularly long fan letter she'd received which had described in vividly explicit detail what said fan would do to her if they ever met in private. Kuni had borrowed a lighter from Talia and immediately turned those papers into a small pile of flaky black particles.

"Mm, that's true!" Lati chimed.

"Sure, but in the next paragraph I saw him going into a spiel about how even the recipes included in each issue are shit..." Keldrin said this with a smug grin, clearly amused at this whole thing. Kuni suspected he was trying to stir the pot even more.

"Oh, really? And does the magazine happen to mention anything about where the author lives?"

"As a matter of fact it does! Why? You're not thinking of doing anything drastic, now are you?" Keldrin sounded like that was exactly what he expected her to do, and that he expected to be allowed to watch.

"No, no! Perish the thought. I just thought maybe I'd send a gift to such a loyal reader..."

Over at the bar, Lyrin'a watched in silence, pulling a face. Over the course of the conversation, the tea he'd started out with 'magically' came to contain more liquor than tea. Kuni could almost see the pleading in his expression, along with the resignation of knowing nothing he could say or do would stop her from her mischief.

Silvaineaux shook his head ever so slightly, pouring more whiskey into his own glass before topping off Lyrin'a's tea. The liquid's surface rippled dangerously, surface tension alone keeping it from spilling. The knight didn't have to say a single word. She could tell what he was thinking, already mentally absolving himself of responsibility for any legal action that might come as a result of the others' shenanigans.

And Inwa? He'd long since given up on trying to insert any sense of logic or reason into the conversation. He lay like a starfish upon the pile of cushions near the fishtank, staring up at the ceiling and questioning every decision in his life that had led him to Priarch's doorstep.

"What kind of gift?" Lati had come to stand beside Kuni, his plush tail curling around her.

"I'm thinking...glitter bomb."

Here, Kuni's gaze snapped towards Talia. The redhead had not participated in the dramatic reading session, and in fact had seemed busy with typing away in her tomestone during most of the affair. Feeling Kuni's gaze upon her though, Talia peered up at her.

"Mm. Sure, I could make that happen for you. I can install a camera in the package too. Something remote so the footage uploads directly to my systems."

"And this is why you're one of my favorites~" Kuni grinned.

"Hey! What about me?" Lati pouted.

"I feel so unloved," Keldrin joked.

"Oh, shut it. You know I adore you both. So what color should we send? Do either of you happen to know of a brand that makes particularly fine glitter? I want to make sure our gift leaves a...lasting impact, so to speak..."

[bookbornexiv]

A mimir

Three mimir

[raasa-charron]

RP Log: Raasa and Lyrin'a

[13:19]Lyrin'a Muinvel pushed the door to the infirmary open  with a bit more haste than he might have usually. But Celestin had grown used to the Keeper's intrusions, the swish of his robes didn't set the duskwight on edge. But he wasn't here now, it seemed, anyway. Instead Lyrin'a was greeted with a slumped Viera on the floor of the infirmary. Had K'iaan woken and fallen??  He took a step and froze. Raasa. There was a brief moment where the catte's brain tried to register how he'd gotten there. Then he rushed forward to check on him. "Raasa?" He was bnreathing at least. A glance at the bed told him K'iaan Had woken. And he was gone. "What happened?"

[13:33]Raasa Charron || Aye, the bunny was breathing.... and jerked away, eyes snapping open at the unexpected touch, breathing hard. Upon seeing it was Lyrin'a, however, he closed his eyes again and let out a trembling breath. He'd forgotten. He was safe now. It all came rushing back - the week at Tailfeather, and just now... or... or earlier, he wasn't sure how much time had passed, K'iaan's voidsent had walked his lover's body out of the room. He shook his head, unable to speak to relay what had happened. With his good hand, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, then dragged that hand down his face in frustration. He rocked forward and up onto his good knee, clearly struggling to rise.

[13:40]Lyrin'a Muinvel 's ears flattened. Right. He couldn't talk. The Keeper's expression was a well of concern and remorse, and though the first thing he wanted to do was try and dissuade Raasa from struggling around after his trek--- had he trekked here??-- he found all he could really do was slider a shoulder under his arm and gently offer himself as a crutch to help him stand. "You shouldn't have left so soon," he whispered. It was far from chiding. "Please sit, let me check you. Please Raasa."

[13:46]Raasa Charron aimed a muleish look at Lyrin'a, jaw set stubbornly. He wanted up off the floor. Clinging to the catte with an arm around his shoulders, he dragged himself up to his feet. With Lyrin'a's help, they made it through the curtain and to the bed, where Raasa slowly, carefully lowered himself to sit on the edge. He heaved a relieved sigh, bad leg sticking straight out, with his heel upon the floor. NOW, he nodded to Lyrin'a - yes, he could check him out now, if he wanted.

[13:53]Lyrin'a Muinvel offered Raasa the most tense of smiles at his nod and  immediately raised a hand. His healing aether probed gently. It followed the lines and points of life like constellations, washing cool healing in it's wake. There was far too much strain on Raasa to expect magic to heal him entirely. Or even slightly. His body had been tortured far beyond it's limits. That he was even still alive was a miracle itself. It would have to heal in it's own time. But sustaining- that he could do. After a moment the Keeper's eyes seemed to focus from where ever they had been back onto Raasa himself. "...I'm so sorry. I never intended to leave you to them. You weren't a sarcifice Raasa. I meant to take you both and I failed you."  The flow of aether slowed until it stopped. Then he inhaled a breath, and noticing the discarded paper on the bed beside them, he nodded at it. "Do you think you can tell me what happened to K'iaan? Did he leave on his own?"

[14:01]Raasa Charron || There were so many points where the map of Raasa's body was torn or outright sundered. His missing ear. His ravaged remains of a tongue. His flayed back. Each laceration in his chest. His skinned hand. His ruined knee. Everywhere he'd been kicked or sliced or punched. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the fatigue that held heavy over him, pressing down like a weight on his lifeforce. There were shiny new scars, too, those injuries that had been created and then healed up potions to keep him alive for hours on end so the Flock could have their fun. At Lyrin'a's apologies though, Raasa waved a hand to get his attention, then shook his head. There was no anger in the Viera's dark eyes, no resentment. Taking up the quill and pulling a fresh page over to him, he scrawled, [Not your fault. Don't blame you. Glad you got K'iaan out.] As Lyrin'a asked what happened, Raasa's remaining ear wilted down further and he continued to write. [K'iaan's possessed by a voidsent. Made a deal with it to not hurt me, then let it take over the body. It left.]

[14:11]Lyrin'a Muinvel 's ears did an odd trembling at Raasa's denial of blame. He inhaled a deep breath and slowly released it, watching intently as he continued to write. At the word voidsent the Keeper frowned. That frown deepened when Raasa wrote the body instead of his. He didn't like the way that sounded. But he had very little understanding of voidsent and their deals. Conjury dictated you simply did not entertain them. After a moment the Keeper sat down next to Raasa. "We'll find him. Between Idristan and Edarien we have experts on voidsent and tracking them." He reached out to pat Raasa's good knee. "All isn't lost. Voidsent aren't as clever as they think."

[14:19]Raasa Charron chewed his bottom lip as Lyrin'a spoke of Idristan and Edarien, nodding. [I will help find him.] It wasn't an offer that he wrote and showed Lyrin'a, it was a declaration. When the catte reached out to pat his knee, however, Raasa flinched. Touch, any touch, screamed danger to him right now, and he couldn't help but avoid it if he could. He offered a furtive, apologetic look to the catte and settled again, writing once more. [I should have believed you all.] He paused, then wrote again hesitantly. [I am sorry for thinking of you all what I did. I was wrong. You were all right. They are not people. They are monsters.]

[14:22]Lyrin'a Muinvel froze with his hand where it was, raising it up, palm out, and slowly pulling back into his own space. He hadn't been thinking. Of course any movement into his space was dangerous. The Keeper settled where he was, a comfortable distance away, offering Raasa a gentle shake of his head. Think nothing of it my friend. I understand. When he continued, Lyrin waited for the paper to be shown to him, a flicker of emotion sliding across his face before it disappeared. "You don't need to apologize. Least of all to me. I'm sorry if my talk of making them whole..” Lyrin’a paused and trailed off before trying again. "They are monsters, you're right. They are incomplete creatures of emotion. They could never be people as they are." He hesitantly looked at Raasa again. Oh how hard it was to have this conversation with someone they had tortured like they had. Did he still really think it was worth any effort to try and make them whole?  What was he even trying to accomplish with that anyway.. He shook his head again. "But your compassion wasn't wrong Raasa." This he said firmly.

[14:32]Raasa Charron was writing before Lyrin'a even finished speaking. [I'd had no experience with them. I should have listened to those who had. It wasn't compassion, it was self-righteousness. And it - I - was wrong. And it nearly got all three of us killed.] He thumped a fist on the paper to reinforce the words messily scrawled thereupon. [But I understand now. They need to be destroyed, by any means possible. I will help however I can.]

[14:35]Lyrin'a Muinvel looked from the paper up to Raasa. After a moment of simply looking at him he nodded. "I wish this hadn't happened." Such a silly thing to say. He knew better than to make empty wishes. "And I know the others feel the same. But they will welcome your help."

[14:41]Raasa Charron sighed wearily, just looking at Lyrin'a for a long, quiet moment and nodding, a flicker of guilt flashing over his face, gone as soon as it appeared. Hisfaulthisfaultitwasallhisfault. He sighed, then picked up the pen again. [There is another one now. Because of me. Sparrow. Mother (this word was crossed out several times, violently, immediately) Melanthian infected me, then tore it from me. Sent Vulture to find a body for it.]

[14:46]Lyrin'a Muinvel nodded slowly. "I thought she intended to infect one of you when she said drown. I suppose she's moved beyond needing the actual host but I don't know why this way is preferable to her. Other than perhaps less opposition from a corpse." He made a face of disgust for a moment then shook his head. "Don't blame yourself. The Ink.. isn't like anything I've ever seen. There isn't a way to counter it. It doesn't know fear or pain. The most you can do without a plan is escape. This wasn't your fault."

[14:50]Raasa Charron pulled that stubborn face again and shook his head in disagreement, scribbling and holding it up. [I invited K'iaan to go with me. It was my fault he was there. It is my fault the voidsent took over, suppressed him. But I'm - we're - gonna get him back. We're gonna get K'iaan back.]

[14:54]Lyrin'a Muinvel looked at the paper and then down. He couldn't counsel Raasa away from self blame. He understood how that felt too well. It was all well and good to be told you needn't bear the guilt of something-- it didn't mean your heart would ever agree. After a moment the Keeper only offered him a smile. "We will. He was awake when we arrived at Priarch. And he was still himself, I believe. So he's there somewhere. And you'll draw him out again."

[15:02]Raasa Charron exhaled a long, weary sigh. He was still exhausted from his trip from Dravania, wracked with guilt and pain. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. The tiny amount of sleep he'd gotten there on the floor was because he had less fallen asleep and more passed out from sheer fatigue. [Thank you for coming for us. Thank you for saving K'iaan. I won't give up on him.]

[15:07]Lyrin'a Muinvel shook his head as if to dismiss the thanks. It had hardly been the rescue they had deserved. But he stopped himself from saying the things he thought. Putting voice to his own self doubts. Raasa didn't need that now. The Keeper pushed up from the bed. "Of course not. And we'll help you every step of the way. I can inform Idristan and Edarien if you wish, they may have some ideas on how to begin looking for him but it might take some time and you will need to use it to regain some strength." Lyrin’a paused. "Or I could ask them to come here.  I'm sure you have information about K'iaan and his voidsent they could use to find him." He nodded. That sounded like a better plan.

[15:13]Raasa Charron toed off his boots and slowly, carefully, laid down on his side on the bed. He couldn't lay on his back or chest and only one side was even remotely comfortable because of his hand and knee, but it would do. Inhaling deeply, his heart panged longingly, painfully. He could still smell K'iaan on the pillow. He closed his eyes for a moment again that prickling of tears that threatened and only when it retreated again did he open them to look at Lyrin'a. [I don't want to sleep.] Came the small, scrawled admittance. The Flock was waiting for him in his sleep. Mother. Sparrow. K'iaan's screams. The torture he'd endured. It all awaited him the moment his eyes closed.

[15:22]Raasa Charron knew he needed to rest, to heal, to sleep. He was so tired, his eyes felt dry and grainy, but sleep held only terror for him. His remaining ear perked up just slightly at Lyrin'a's explanation and offer of the potions. After a moment, he nodded hesitantly. If he could sleep without nightmares, he could regain his strength - which he would need to face K'iaan's monster and be clever enough to defeat it.

[15:26]Lyrin'a Muinvel nodded, slipping to a shelf nearby. Clearly he had brought them to the infirmary earlier in case K'iaan awoke, and for the same reason. He could only imagine the nightmares the two of them would face in the future. Pulling one free he stood and popped the cork, offering it to Raasa where he lay. "I'm staying in Priarch house for the time being." As he spoke, he reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out Raasa's linkpearl, which had been dropped by the bird who'd held it. Lyrin’a reached to lay the pearl on the bed in front of Raasa. "If you need anything. Anything at all, I'm here. Just tap it, maybe three times. I'll know and I'll come."

[15:33]Raasa Charron || With his good hand, Raasa accepted the potion, sniffed it. He made a face, but tossed it back, setting the empty glass vial on the desk. Picking up the linkpearl, he fitted it to the tatters of his remaining ear and nodded with a small, grateful smile. He gave Lyrin'a a thumbs up sign, then flopped his head on the pillow, his blinks growing slower. Whether he willed it or not, his body needed sleep.

[15:34]Lyrin'a Muinvel watched Raasa for a moment more, brows furrowing in thought, before he moved to turn down the light by the bedside. He'd leave him to his sleep then. And perhaps try and find Edarien or Idristan. Only one of them might technically be fae but they were both as elusive as one.

@hiraethwyl

[daylightrays]

∞ for lyrin maybe

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning

Can I confide something in you? Can I tell you something that stays right here? I don't know. I mean... Listen to me. It's not like the Talia 'I don't know' or the Helios 'I don't know'.

Lyrin'a-san took in Death. Death was ???. But Lyrin'a-san was ??? before that. Now It's sort of like ??? ???. He looks really nice with the long hair, but also ??? Does Lyrin'a-san even ???

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

I don't even know if he ??? I think going out and having an evening with him might be fun? We could talk about conjurer things, or Keeper things, or the shroud. There are a ton of things we could talk about or do. Maybe I will try to ask about that one day.

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life

I do? I mean, he's never done anything to make he question that. He's close to Marius, and that's regretful, but I'm sure people say the same thing about the fact I still talk to Ame.

I know I can trust that he is going to do the job if I can't. I count on his healing and his thoughtfulness in battle. It's why I feel comfortable trying to strategize between heals. If he wasn't there, things would be more stressful.

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

This is weird. I've said before that I care about most people. That doesn't count him out. I don't have much else to say besides that. I hope that dealing with a second voice in his head becomes easier as time goes on.

If I Would Sleep With Them: Not Enough Alcohol in the World || No || Maybe if I were wasted || Maybe || Eh…Sure || Yes || TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF NOW!

Uhhhh??? I'm not... He isn't.... I'm pretty sure...Does he even ???

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

It's not weird to bathe with.. I mean It's not weird to bathe together in our circumstances. If it came to something like that, I wouldn't think anything of it. It's not to say my comfort is exceptionally high with him. We hardly know one another. It's just the way you gauge it isn't the same way I would.

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

Co-worker and friend. Maybe someone who puts up with working with me. I don't know. I never know how to answer this one.

[roses-and-grimoires]

🥀…. a complaint.

"Lyrin'a knows that I am not inked anymore, yet he continues to act as if I were. Honestly, I don't even know what he wants anymore. I'm not sure he even knows either. But it is quite irritating to be around someone who won't even look at you, let alone speak. Would it kill him to say what is actually on his mind? I wouldn't even mind it if he tried to punch me again; at least it would be a reaction."

[secrets-and-aetherlight]

💭 💭 the the catte!

Yves: “Another young fool who cannot seem to listen and learn from those wiser than himself. I thought him competent once, but his emotions get in the way of his reason. Poorly regulated emotions seem to be plague upon Covenant and Priarch alike, and I’m nearly ready to wash my hands of both.”

Michaux: “Gods, he’s sweet. Much too sweet for his own good, probably. I hope no one tries to take advantage of that tender heart of his.”

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 17: And When He Dreams

Prompt 17: Destruct - FFXIV Write 2021 Character: Ghost @phantom-xiv​; with Okuni @liminal-storage, Lyrin’a @hiraethwyl, Idristan @roses-and-grimoires and Marius @marius-vieremont​.

The sky rumbles.  I could feel it through the trunk of the tree at my back.  Leaves tumble to the ground, shaken loose from the trembling branches.  My head jerks up with the next quake, eyelashes peeling from my cheeks long since salted with tears I don’t remember shedding or how long ago.  My lips taste like the sea.  All I can see is fog.

“Mist?” I murmur.  No answer returns from the dragonling that had been my constant companion since I met him.  The stone beneath me shudders violently, fingers of water lap up over the island’s edge to tickle at my feet.  My boots scrape on the ground when I draw them under me to stand.  The tree’s bark is rough against my palm, but warm.  Warm like flesh breathing under my touch.  

His smile is electric when he lifts his head from the pillow, eyes molten with the unspoken desires he’s yet to utter.  He won’t, not in words at least.  He speaks them instead in the whisper of his lips against my skin, the dance of his tongue across muscles that quiver and tense in response.  Dark hair streaked with grey falls into his eyes.  Eyes that know me all too well and watch me with eager expectation. 

“Marius.”  The name emerges as a gasp, forced from my lips on the edge of the memory.  The sound of the name leaves me shaken.  The tree scrapes my skin raw, and my hand curls into a fist at my side.  I stumble forwards on legs that refuse to remember how to function.  Strange for one such as me, who spends so much time running rooftops and edges.  My balance is pristine, my agility something to envy, and now I might as well have never walked before. I stop at the rock’s edge and stare down.  

I expect water.  I expect the turmoil of brine and dark depths beckoning to me to reach down for it.  I expect sea foam crested waves before they smash down against the rock at my feet.  I find fog, a vast sea of mist so dense I’d fear complete blinding should it decide to swallow me.

He sits on a stool unaware of me so nearby.  He’s absorbed in his work, in the brewing of potions, the destruction of herbs to go into them.  Sometimes he works with a fervor, like the act of grinding the herbs relieves frustration.  Does he notice me yet?  Soaking into his shadow and brushing along the fine fur of his voluminous tail half-curved around the stool.  Will he notice the feel of me pressed to his back, my lips a hair's breadth away from his ear? When will he?

Colour startles me.  In a sea of grey and shadows, colour is unexpected.  Red streaks faces half turned away, heads bobbing in the fog in the same manner bodies bob in the sea, ankles bound to rocks holding them down.  Their colours fool me: white with grey, pure white, iridescent black.  These shades are normal to me here, but the red so stark, it drives my heart into my throat.  

Her hands are warm, smoothing over my skin in the early morning light pouring through the sun in her bedroom.  She’s tangled me in her sheets, in the sight of her rising up over my chest and the taste of her lips telling me she’s awake.  My hand slides up her back, over flesh and scales alike and into her hair, dense hair as glorious as the feathers of a raven and silky.  I tug her down and demand she tell me more.

I leap without a second thought, and the fog swallows me eagerly.  My limbs are heavy, useless, and I sink into the sea, the fog billowing up over my head as sure as any sea closed its waves over a new arrival to the depths.  Three bodies hang suspended, their eyes closed, lips parted on final breaths or the final inhalations of fumes not meant for living lungs.  Panic swells in my chest, claws to get out, and I can’t even force my arms to do more than quiver in my frustration.

His eyes slide heavy lidded the moment his back hits the wall.  It’s never just the force that jolts through him or makes him reach for the lapels of my jacket to yank me fiercely in against him.  My hands slap into the wall on either side of his head, and he grins, like the brat he is.  An expression I intend to wipe clean from his face with the descent of my head and the claim of his mouth.  My knee shoves between his thighs, and I lean into him, pinning him.

Blood streaks their faces, pouring from around their eyes to stain their cheeks.  I can but stare and choke on sobs pushing their way past my lips.  Okuni, Idristan, Lyrin’a, what have I done to you?  Where is Marius?

There is something tied to their ankles.  A rope made of black mucousy sort of material, it shimmers in the dimness, lashes around their limbs and holds them down.  The sight of it makes my stomach lurch, but then I realize I am sinking past them.  

And all I can do is stare.  At those I love and then at the inky sea rising up to meet me.  The deeps rumble.  I can feel it crawling up my spine and into my mouth.

[houserosaire]

Day 19 of Junelezen: Friends

Some shots of -some- of Silvaineaux’s friends from Priarch’s mission last night. Top picture: with Sui ( @bookbornexiv ) and Lyrin’a ( @hiraethwyl ) visiting Nophica’s Shrine and  asking questions in Gridiania. Bottom Picture starring: Sui, Inwa ( @daylightrays ), Talia ( @reddevil-xiv ), Okuni ( @liminal-storage ) and Louvel ( @louvel-roche ). Not appearing In these pictures because I couldn’t managed to catch everyone clumped up well enough  early in the evening when all were still present, but also very important friends: Edarien ( @thedarknesssings ), Idristan ( @roses-and-grimoires ), Lanceleaux ( @gorgagne-viperidae ) , Rinalys ( @dawning-star ) Latik’a ( @latikaa-renaz ) Raasa (Whose character tumblr I do not know), and Leila Eris who does not have one.

[hiraethwyl]

[punches-and-cream-puffs]

🌺

"For Lyrin'a, I'd have to pick....what was the name of them? The little curved stems with the white bellflowers... Oh! Lilies of the Valley! They're pretty and gentle, like him! And I think they'd look really nice in his hair. But, it's more than that. I've heard that flowers have their own language, and lilies of the valley have a dual meaning. They can mean happiness, which is what I wish for Lyrin'a. He deserves nothing but good things, and I hope they come to him. But they can also mean sadness and nostalgia... and I know Lyrin'a has been through a lot. But... I know it's not in any of the books, and it's just my thoughts, but... I think the combined meanings could be seen as perseverance. The ability to find happiness, even when the sorrows of the past weigh heavy.

Lyrin'a's strong enough to do that on his own, but... I don't think my wishing it for him will hurt any. I think I'll have to try to find some out on my adventures to send to him as a surprise!"

(( Thank you for the ask, @hiraethwyl ! It was a lot of fun researching flowers to answer this! ))

[reddevil-xiv]

❖ My muse accidentally falls asleep against yours.

The evening had been a quiet one, a relaxing one. Talia was settled on the couch upstairs at Priarch, quite comfortable with her legs stretched out. Against her side, Lyrin’a, who’d been telling her about the varieties of things he made his, ah, vaguely described substances out of.

One of which, he’d partaken of earlier, to show her the side effects of. Perhaps a half a bell later, she had done the same. But, as always, her constitution was hearty, and so when Lyr’s voice began to quiet incrementally at her side, drifting further and further down, as the man slumped against her, she smiled.

His was a relaxed presence at her side, off on a gentle float to somewhere that the physical body didn’t matter. It wasn’t a bad thing, to just sort of exist in that limbo of space, floating above the pair of them, as sleep threatened to drag him down into it.

If that had been coaxed by the hand that had smoothed through his hair, the gentle curl of her nails across the backs of his ears, that was fine by them both. Sometimes, it was good to be comforted. Other times, it was better to be the one offering comfort. Talia settled down, her head resting against Lyr’s as she listened to his rumbling purr fade into the steadier sound of breathing.

---------- ---------- ---------- [ Situational Headcanon Asks ]