#machinist aether bullets

[agent-jaselin]

fun thing about a Dragon Age/ffxiv crossover again, and would be a problem for our Inquisiwol: Every class in Final Fantasy uses magic on some level, it's seen as something different with non-casting classes but it wouldn't be to the people of Thedas, just how pure Garleans have to do the classes different to use them. Even Machinist, the least magical, uses Aether bullets so you don't have to bother reloading. It's even woven into clothing and armor! Cause lets face it no way dancer looks work without some aether acting as armor. Not to mention Glamours.

Likely the only place in Thedas with magic that Ubiquitous is the Elvhen empire. Even Tevinter wouldn't have that, you'd need it to be woven into everything so deeply that it's unconscious, which would only happen without the veil.

[soulsalight]

@brightblessed sent: [ TWO ]  for receiver to take a bullet for sender.  / for Thancred

He's used to keeping an eye on the other Scions, to keep danger away from them and directed towards himself, knowing them at his back, being able to trust them with it, too.

With Roi it's ...different. It's not that he doesn't trust him, far from it. With a history as long and riddled with battles fought side by side, with mistakes made by Thancred and forgiven by Roi when he had no sound reason to, it's more difficult to not put his entire faith into him, even just taking into consideration the things he owes to him for his forgiveness alone.

With the staff of a mage traded for the massive sword of a dark knight Roi has also traded some of his agility for huge swings of a weapon less suited for fast paced combat, leaving blindspots enemies in bigger numbers may exploit. But when fighting together, it is these blindspots Thancred is able to cover perfectly. The gunblade more suited to weave faster attacks, the charges of the aetheric cartridges able to cover distance a huge sword by itself cannot, allowing Roi to preserve his aether for when he needs it for charged attacks.

They work well together, as long as Thancred can spare enough attention to reading Roi's movements and anticipate his next step to adjust accordingly.

With a fighting style about equal to Thancred's own recklessness, if not at times exceeding it, too, Roy has always been a wild card. A force Thancred cannot fathom ever measuring up to, unsure if he is in awe or unsettled by the raw strength and volatile magics the other man may unleash at will.

He thinks it's different since their time in the First somehow, but with his own aether impaired ever since Flow spirited him away to Dravania it may just be his skewed perception of the matter. He has never been one particularly susceptible to the workings aether anyway. Perhaps, at some point, he'll bring it up to Y'shtola or Urianger.

If he gets the chance still after this.

As with everything, it's Thancred's own inadequacy that trips him up and almost costs someone else dearly. He turns a little too slowly, after leaving Roi's side open to the trajectory of a bullet in favor of striking another enemy down. He didn't take into account that the Garlean machinist previously focused on him might turn to take a shot at Roi when Thancred's own conjured shield proved impenetrable.

No.

No!

Sometimes blind faith just isn't enough.

"Roi!"

He jumps before he can think, throwing himself right into the trajectory of the bullet. White hot pain rips through his shoulder, the impact leaves him breathless at first, rocking him to his core, but then he can't contain a garbled scream of pain as the bullet rips right through him, the wound immediately staining his coat in a dark red. His arm goes limp with the pain, his weapon slips from his grasp although he desperately tries to cling to it, but he is ultimately helpless to keep it from tumbling into the snow at his feet.

Thancred's vision swims and he struggles to keep himself upright, ears ringing, eyes trying to focus on anything and everything, disoriented for a moment as everything arpund him appears a little too bright, until his gazes settles on his friend, who's eyes have gone wide now that he realized what happened.

Thancred's other hand comes up to grasp at his wounded shoulder, he feels the blood ooze over his fingers, near searing against the chilled tips of them. His breathing turns shallow. A sudden nausea grips him. He's survived far worse. His friends are right there. Urianger and Alphinaud can fix this.

And yet he can pinpoint the exact moment his body slips into shock. His arm goes numb, his fingertips tingle. The battle is slowing down, or maybe Thancred's perception of that is skewed, too as his eyes unfocus and refocus. He feels his knees buckle, but doesn't feel the impact rock his body as he fails to keep himself steady.

Pathetic.

A voice rings in his head and it's all he can do not to flinch at it. It's a memory. A nightmare. The worst kind. An echo of a mistake that haunts him to this day.

The last thing he sees is Roi rushing over, he thinks their friends are close behind, although they're little more than colorful splotches as his vision blurrs further. He has trouble focusing on anything, even though Roi is right there.

"I'm sorry." He rasps, attempting and failing to make his voice sound anywhere near humorous. He feels ready to throw up. He coughs, tastes copper. "That didn't quite go as planned."

[nevermindtheweights]

"A machinist? I'm surprised that you haven't earned that much reward wise."

"Admittedly, it is more... fund management I am not the best at. My work requires as much funds as it makes..."

Machinist is an expensive hobby, somewhat. While she can use aether to make the bullets and other bits, the general work of her craft has high demand on her monies.

[candycryptids]

Trying to get pictures of Chuu reminds me I don’t have a good place to do doll photos + I still want to craft her some accessories like, the machinist gun+that aether bullet kit holding hip thingy and/or the summoner book (with the Baja wings) and a carbuncle or dancer chakrams :T

Oh and an allagan tomestone. Cos. Yknow.

(Doll and clothes crafted with love by @/perpetuallyawesome who I don’t wanna just keep @‘ing all the time I’m sure that’ll get tiring but Ilu friend TAKE YOUR CREDITS)

[dragoon-mid-jump]

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be?

All of them have earned this one for varying reasons:

Just about everything about U'reksh is dynamic, from his attitude to his fighting style. Rising to new challenges with gutso, shouting from rooftops and cliffs, itching for fights, causing stupid collateral in his wake. On top of that, he becomes a Machinist in Heavensward and a Gunbreaker later on, so those are fun for him to mess with and combine.

Explosions. Explosions everywhere.

Y'dehlya is explosive in some aspects, but not to the same degree as U'reksh. She is primarily in ability across being a Dragoon, a Gunbreaker, a Red Mage, and then artfully combining those classes along with Reaper. Aspected Aether-infused Gunbreaker bullets are the first to come to mind. Sometimes her emotions get the better of her, but not always, and they don't always manifest in a way relative to the warning.

As for Kouh'to, they'd stick this label on him for kicks after he deadass thought to use the Blue Mage's Self-Destruct spell in an effort to help Thancred and Alisaie escape from the Warriors of Darkness. The good news is that it actually worked. The bad news was that Thancred now had two teenagers in critical condition to lug through Ishgard to the Fortemps manor. He doesn't get to live it down, even to the people that he helped.

...Also, while it takes a lot of effort and/or the right stimulus to trigger, his anger is explosive when it does.

(Prompt is here!)

[phantomdoofer]

Several things. One, he grew up in the New World, so he's already familiar with Tural, the Whalaquee, all that stuff. He's just excited to get a chance to visit his old home.

Second, the Marauder quest line. He was a high-end Marauder in his first career as an adventurer, so he simply nodded and smiled when they were "teaching" him basic mechanics. It was small stuff he'd done before, and he just needed to get his hand back in. The Warrior stuff was the first stuff he encountered that was new, and he loved it.

Third, the Machinist quest line. Not the whole thing, but the beginning where they treat you like you're more likely to shoot yourself in the face than the target. Since his mother was a trained Musketeer, he's more than passably familiar with the basics of shooting. The aetheric bullets was a new one, though.

Fourth, meeting Matoya. He'd met her before, though he was a baby. I headcanon that in between cutscenes, he asked her if she remembered her cousin Dolya, who raised him for the first part of his life. She immediately swore Brym to secrecy because Dolya told him lots of stories about Young Matoya, and she does not want that getting bandied about. He still smiles knowingly every time he sees her, and she glares holes in him. But he also goes and visits her sometimes, too - he knows he can get some peace and quiet there, and when it's just the two of them she tells him stories about Dolya. In return he tells her about Dolya's life in the New World.

#wolqotd! Was there ever a specific moment where the story touched on a topic your character is intimately familiar with or even an expert on? Did they grit their teeth and stay silent, or did you headcanon an entirely different take on the situation?

[wine-dark-soup]

Machinist and Red mage and why it's not the same thing

Reading the title of this post, you probably thought: "well yeah, one is a bloke who uses guns and the other is a literal mage who studied the blade, of course they're different, what do you mean"

WELL, thank you for asking, imaginary reader in my head!

If you play both jobs like me you probably noticed they work on the same basis: to effectively attack your opponent, your own aether must be converted into a new energy that can be infused into your bullets/sword. I first stopped my train of thoughts here, thinking "well it's the same principle so yeah they are similar and if you like one more than the other it's just a question of aesthetic".

I was wrong, of course.

Yes, they both require you to use your own aether. Yes, they both convert it into something new. The difference resides in the duration of this aether's availability.

Machinists carry an aetherotransformer, which is a technological contraption mixing magitek and traditional craftmanship. its main use, once it has converted your aether into lightning energy, is to store it. You can keep it for as long as you want. it's available when you need it. it's even visible in gameplay: if you don't use that stored energy, the hypercharge icon will always indicate it is ready to be used, and will never vanish. if you don't summon your rook autoturret the battery gauge will remain full for as long as you want.

On the other hand, red mages don't rely on anything technological to master red magic. they are their own mana vessel. they can't store the mana they have created from their aether because they have to constantly keep the balance between white and black mana - and this balance can't last: they have to release it all when they can, in the form of powerful spells and melee attacks, because there is a limit to the amount of magic one can hold, and there is a limit to the time one can maintain that equilibrium. It's also visible in gameplay: dualcast, verstone and verfire, even when available, do not last: you have 20 seconds to cast them or you miss your chance to make a sick combo.

I'd say it's even visible in their animations: the MCH can jump everywhere and move in all directions because they don't have to focus on their inner aether balance all the time. they are free to move as they want which makes them terrible mobile foes, although they are not the most powerful; for it takes time to store enough aether in the aetherotransformer before it's ready to deliver a devastating blow. in short, the aetherotransformer does the work for them.

The RDM is mobile, compared to other magical DPS classes, don't get me wrong, but still: casting their spells forces them to stop moving, contrarily to the MCH who can shoot bullets while running. that being said, they are mobile because they have to keep channeling those spells at high speed, or that would break their mana balance. their /drawweapon animation is a solid proof of this: they have to hold their sword and their little focus crystal in a position that allows the aether to flow within them from the crystal to the tip of the rapier. So yeah, they don't have an external contraption that makes it easier for them, but since it's their pure aether they're manipulating, they can cast wayyyy more powerful spells than a MCH. and they have their FAST and powerful melee combo that is the direct result of the aether they are finally releasing.

In short, MCHs are fast because they can; RDMs are fast because they can't possibly be slow.

NOW onto the theories. What would prevent a RDM who's not very skilled in magic to attach a little contraption similar to an aetherotransformer to their focus crystal? Yes, the lore compliant answer is simple and it's that the magitek used in aetherotransformers is rare and hard to program. But imagine. On the other hand, what if a MCH who's got a hold on magical studies decided to get rid of the aetherotransformer and converted their aether themselves?

In both cases they would become more powerful than ever before. Of course it has limitations: red magic and machinistry do not have the same goals; the aether the MCH uses is not turning into magic and the aether the RDM uses is not lightning energy.

But if a MCH could become even faster and if a RDM did not have to always focus on their mana balance, oh oh. we would have killing machines on our hands.

So yeah; that is why i think they're different, very different jobs, in spite of working according to the same basis.

[feuglace]

@arathina sent:

it's his first time in ishgard, lingering here for a few days before finding passage further into dravania and then to idyllshire, and he'd make sure to visit all the sights he could in his short time here. he had heard, once or twice, that the skysteel manufactory was one of the best, a hard second behind garlond ironworks, and lovek had always been fascinated by both.

right now, he was silently inspecting the strange looking ... battery pack? left on the table, noticing a gauge slowly but surely filling up. "do the guns shoot aether?" he asked suddenly, more to himself than anyone else. "or bullets? propelled with aether? fire aspected?" so many questions, so many ideas, he'd probably spend his entire day just looking over the gun and battery pack and literally nothing else. "fascinating." / lovek !

Despite his usual practice of remaining within the Manufactory at nearly all hours, that day in particular Stephanivien had been called away on some important matter along the airship landing. His absence was brief, an exchange of words traded between himself and a small party of engineers regarding some manner of error with an engine before taking his leave.

As the doors swung open, his eyes caught the pale figure of a stranger standing over one of several aetherometers left out by the occasionally forgetful machinist, freezing Stephanivien in place. He blinked as the doors loudly swung shut behind him and, despite the surprise, his face lit up brightly. Stephanivien swept further into the room, arms spread in mirthful greeting.

"Good afternoon, my friend!" he announced, voice loud and boisterous. He stepped around the stranger, resting his hands upon the device he had been inspecting. Stephan chuckled. "Curious, are we? Ah! 'Tis an invention of mine, you see. Meant to convert the wearer's own aether into that of a lightning aspect to propel ammunition from the barrel at devastating speeds and power! A... work in progress, if you will. Don't get me wrong, it most certainly works, however if I were to call it complete I would still be lying to myself!"

Fingers drummed upon the pack, eyes flicking down to peer upon the glowing meter newfound company had been examining.

"Mayhap a fire aspect could prove equally as devastating. I do believe I have more notes to take and adjustments to make; mayhap I could allow the device to perform both!" Ears perk up abruptly, a light laugh fluttering from his lips and an apologetic look shot in the other's direction.

"My apologies, sometimes I find myself positively engrossed in my projects and forget usual social etiquette. Greetings, my friend. I am Stephanivien de Haillenarte! And you are..?"

[breakers-of-dogma]

The Hunt

Enough. Enough. Enough.

Ethys did not kneel down, and that cost him his sanity. Not wanting to succumb to the Garleans' ways, he refused to do anything they told him, trying his best to make sure he was the main target, and not his brother.

But the Garleans always had their ways of making people obey. There's a reason their Empire has revived itself, time and time again, and succeeded in getting people to work for them for whatever they needed. If he's not going to listen, then there could be only one thing left to do.

That, of course, being their own methods of torture.

Time started to lose its meaning after a while. Hours, days, weeks, months, years. Every minute of every day merged into one as Ethys was not capable of remembering anything anymore. Neo did his best to take care of him after the Garleans would leave for the day, but despite all of his attempts, things were just getting worse and worse. Doing what he could to keep himself together, Neo knew how much Ethys needed him, so he did all he could to keep himself together, understanding all of this would be the hardest for his little brother to live through. Hearing Ethys scream at the top of his lungs every night for hours from all the torture he had to endure for many long years, Neo could only curl up in a corner, waiting for the Garleans to return his brother to him... And so, he had to keep it together, for his brother. For himself. For both of them. They needed to get out of there.

● ● ●

Broken down, time and time and time again. The Garleans made sure to do anything and everything they could to abuse Ethys's skills and power. A few mishaps would happen of course, but the Garleans couldn't care less if some of their men died to a crazy Viera, as their beliefs were that the sacrifices will be worth the cause once he is finally on his knees.

Ethys will be their war machine.

Little by little, eventually, the man gave in. He was tired. Messing with his body, ruining his mind, his aether, it all was making him lose his sense of self and his grip on reality. The more time passed, the less he cared about anything else other than causing chaos and bloodshed wherever he could, which worked wonderfully in the Empire's favor. When they were done beating, insulting and breaking him for the day, Ethys would return to his brother, each time with more scars, breathless and barely being able to stand most of the time. He was reminded each night how bitterly cold the cells were. Even his own blood that was spilled felt so, so cold, and so… At some point, he started yearning for warmth, spilling the blood of all of those who were in his line of sight. The sudden warmth from the blood that touched his skin, it made him feel truly alive, and over time, this desire of his would be only exacerbated. Neo could only watch on the side for the longest time. It was a horrifyingly depressing sight. However, for Ethys, this was almost comforting, in a way; Neo would be spared of any sort of awful mistreatment, and seeing his brother be safe and sound was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Every battle, and every kill was worth the effort, knowing that when he came back he could see Neo unharmed, and so he never regretted his choice, even to this day.

● ● ●

During their imprisonment, Ethys had also been learning the way of the Machinist. Abusing his own aether to form bullets that would kill any man, through any armor - it cost him a lot, of course, but he never cared. Anything for the thrill of the battle, he said. The constant pulsing pain became more and more enjoyable over time. Now, a skillful Dragoon who’s also capable of abusing his Aether as a Machinist? Truly, he was one of the scariest warriors and a nightmare for whoever was unfortunate enough to have to deal with him. Rumours started going around about him, how powerful he is, how lucky the Empire is that they have him in their grip. They looked at him as some sort of beast that had to be locked up in a cage, and even though Ethys was working for the Empire, those around him couldn’t help but shiver, occasionally sending in a prayer, and counting their blessings that they’re not his targets. The higher ups were aware of this, and would frequently express their fondness of him as their best fighter, but Ethys wasn’t blind. Even in the state he was in at that point, he was aware of their backhanded compliments, their lies and trickery. Promising him things such as more freedom around the Empire, or maybe even a chance at a new life. Promises of freedom for both him and his brother, together - but, of course, all of that was a lie. He knew and didn't even need his ability to tell, but he always responded with a smile. He was used to it by now. Even so, that ability would eventually start coming in handy as he tried to get more information for Neo, once the plan for their escape was set in motion.

The brothers barely had the time to talk, not to mention how hard it was for Ethys to even focus on anything other than fighting. But the little time they did have with each other, Neo used it to update Ethys on the situation and tell him the plan for their escape, that they have help from a white mage unknown to him. The stage was set, they just had to find the right moment. Neo had warned the mage about Ethys's situation - that he might break at any point - and asked him for his cooperation to help them finally get out of there, to which he gladly obliged. Ethys wasn’t aware who this individual was, and frankly, he did not care much. All that mattered to him were Neo’s words: “Wait.”

After that, there was no further conversation about this between the brothers, and Neo stopped trying to calm Ethys down, as he knew that Ethys had been waiting for the moment to strike. One annoyance after another, he endured and endured and endured and endured. He didn't feel anything anymore. The realization of being tortured escaped his mind as he was too busy planning all the ways he would entertain himself once he had his way with them. Once he was finally free. Just a little bit longer, just a bit longer.... And then it was all ripped to shreds. All of their plans. There wasn’t even a plan anymore. Not in Ethys’s eyes, at least. None of it mattered anymore after what had happened to Neo, which left Ethys’s body to ache for so long.

● ● ● While Ethys killed so many for the Empire, they still didn’t have the ability to fully control him, even after so many years of imprisonment. Despite everything, he was still far more resilient than they would like him to be. No one could make him do more than kill an assigned target. He was always open about his deep hatred towards everyone there, and despite all of the pain he had endured, he never kneeled. Not even once. Not willingly, at least. Through all these agonizing sessions of torture, the only time they would have him kneel is when the last bit of his strength was spent, and even then he would be disrespectful and show no sign of fear or change, and that made the Garleans furious, and so, they orchestrated a different way to make him listen.

On that fateful night, Neo became a part of their conversations, and Ethys did not take kindly to that whatsoever. Suddenly, he was visibly more aggressive, which immediately gave them a hint that this could perhaps be something they could use to their advantage. But Ethys was anything but cooperative. In fact, all it did was make him break out and attack them, almost killing one of the people who were in charge that night, only to be captured again right before he could do anything to them. Easily breaking things around him, they realized that he was far stronger than he let on. And so, their torture became more gruesome that night, significantly so; a fitting punishment for his disobedience.

● ● ●

Neo heard all of it, and it made his entire body shake. Something felt different. Ethys was tortured regularly, but Neo could sense that tonight is different. Something was very, very wrong. First notable difference was the sheer amount of time they spent with him in that chamber. It felt as if they were going to be there until sunrise.

Finally, they threw Ethys back to his cell, their faces distorted with victorious grins, reminding Neo of the consequences should Ethys not listen. Should he continue his little game, there would be consequences for both of them. But Neo barely heard a word they said, as he was staring at the lifeless body in front of him; his precious brother, his eyes visibly open, but he was not moving. He could barely breathe, even.

This cannot be. This simply cannot be. He can’t be -

Words escaped Neo as he continued to stare. They were here for years, why did everything suddenly… change? What prompted them to-

…

Tears were already falling from his face. His entire body was shaking as he tried to stop himself from sobbing, keeping it as quiet as possible. All of it was just too much to bear. He had been doing everything in his power up to this point to not cry, to not show any weakness, for Ethys’s sake, but seeing him be in this state only reminded him of all the years they spent hurting him to the point of driving him insane, and suddenly all of his repressed emotions, all of his misery, his regrets and his feelings of failure as an older brother manifested into something… New. Something he understood. Sorrow.

Ethys is Sorrow itself, and Neo loved him. He loved him so much. His anger, his tenacity, his boldness and his ability, nay, his pure nature of being unafraid of anything, including his own mind, his own feelings, and most of all, his compassion and selfless love for him, the bond that they share. He loved all of it, for he was the only one who fueled his fire, and kept him sane. Even in his darkest moments, all Ethys was ever thinking of was Neo. Neo. Neo, and he knew. He knew, because this was something they shared. This deep connection that was so special between them, their care for each other was unquestionable.

Ethys never hid his emotions no matter how much they hurt him, and he realized that this was something worth protecting. Something that had to continue living. No one in this entire world could have convinced him that he cannot be saved. Their bond is unbreakable, and that could never change. It would never change.

A feeling that escaped him for the longest time, yet it was always there when he looked at Ethys. The one thing he could not hide no matter how much he tried to deceive others, and even himself. But he saw it now. It’s so painfully raw, and before he did anything else, he lifted his brother’s body, and hugged him as tightly as he possibly could in that moment, still fighting back his tears. He held him for what felt like an eternity, but were only mere moments.

As the older brother, his duty was to protect Ethys, and so he would do just that. His own sacrifice, manifested from the white magic he learned as a way to heal him when they would bring him back from the torture chambers each night. A spell that he felt was only right, for no sacrifice was too great to see his brother live. He will not suffer it to be otherwise. ● ● ● Some time later, Ethys managed to wake up. He wasn’t really sure how much time had passed, or how he was alive for that matter, but he was back in his cell. He took a moment to look around to see if Neo was there, and noticed there was a pillow next to him. Even after all this time, Neo still did so many acts of kindness like this, each time they would return him to the cell. Something Ethys was always grateful for, but never had the words or the strength to say it, often due to being too exhausted from being Garleans’ plaything, but he always appreciated it more than he could ever say. The comforting words, the hugs that always reminded him that he had his brother. His home was right there with him and so everything was okay, so long as they had each other.

He noticed that a lot of his wounds were healed. Neo must be exhausted from that, he thought, especially after being convinced that he was mere moments away from death’s embrace. He was lost in thought for a little while.

He never enjoyed having his brother look at him like this and having to spend so much of his strength patching him up all the time. He wanted to wreak havoc, but Neo always said to save his strength, that he had a plan, and so he listened each time, and trusted his judgement. He took his words to heart, and when it would all be too much to bear, he would return to him, covered in blood and scars, and lean on him, as it would give him comfort, and in turn, when ever he noticed Neo falter, he would hold him, and be there for him without fail. Shortly after, he snapped out of it, and spotted Neo on the other side of the cell, passed out on the ground. Even though he was still visibly hurt, Ethys paid it no mind as he quickly got up to go towards his brother, only to be welcomed with a sight that, for the first time ever in his entire life, made him start shivering and then, violently shaking. This wasn’t because he was not fully healed. No, this was different. Far worse than anything he had lived through as a prisoner of Garlemald for almost 20 years.

Ethys was brought to his knees, overwhelmed by all the emotions that were suddenly spiraling like a storm: “No.. No no no no NO NO NO NO!!” Those were the only words Ethys could say. He quickly grabbed Neo and held him tightly, but right before he could even do anything, the Garleans were already there, summoned by his cries of desperation, ready to take Ethys in and make his life hell again, but this time it was far, far worse. Now they are actively doing what they can to harm both of them.

Neo… Hurt? His precious older brother.. Missing an arm? An unimaginable scenario, yet it was right in front of him, in the flesh. The words “failure” were ringing so loudly inside, he felt as if his entire body was paralyzed from the shock. As they were dragging him away, he let out a cry so loud, louder than any of the screams he had let out when they tortured him for all these years. No amount of agony he felt was worse than in that moment. He cried out his brother’s name, again and again and again. Each time he said his name louder and louder, as he would slowly piece the puzzle on what exactly happened to him.

At first he thought it was the Garleans’ doing, but Neo’s arm was nowhere to be found, and he was well aware of the capabilities of his brother’s magic, as much as he was kicking and screaming, he blamed it all on himself.

It was his fault that he acted out due to his rage, it was his fault that Neo was brought to a position where he had to do this, it was his fault for-

How happy it would make him if he could just break these chains off right now. But it would be too soon. Neo said to wait.

Neo said to wait.

He knows his brother is still alive, he was breathing, but Ethys had nothing left to hold him back now. Dragged back to the torture chamber, he gazed at all the people who laughed, who dragged him back, and those who were a mere passerby. Everyone. And he would remember each and every one of their faces and masks. Every single thing. One last moment, he waited while they took him away, to ensure that Neo would be far away before Ethys did anything. He cannot falter now. Finally, they locked him up in a special cage built to prevent anyone from exiting, slowly preparing something that felt far worse than what he experienced last night.

● ● ●

Time passed, while nothing happened. The anticipation of torture made him more tired than anything. No more. No more... He is exhausted. He wants to be free. He wants to leave this place. And... The guard in front of him looks like such an easy target right now. He started getting impatient and the imagery of torturing all of them made him visibly smile.

"Hah...Ahahahahaha..."

Not even a sharp chirp, so uncommon in these parts, made his soft giggling stop as the guard watched over him. "Should've listened when we told ya to kneel, ya stubborn fool," the guard responded, only to be greeted with something that could have only been described as death itself mere moments later. Nay, even death would have been more welcoming than this, more gentle than this.

When Ethys was finally done laughing, he let out one last deep sigh. He looked at the guard with a frightening expression, his white eyes emitting a strange glow that nobody had ever seen before. The intensity of it was unmistakable. He was like a ticking time bomb, the glow only getting stronger and stronger.

And in that moment, Neo shouted the words he waited to hear for years now.

The cage he was in, the shackles that held him, suddenly looked like they were mere toys - Ethys broke out of them with such strength and ease, his rage carrying him effortlessly, and suddenly... The guard was already dead, but Ethys did not stop. He repeatedly stomped, stabbed, clawed the guard’s skin and flesh out, disembodying him as if he was taking out parts of a plastic doll, a puddle of blood surrounding him, and splashing all over his face and body. Bloodlust. It is there. He gives into it, the idea of making blood pour like the rain that falls gently on your cheeks, and...

He lets himself go. No more of this. Neo said to wait, but the waiting’s over.

It's time to hunt.

[tinygamertris]

For Gentian, most of the various gauges reflect how he's using his Aether. For example, the Dark Knight Darkside gauge represents him channeling aether into his muscles to make his attacks hit harder, the White Mage lily gauges represent him storing it in a healing form to unleash all in one go, the Bard gauge is him weaving his aether into his songs to strengthen his allies.

On the other hand, his Machinist gauges are exactly what they look like; the level of excess heat he's able to channel into various attacks, and the charge on his aetherometer for summoning turrets (and one day the Queen), and the gauge for Gunbreaker is the amount of charged bullets he's got chambered at the moment.

11/30/23

How does the job gauge(s) play into your wol(oc)?

[ofdragonsdeep]

6: Avatar

The Warrior of Light has never been one to abide the sadness of a child.

(ShB early story spoilers, discussion of possession)

6: Avatar

The Light that suffused the sky above Il Mheg twinkled in eerie, mournful tones as Ar’telan walked across the lush grass. Were it not for that glass-sharp stillness, the sound of emptiness in a non-existant wind, it would almost be a paradise. A brook babbled to his right, water cascading down to the lake below, the buried grave of Voeburt. Faerie-made birds fluttered between flowers cast in giant form, their petals bending and swaying under the influence of glamer magics rather than the breeze. Hungry creatures, yet untouched by the threatening light, lingered in the meagre shadows that the cliffs cast. They looked at him, and the less the Light suffused them, the more they backed away.

At the edge of a little drop, too sharp to be a hill but too short to be a cliff, Minfilia sat, swinging her legs as she looked out over the lake with those eerie blue-ghost eyes. She yelped in surprise as Ar’telan sat down beside her, not having expected him and not having heard the soft clanking of his armour’s plates as she was lost in her thoughts.

“Oh! You startled me,” she said, then fell silent and went back to staring out at the lake. “Sorry. Thancred always says I should pay more attention.” Ar’telan repressed the flicker of irritation at the statement.

“Thancred says a lot of things,” he replied. He was disappointed with him, in a way - after all the troubles they had come through, here he was failing to keep his own shadows in check, and hurting an innocent child in the doing of it. But maybe he still couldn’t quite see her as innocent. Maybe he still desperately wished for Minfilia - his Minfilia, the daughter he had raised in the guilt-strewn wake of her real father’s death. Maybe a part of him saw this child as her killer, her suppressor, and not someone her own. “Are you well, Minfilia?” he asked. How dearly he wished she had her own name, not one given to her like an Ascian might carry a title down the years. Minfilia stared at her knees.

“Yes. Thankyou. I’m fine,” she replied, which was a bare-faced lie mumbled with very little conviction. Eulmore had beaten the life from her by trapping her in that stifling prison, perhaps, but even when free she had not truly been allowed to flourish.

“Can I see what you’ve been working on?” he asked her, and with a noise of surprise she drew the bag of ammunition out of her pockets and handed it over. Ar’telan had been given a passing lesson in the art of the Gunbreaker from Thancred, and from one he had met back on the Source, but it had seemed a far cry from the knight’s arts he himself used even if the goals were the same. Protection. Thancred had cast aside the mantles of both bard and rogue to take on this role, but he was not doing a particularly good job.

The carts were simple things, bullets with a hollow chamber specifically designed to trap and harness aether. It was not too dissimilar from the machinist’s trade, except there the user’s aether provided the forward momentum to a bullet of regular make. These fair shone with aether, none of it Thancred’s, not that he had much of it left after what Lahabrea had done. Maybe it reminded Thancred of his Minfilia. Maybe he should have stopped finding a difference.

“You’re good at this,” he remarked, and Minfilia blushed just a little at the compliment. Ar’telan thought that she had probably not had many, in her short little life.

“I-I’m doing my best,” she said, which was not exactly an agreement, but it would have to do for the moment.

“Does Thancred ever tell you that?” Ar’telan asked, and Minfilia’s gaze dropped straight back to her knees.

“Sometimes,” she said, voice quiet. “But he always seems annoyed with himself to have said it.” Ar’telan let out a sigh, shaking his head as he passed the bag back to her with a quiet clacking of metal.

“Thancred should know better than to let his demons haunt his charge,” he said. He hadn’t wanted to say it - aloud was not the word, given his condition, but he had meant to think it and instead projected it. Minfilia wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, with the strength of her inherited Echo. “I mean - I shouldn’t have to make excuses for him. In the short time we have known each other, you have proved strong and competent. You deserve to hear it said.” Minfilia made a quiet noise, which felt like shock to Ar’telan’s Echo, but was barely audible to his ears.

“I’m not much compared to her. The… The real Minfilia,” she said. Ar’telan shook his head.

“You are as real as she is,” he said. Minfilia made a muted noise of disagreement. “Do you know how it works? The Echo - the rebirth?”

“A little,” she said, which still made it more than Ar’telan knew, not that he was intending to tell her that. “There’s a part of me… inside of me. In my soul. It feels like it… it isn’t me.” She touched a hand gently to her chest, a pensive look in her eerie blue eyes. “It’s warm. It’s kind. It’s Minfilia.” Her face turned saddened then. “When Ran’jit told me about the other… the other Minfilias, she gets sad. So I know that she’s… she’s seen so many. Girls like me. Girls who… who aren’t her, but are her. But not enough of her to make a difference.” She put her hands back in her lap, one clasped over the other. “And when I… when I die, that part of me that isn’t me, it will leave, and it will find another girl like me. Another Minfilia. I don’t know… I don’t know if she wants to. But she has to, I think.” She looked up at Ar’telan then, as if seeking confirmation, and it made him wonder.

“We borrowed it,” he confessed. “The idea of… of Rebirth. The Ascians can come back in endless cycles unless their aether is trapped, destroyed. Thancred told you about them, yes?” Minfilia nodded. “I suppose it always made sense that we could do the same thing, but I don’t think that we… that we should. The idea of mortality - of parts of us circling between life and death, each life new and different, that is important, even though we are blessed with the Echo.” He looked over at her. “So the Ascians would take new bodies, and mold their flesh to look like them, if they wished it. It happened to Thancred.” Thancred would not want this tale told, and Ar’telan certainly did not intend to tell her all of it, but she deserved a part of it. “An Ascian took him, and forced his soul into the darkest recesses of his aether. Where she lives - Minfilia. Lahabrea put Thancred there, and took control of him instead. So when she does it - when Minfilia does it, she tries so hard, I think, not to be like him. Not to hurt people like Lahabrea hurt Thancred. But we don’t know enough.” He looked out, over the cliff, at the waters of the lake. Perfectly still in the absence of wind, save for the ripples of fish and Fuath occasionally coming close to breaching the surface. “So she sits there, in the back of your soul, but she can’t - can’t stop it from hurting you, even though she doesn’t want it to. But she does it because a part of her feels like she must.” Ar’telan wondered how much of it was Hydaelyn. Even before she had been stolen away on the eddies of Y’shtola’s Flow, Minfilia had been devoted to Hydaelyn more fervently than anyone Ar’telan knew. If Hydaelyn told her to do this - to continue, even though it hurt, even though it doomed the girls she took, she would have done it, and it would have eaten her up to know it. Duty was not easy. Hydaelyn was not a loving Mother.

“...Thancred… H-he never told me,” Minfilia said, her voice quiet. “He told me - told me about Minfilia. His Minfilia. A-and the Echo, and the Ascians. But he never told me…”

“He hates what it did to him. What Lahabrea did with his body,” Ar’telan said, and found it a miracle that he could say it without shuddering at the memories. “He is scared of it. What it made him - what it makes people. And he is so scared of losing more people.” Ar’telan reached out, cautious and gentle, and put a hand on top of Minfilia’s own. “But he is proud of you. He should say it, and I should not have to say it for him. But I know him very well, and I know that even though he’s hurting, he is proud.” Minfilia had stiffened at the initial touch, then untensed as he spoke. Ar’telan could see the mist of tears at the corners of her eyes.

“I just… wanted to be enough,” she said. “To live up to her - to Minfilia.” Ar’telan inclined his head.

“I know. You do,” he assured her. “Not that you should forgive Thancred for his coldness, or accept my words as substitute for his, but I wanted… I wanted you to know.” His gaze was drawn back to the castle at the centre of the lake, the beautiful wings of lace and light cascading out from the towers. “I am glad to have you as an ally, and a friend, just as I was glad to know Minfilia. But you are worth more than what you are standing next to her. You are your own person, too. She let you remain. Had to. So you should live - not for her, but for yourself.” Minfilia let out a little sob, raising her tiny hands to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. Ar’telan was aware that if Urianger or Thancred found him sat out here with a crying child they would chew his ears off, and sans context he would certainly deserve it.

“Th-thank you,” she managed, her voice still quiet and small. “I… I’ll try. But it’s hard.”

“It is hard for everyone,” Ar’telan said, by way of consolation. “But I believe in you.” She offered him a tiny, near-imperceptible smile.

“Then I will believe, too,” she decided. “Um, could you… could you take these back to Thancred?” She held out the bag of cartridges once more, but Ar’telan shook his head.

“We will go together,” he disagreed. “Whenever you’re ready.” Minfilia gave him another smile - stronger, but still faint - and nodded her head.

“Alright. I would like that,” she agreed, and for once, her decision held conviction.

Ar’telan thought that was enough.

[yentotajaan]

Repercussions II: Wasp’s Nest

Yen’to wandered up to the library with a sense of foreboding. The reason for the meeting was unclear, but with Khan anything was possible. As he entered the library proper, he spied Strega and Khan already present. Damn... thought I would have some moments of peace to prepare for the drunken rambling that is sure to ensue. They engaged in a bit of small talk as they waited, much to Yen’to’s annoyance, but it was not long before the others who saw the posting started filtering in. Annoyance shifted rapidly to surprise at the steadily increasing number of attendees: Alyona, Alaric, Kouronne, Silf, Luka, Ghost, Lalatua, and Ramius. A mixture of new and old employees.... but Alaric does not even work for Lady Faye, does he? How did Khan rope him in? 

The lingering questions were soon cleared up -  Ramius indicated that he was the one that called the meeting rather than Khan. Oh good... maybe this time the briefing will actually be coherent. A strange screen popped out of a device on Ramius’ back, some sort of video feed from one of his drones that apparently captured sight of a suspicious person frequently loitering in the hills around the Shroudrose. Ramius wanted everyone to go out and attempt to find, capture, and interrogate the suspicious target. There were transmissions that potentially linked him to Garleans. I would say this sounds easy enough, but every time I have said that the complete opposite was true. Nothing involving Khan is every that simple.

As they began leaving the Shroudrose grounds, it was not long before Ramius spotted someone suspicious on a path up a nearby hill, leaning against a tree. At his suggestion, they split up to approach from different directions and hopefully catch the person in a pincer. Yen’to took about half of the group while Ramius took the remainder, and upon his signal they approached a visibly panicking miqo’te. He could not be more suspicious even if he was trying...

The unlucky miqo’te was sweating and fidgety, and cracked under pressure almost immediately. As he was not so gently prodded for answers, some in the group began remarking that they smelled smoke. That is odd... did something spark out in the forest? It is not storming, though. The sounds of bells clanging and shouts from Wood Wailers began filtering in from the south, where smoke was streaming into the sky. What in the... that looks like houses are on fire! Before anyone could figure out exactly what was happening, the twang of bows being drawn nearby forced everyone to take cover. Arrows loosed found their target easily - the poor panicking miqo’te spy. Strega and Alyona attempted to keep him alive while Yen’to and Kouronne returned fire with their gun and bow.  Their targets were dressed like Wood Wailers, complete with wooden masks. Oh no... saboteurs?!

The two saboteurs went down quickly, a bit too dead to question. Ramius began picking up strands of chatter from the wounded spy’s linkshell, prompting him to scan for aether currents with his goggles. I swear, that man has a gadget for every occasion. The linkshell chatter made it clear that they were dealing with Garlean infiltrators. Yen’to barely had time to absorb this information before Ramius pointed them north. The band cautiously made their way forward before pausing at a bend in the path.

Half a dozen arrows whizzed by, forcing everyone to press up against the hill just before the bend in the path. Yen’to, Ramius, and Kourunne ran out to fire back at the archers, easily cutting the ambush short. Or so they thought. A shout came from the bushes nearby to “cut down the savages”, and more ‘wood wailers’ leapt out, flanking the party and trapping them in the middle of the path - lancers in the rear and more archers in the front. Damn it -- with the actual guards distracted by those fires we are on our own!

The fighting was brief but brutal. Yen’to yelped as an arrow embedded itself into his leg above the knee, avoiding the armored greaves he hoped would have protected him. Buckling down, he managed to level his rifle and return fire, felling his attacker. Most of the others managed far better, and the Garleans soon came to realize that underestimating tea house employees was a surprisingly bad idea. Lalatua used both fire and ice magic to great and terrifying effect, while Luka ended up burning and melting one of the wooden masks into a hapless soldier’s face. 

The other Garleans fell one by one, but they managed to also injure Alyona before being defeated. Most of the ambushers were dead, but a few laid wounded and moaning. As with the spy, Alyona called Khan over the linkshell to gather the wounded Garleans. Hmph, I say let them bleed out... but the dead do not give up secrets. Once again, Ramius utilized his goggles to pick up the trail and the group rushed in the direction of the ferry docks. Or all but Yen’to rushed, who could only do a hurried limp at this point.

As they approached the docks, they could see the Garleans’ sloop shrinking in the distance as it sped away. There was only one remaining boat at the docks,  with a goblin skipper drinking away the day nearby. He seemed wary at first of the anxious group, but a bag full of gil changed his tune. He promptly called over his own linkpearl to Khan that he was taking a break and that Khan could go fook himself. Oh gods -- this is Khan’s ship?!

The little sloop had seen better days, and seemed to be held together by little more than rusty nails, rotting boards, and pure hope. ... Do I also smell liqour? It had a black flag emblazoned with red glasses, reminiscent of the pair worn by Khan. A kobold on deck gave them a happy little wave and nonchalantly returned to swabbing the deck.  This... both makes complete sense and is utterly stupid. At the urging of Lalauta and Strega, Yen’to sat down to take the weight of his injured leg. Strega once again took the opportunity to stab him with a magitek medical device, despite their previous discussion about advance warnings. At the direction of Ramius, the others grabbed what they could to use as oars and employed aero magic in an attempt to catch up with their targets.

‘Their’ ship came within a few dozen yalms of the Garleans before a shout came from behind some rocks in the river, and another boat slipped out and sped in their direction. Seven hells, how many ambushes are we going to stumble into?! The party braced for impact, and the two boats soon collided and locked into place. Belting out war cries, the Garlean boarding party swarmed onto Khan’s floating coffin.

Yen’to had managed to stand by this point, and upon seeing a saber swinging his way he managed to block it with his armored gauntlet, then returned the favor by slamming the butt of his rifle into the man’s head like a club. Alaric had ripped off one of the boards from the deck to use as a makeshift weapon; a vhan below deck looked up through the hole and simply returned to whatever it was doing.  Uh... I hope that bit was not important. Ramius finished off the remaining Garleans with his quick-firing pistol, and managed to free the boats by cutting entangled ropes. 

Upon arriving at shore, they were met with a scene of carnage. Dockworkers and a few Wood Wailers were crumbled on the ground, seriously wounded but not yet dead.  A jumble of tracks led deeper into the woods. Alyona once again used the linkshell to inform Khan that there were wounded that needed tending, but his response was a complaint that it would take a while because someone had stolen his boat. ... Oops? Well, that is what he gets for being sloppy! One of the injured workers confirmed where the Garleans fled, and the group was soon hot on their heels.

The party caught up to the remaining Garleans soon enough, who were busy at work doing something near a patch of trees. They did not have long to observe the enemy before being spotted, and a Garlean officer called for his troops to form up. They did so with alarming speed and precision, and soon let loose a fusillade of bullets from their gunblades. Thankfully, their aim was not as precise as their formation but a few in Ramius’ group were still hit. Damn it... if I die here I am killing Khan!

The gloves were off now, and no mercy was to be given. Yen’to finally activated his machinist aetherotransformer and spewed a gout of flame from the end of his rifle towards an unfortunate clump of Garleans. The others did not hold back either, letting loose with their fiercest techniques to utterly obliterate their targets in a storm of explosions and fire. I almost feel sorry for the bastards.... almost. As the smoke cleared, it was made apparent what the Garleans had been concerned with - a secret door leading underground. 

Cautiously, the group made their way into the underground store room. It was unlit and barely any light made its way inside. Yen’to’s moon-keeper eyes quickly adjsuted to the darkness, but few of the others were so lucky. Lalatua used some aether to light up her staff, and what it revealed gave everyone pause.

There were numerous desks and cabinets filled with papers, and posters and flyers covered the walls alongside maps. Almost in a stupor, they fanned out to dig through the papers to figure out exactly what they were dealing with. It was worse than suspected. On the largest desk, there was a stack of flyers with names and brief descriptions, many from previous missions with Khan:

Faye Covington, Silf Silverwood, Mocking Bird, Yen’to Tajaan, Elyn Merielle, Mako, Strega, Deccan, Ramius Raske, Khuron Khan.

By the Twelve.... these are signed by tribunus Lucian. He knows so much! How?! Aside from Lucian’s signature, there were directives commenting on multiple phases and local assets. Some of the other posters had vaguely familiar sketches, but were lacking descriptions. Sensing time was of the essence, everyone gathered whatever they could carry and made haste back to the Shroudrose to disseminate the information later and lick their wounds.

All this from one little information gathering mission that went sideways almost a moon ago. If the Garleans do not kill us, Lady Faye just might.

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/635629242574602240/repercussions

@tough-bit-of-fluff​

@ramius-xiv​

@fair-fae​

@eorzeanharmony​

[final-fantasy-mama]

Rimfire Bubble bath (ch.5)

OKKKKKKKkkkkkayyyyy so, Emet and Wol get into some risky bathtub business. No smut in this chapter but the next one will have explicit content. I am writing it in a separate chapter so those who dont want to read it can skip over it but still get some teasing from Emet in this chapter.

Normally I would insert a Amarout chapter here BUT i only have one more planned so ill save it for a bit later on down the story line. Enjoy!

FFXIV EMET SELCH X MCH WOL

“The tragedy that had befallen you is of your own making. Devine retribution for your defiance. The heavens have bequeathed to you a benevolent savior, me! I offer you freedom from pain and suffering, a paradise where man and sin eater might live in peace and harmony..” ~ Vauthry

The hero growled through clenched teeth with a rage that was uncharacteristic of her usual cool exterior. Right now, she just couldn’t hold it back. Her itching trigger finger reached for her musketoon with a arm that dripped with fresh blood from a shoulder wound gone undressed. Bullets flew from her gun at the dirigibles that flew overhead with Vauthrys guttural and all too arrogant voice coming over loudspeakers to castigate all the poor folk below who had managed to survive his sin eaters onslaught. She knew the bullets would not be of any avail but she prayed that one would find Vauthry’s heart and put an end to that bastard’s life. She kept firing until her bullets ran out and her arm throbbed with too much pain to keep the musket raised.

Around her, the moans and cries of injured Crystarium soldiers echoed in the night as they mourned for fallen friends and comrades. The attack was unwarranted, took them completely off guard and was meant to destabilize and demoralize them. It worked. Even Lyna, the Viera knight, was about to break into tears though she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt not to. It was going to be a long night of pain and tears for all them who had survived the evening’s bloodbath.

Someone’s hand reached for her Musketoon as another one gently wrapped around her waist, easing the rage out of her. Emet Selch had appeared at her side, gently taking her gun from her burning hands and whispering soft words into her ear. “You’re injured, inamorata. Relax….it is over.” Only with those words did she realize how much her lungs burned as she hyperventilated, her muscles locked up from adrenaline and sweat dripped from her brow. Like a tight coil she slowly unwound and Emet caught her in his arms, cradling her in his chest as he helped her to sit on the ground.

Her companions ran to and fro helping the injured, pausing slightly to stare at the Ascian and the hero together in a odd moment of intimacy, but having to put it out of their minds as injured soldiers took priority. “There is not much more you can do here tonight.” Emet pointed out.

“I can’t leave until everyone has been removed from the battlefield.” She said in a tired breathy voice.

“I would not expect you to.” Emet said. “But you are no worse for wear at the moment, so I will ever be watching you from the shadows. Whistle for me should you need me.” And with that he disappeared in a cloud of black aether.

*************************************************************

By the time the entire entourage returned to the Crystarium and the chirurgeons had their way with the hero, she had not the strength to even stand on her own. And so it was out of pity, sort of, that Emet Selch carried the exhausted Machinist back to her room in the pendants. She was scarcely conscious when the door to her room opened and he stepped inside with her in his arms, face buried in the side of his coat. Her bandaged shoulder was left oncovered with her white poet shirt draped around the rest of her for modesty’s sake. He set her down gently on the bed, stretching her out so she was straight on her back as he plucked off her antiquated boots and tried to make her more comfortable. She groaned from both pain and sheer fatigue.

“Hero, you need to bathe.” Emet said.

“Are you saying I smell bad?” She yawned.

“To put it gently, you smell like something that may have come out of Vauthry’s gullet.”

“Fuck you.”

There was a small pause.

“You’d find me a willing participant if that was what you desired.” He said in his charming seductive voice.

“Too tired to bother…”She groaned.

“Then allow me the pleasure of seeing you to a hot bath at the very least.” He snapped his fingers and a long claw footed tub appeared in the room along with a fluffy white robe hanging on a coat rack. She made some mangled noise in protest as he looked down at her. She was holding her arms out to him the way a pouty child might to a parent. It was unexpectedly adorable.

“I’m giving you permission to bathe me, nothing more. So no funny business.” She warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah you would.”

“Only a little.” He admitted as he helped her stand up and walked her to the tub. She cleared her throat and motioned for him to turn around which he obliged, though not without a roll of his eyes and a loud sigh. Quickly stripping from her clothes and tossing them in a pile to the floor, she climbed into the water and drew her knees up to chest. Her shoulder stung but she managed to not gasp as the hot water caressed it.

“You can turn around now.” She said and he did just so, having a good look at her before taking off his heavy jacket and tossing it on the bed. Rolling up his sleeves, he knelt behind her and brushed her hair to one side, the tips of his fingers grazing her neck as she gasped.

“What are you…?”

“Hush!” he said sternly as he once again snapped his fingers and a bar of soap appeared in one hand, a small handled bucket in the other. He doused her with water as she cried out at the hot sudden sensation and then worked the soap into a lather in her hair. Working his fingers through her scalp thoroughly. She thanked the gods he was not facing her while he administered his ministrations, because she was dead sure her facial expression was nothing short of scandalous. She had never had anyone bathe her, so the sensation of being this pampered was wholly unknown and frankly it made the pit of her stomach tingle.

With her hair now rinsed and clean, Emet’s hands worked their way to her trapezius muscles and he gently pressed into them with his thumbs. She gasped in a way that was a tad embarrassing as her back arched involuntarily, head threw back and knees dropped below the water. Oh twelve have mercy she just exposed her whole front side the Ascian looking over her shoulders. Indeed, he saw the entire kit and kaboodle and his face told her he wasn’t displeased with what he saw. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly scrunched herself back up into ball and buried her face in her knees.

“You are so sensitive, my dear.” He teased.

“Shut up. I’ve never had a massage before.” She grunted.

“Never ever?”

“Who’s got time for that?”

“My my. This is a bit of a problem, if I can’t even touch you without you making such noises and faces.” He coo’d.

“Knock it off, Emet Selch. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“Let’s try something else then. As much as I would love to see more of your erotic expressions….” He moved positions to the side of the tub and took her hand in his. Then he began to rub the flesh around her palm and wrist, the areas where she held her gun and always chaffed or had callouses. She turned her face to side so she could watch him, the position less intimate so she felt more comfortable. Letting out a long sigh, she relaxed and let him massage up the length of her arm .

If she were any other women, she supposed she could take the Ascian to bed, indulge in her self desires, revel in passions of a one night stand. But she was never that type of person. In a sense it was frustrating how others could go through life consumed by their own desires and she could not. She was the warrior of light after all, someone was always going to need her to be at her best so she couldn’t take risks the way others could. She also had her little girl to think about. Come to think on it, Emet also had children in one point in time and she wondered if he had even enjoyed it or cared for his family. He outlived them all with the exception of Varis and Zenos, but it was obvious upon meeting them both that there was no love lost for their Great Grand Sire.

“You keep sighing.” Emet pointed out. “That usually means you have a question to ask or something pressing on your mind.”

“Its nothing.” She said sadly.

“Obviously not if you keep making faces like that.”

“I make a lot of strange faces, as you’ve already noticed.” She chuckled.

“You also keep many things to yourself.”

“No more so than you.”

“As an Ascian I am entitled to many secrets.”

“As a woman, I’m entitled to mine.”

“You’re not as tired as I thought if you can talk back like that.” He rolled his eyes and stood up quickly, however the lady refused to relinquish his hand and yanked him back sharply without thinking. His feet slipped out from under him on the wet floor and he came crashing down into the water on top of the hero. When he surfaced he had the warrior precariously pinned beneath him and hands on either side of her head gripping the tubs rim.

“Oh Hero.” He practically moaned as he gazed down at her. “You need only ask if you wished me to join you.”

She panicked and slapped her hands over his eyes so he couldn’t see anything. “You’ve got the wrong idea!”

“You were trying to drown me then?” He asked with hands still over his eyes.

“It was reflex! I wasn’t thinking!”

He pushed against her hands and swooped down till his face hovered over her collar bone. “So then you secretly want me oh so much you’re limbs act without reason?” His breath tickled her and she squirmed against the tub, pushing herself back against the porcelain as far as she could. His body weight on her legs kept her from being able to escape any further or jump out of the tub.

“I give you an inch and you take a bloody mile!” She complained and kept her hands firmly planted on his face and tried to push him back. Its was futile either way, he could easily overpower her if he wanted. Smarmy Ascian that he was though, he wasn’t going to let her go without a thorough teasing. “Wasn’t our agreement that you wouldn’t coerce or force me to do anything?”

“I am a man of my word. So far you have not said no or stop or tried to put a gun to my head or bullet through me.” He pointed out and pushed again to reach the hero’s neck where he planted a small kiss.

She saw stars for a moment and tried to get her wits about her. Just say NO, just say NO , Just say NO, she chanted in her mind but with each kiss he planted up her neck she felt her mind going more and more blank. If she didn’t figure out a way or excuse to get out of this, she would make love to him then and there and that would cause more problems than solve.

“I don’t see why you resist it so.” He breathed against her neck between kisses. “There is nothing wrong with indulging yourself once in a while. You deserve to have your needs met as much as any other creature.” He nipped at her jawline and she made a small noise. “What I am offering you is oh so simple. Pleasure. No hidden motives, no scheming, no lies, just simple pleasure for two weary souls long since denied any respite in this cruel and blasphemous world.”

The twelve be damned! He knew all the right words and just where to whisper them! And so reluctantly, against her better judgement she dropped her hands from his eyes. His yellow half lidded gaze was the end of her. She did want him the way any woman would want a man. She wanted to experience him and everything that he was despite him being an Ascian. Gods, it had been ages since she wanted anyone, felt anything for any man, and of all beings for her to lust after it had to be Emet Selch.

“The fates are undeniably cruel….”She conceded, something sad filling her eyes as she looked down for a moment but he caught her chin in his fingers and forced her to look up at him again.

“For tonight, it need not be. Lie with me.” He whispered.

She closed her eyes and felt herself slipping away, carried off by the currents of lust and longing. She took in a shaky breath and replied. “Yes….”

[the-manderville-mambo]

Consider: charm bracelet with all your soul crystals dangling from it

how do soulstones in ffxiv actually work. like is there an unspoken slot in every outfit in the game that can fit a soulstone and you pop them in and out like candy. do they automatically give you powers just by being in your pocket. by having both red mage and machinist in his inventory is rigel therefore both at once. how does he change between them. is it as simple as the difference between holding a gun and holding a magic sword and the corresponding stone just magically conveniently resonates with whatever weapon he's holding at any given time or what

[meowww-ffxiv]

Meowdred as a machinist just shoots bullet shaped mana, to be fair.

He rigged up his firearms much different than most; it’s highly dependent on the fact that he can mold aether the way a black mage does, and in the hands of anyone who doesn’t know exactly how to operate it, Mordred’s pistols are useless.

So he’s still casting. He’s just using the aether-converter contraption at his belt and doing it secondhand instead of directly, thus using almost no mana at all. It also makes the attacks’ aether aspect negligible — so the “projectiles” are neither fire nor ice.

Essentially, the gun is just Mordred’s new staff.

[mokkri-valandiel]

Tinkers at Heart

Mokkri blinks again and frowns, disappointed that she hadn't actually been original. "So how did they make it so the aether didn't just dissipate or explode?"

"I'm not /sure/," Eru said, looking down at the blueprint and scratching at his chin with one hand. "No one I asked really had a deep technical knowledge of the thing. And no one /had/ one I could look at it. But..." He placed a finger on the Garlean gunblade drawing. A firearm, in principle, works rather simply. A hammer strikes the primer of a catridge when the trigger is pulled, which ignites the powder charge inside. That explodes and propels the bullet from the casing, and out the barrel. So fundamentally, the principle of an aether-charged gunblade should be the same. Except it doesn't fire a /projectile/."

G'mokkri Dajha nods, "So we need a way to move the aether without dispersing it into the ambient area, and to make sure that it actually shoots, right? I think a casing is still the answer. Just one that does something. On impact maybe? More than just explode. Or like maybe it -does- explode," she says, flapping her hands excitedly. "But the explosion is beneficial to your blade portion. A gun that fires magic is a -thing-, right? They have that in Ishgard. But we have to remember we aren't just making a sharp gun, we are making a -gunblade-."

Eru nodded. "Just so. So the question is - what could we do with the aether to benefit the blade? Using aether cartridges to increase cutting power right upon impact for example, or using the explosive power of detonating aether to propel yourself by means of the gunblade..." Eru looked at the blueprints. "So, maybe...the uses should be myriad? We would have to make cartridges designed for different purposes...and still build a barrel into the gunblade...but also channels for aether to run..." He frowned in thought.

Mokkri shrugs, "It would need enchanted channels for the aether to bleed off or to focus it and make sure it goes where it ought to, anyways. I was looking at goldsmithing. Maybe if we looked into what kind of metal conducts different aether best, we can make matching cartridges and channels so that when you put in a cartridge A, thing A happens. And so on." She taps her chin. "Depending on what you want it to do, it would be more like a mass of wires encased in a form to keep them solid more than a -gun- gun. But as long as it didn't overheat or shatter, that's okay? Who cares what the wrong side of a sweater looks like so long as the colorwork is on point, right?" She grins, despite the knitting nonsense spouting from her mouth. "We should take a trip to Ishgard when you feel better so we can see how they put the magic in -their- guns."

"To make the most effective aether channel, you carve a channel into the metal you are shaping, pour aethersand into it, and seal it with aether-conductive liquid, the richer the better," Eru lectured. "Hmmm...wires. I don't think wires would survive the blasting process. It would be better if the channeling medium was a /part/ of the gun body itself." He looked sternly at Mokkri. "True artisanship shows itself when you examine the inside /and/ outside of a work," he said reprovingly. Look at the wrong side of a sweater, as you say, made by the most skilled weavers, and still you will find no flaws, only skill." He shook his head. "Machinists from Ishgard utilize different methods. They would be of no use to us. Never mind that we have to consider the cartridges."

Mokkri takes a breath and rebutts, "I'm not saying to leave wires hanging on the inside of the gun portion or under it. Rather, I think that the wires that lead the gun to perform the function you want it to should be woven into a gunblade shape and the metal of the weapon itself should be cast around it, once the channels are set. Like when healing, you build from the inside out. Bones and organs and nerves and muscles and tendons all before the dermis." She lets out her deep breath after defending her take on the building. By her design, it would be more like a circuit board than a gun, but in her mind at least, it had the potential to work. She folds her arms across her chest, "Why, what is your solution to the gunblade having multiple functions?"

Eru smiled wryly. "A better description," he approved, head tilting. "I think the solution lies in the cartridges or have the gunblade serve as an amplifier," Eru said. "It could act much like a focus, could it not? At the moment you pull the trigger, you inject aether into the cartridge. Your will shapes the result, the supply of detonating aether in the cartridge serves to amplify your initial aether injection. That's one way."

"Hm...but what about for people who can't use the aether around them naturally?" Mokkri asked for a friend. "Morgan has trouble even attuning to aetherytes, how with this weapon help people like him if it's a focusing of your will and your injection of aether? Shouldn't it be a self contained weapon so more people can defend themselves with it?"

Eru tilted his head. "Hm. You could say the same of any weapon that requires a user to have robust aether," Eru said. "But, theoretically, you could make a gunblade that depends entirely upon aether-infused cartridges." He shrugged. "But that type of weapon is limiting. You'd have to depend on the strength and aetherpool of whomever was doing the infusing. And I don't need that sort of weak weapon."

"I wouldn't make a weak weapon!" Mokkri protests, reaching to scribble her notes on some blank paper. She was still dead set on this wired gun idea and it showed as she began sketching her own model on an extra page Eru had brought. "I'm gonna show you. I've got an offer to teach me enchanted goldsmithing maybe. I'll make this while you are still on bedrest and show you it works -well-."