#one person the steps towards the aetherial sea

[impossible-rat-babies]

the torment cycle one created between eyrie, themis, charon, hermes, venat and emet is driving me nuts

[marjiandco]

#1 Envoy

Spoilers for endwalke

Timeline: Marji meets Quintus, and Jullus realizes who's he's been escorting words: 1371

“The twins have already headed down. Go ahead and join them in the far locomotive, I’ll be with you shortly.”

The hole in the ground was spacious, and clean, and cold. An open jaw that promised a bleak fire down below. If only she’d come in; if only she’d peak inside its throat and skitter into its stomach. Snow bit at her, the wind pushing against the back of her knees. Come down, come see what awaits. Her throat tightened.

“Are you going or not, sellsword?” Jullus’ eyes narrow.

Marji’s eyes were distant. Alphi and Alisae were already facing whoever waited for her down below. Her nails claw around her grimoire, her walking staff in her left hand just in case her leg gives out. She’ll burn the creature from the inside out if the Garleans do anything to them. She nods, neck stiff and head straight as she descended.

Boots echo with each step, formless shapes moving in the distance. People dotted along the walls. A puff of smoke belched from a low fire in a barrel, goading the figures to edge closer to its light. Emaciated, tired, and dirty. Heads hung low their voices whispered behind her, recognition a bitter chill. Hollow stares followed her, and one man even made to step towards her, but whatever energy fueling him couldn’t keep up his momentum. He sat back against the wall as a cough wracked him.

Her tail fluffs uncontrollably as she passes. This isn’t the Garlemald she imagined. Sure the area was devestated, but she still imagined a hardy people with tight control on themselves. Planners and deceivers with leftover magitek to attack any who drew in close. She was sure they would like to with the Eorzeans, but they were in poor shape. They looked a few steps away from the aetherial sea.

She was greeted at the bottom with high ceilings of an underground train station. Locomotives encase the room on either side, no doubt idle from the lack of ceruleum. The echoing, melancholic sound of a radio is nearby, and a large group of sickly people come into view. More civilians, not soldiers.

To the side, two elezen teens turn with recognition. Alphinaud smiles at her, and she rushed to pull them into an embrace by the shoulders. Alphinaud patted her back as Alisae was already removing herself from the hug.

“Jullus said his commander is in the locomotive there.” Alphinaud pointed. “Shall we head in, and make our case?”

“You seem rather nervous, is there aught amiss?” Alisae asked.

“Ah, no, just glad to see you two are okay. I thought, there would be a trap or something similar.”

Alphinaud shrugged. “If these people were desperate enough to only send one person to claim supplies from us, they must be low on near everything. I doubt they would want to spend any medical resources on a potential fight in the middle of their camp. We should be cautious, but open, and accommodating so we can help them.”

“If you’re done chitchatting,” Jullus’ voice rings behind them “My commander is waiting on my report.”

Marji’s ears lowered and she moved between the twins and him. Alphinaud wanted trust but she still doubted there wasn’t something hidden under the sleeves of a desperate man.

Quintus is near exactly the type of man she’d assume a Garlean commander to be. Prideful, shoulders back, gaze sharp as any steel. Her hackles raise at the strength in his voice. Alphinaud and Alisae speak with him in her stead, as she tightened her lips from spitting the words back off to him.

Her nails bit into her palms as he spoke of how his people turned to conquest as a defensive measure. Alphinaud listened, and chose his own words carefully. Each sentence from a point of understanding, and of what the envoy came to Garlemald for. Even Alisae beseeched to the pain of his people and how they could help them.

It doesn’t matter, as even the twins words could not turn the mans heart. Marji’s ears perk. Metal boots, multiple boots, were coming towards them. Her thumb tucks into her grimoire and she steps closer to her friends. Soldiers burst inside, immediately filling the room that she could feel the heat of their body. She waited, and almost begged them to take one step closer.

Alisae hits her with an elbow and nodded towards her brother. He had his hands raised. Marji’s lips curl as she swallows, slowly, incredulously, raised her hands away from her weapon and into the air.

“May we speak with the people in the station? As guests.” Alphinaud’s voice was steady.

Quintus nodded, holding up a single finger. “Collar them.”

Marji lowers her hands and steps forward.

“Stop!” Alphinaud’s glare froze her in place. She watched as soldiers put devices around the twins neck, and every fiber in her scolded and begged her to take them as far away from there as she could. Diplomacy or not, they were in danger. When he was sure Marji wouldn’t move without his say so, he touched the metal attached to his shirt.

“Pray tell what are these?”

Quintus, almost gleefully, tells them it will administer a nasty shock if they step out of line.

“I don’t trust him. We should leave.” Marji whispered.

As a soldier steps towards her, she watched him carefully. As the collar came closer, she couldn’t help herself.

“You put that on me and your head’s going through that window.” She hissed the last through her teeth.

“Might as well listen to that one.” Quintus said sharply. “The champion of Eorzea is not so easily cowed.”

There is an ugly feeling inside of her, a joy as realization and recognition dawned on the faces of the soldiers. Some even step away from her, or put their weapons down. Even Jullus near snapped his neck to look at her. A horrible dawn of realization crossed his face.With some control of the situation seemingly back in her hands, she too raised them in the air.

“We’ll just activate the twin’s restraints if she refuses to obey.” Quintus said.

Marji turns her head sharply towards the commander, and he looks at her square in the eyes. She’s not the only one seeing a stereotype in person, it seems.

Alphinaud and Alisae turned to reassure her. They’ll be fine, they’ll forget they’re even wearing them. Stop worrying. She breathed in deeply, steadying herself in the present. She thinks of Haurchefant, and imagines the calm of a simple sip of hot chocolate. When Quintus asks why they would go to such lengths, she is the one to answer.

“It is simply our duty to keep people from experiencing a cold hearth.”

Quintus snorted. “You are a curious one. Seems there’s some thought inside the merciless witch of lands beyond. Jullus, you will be their warden.”

Jullus’ eyes widen but he composed himself, saluting his commander. At least they’ll be under the gaze of someone they were familiar with. A small mercy. Jullus postured once they left the locomotive, saying any hint of magic will be met with severe repercussions. As the group split up, Marji is met with open hostility. Though the Garleans were sick and hungry, the skeletal faces and crooked fingers pointed at her.

“Murderer.”

“Savage witch.”

“I’ll break your little neck.”

“Be wary of traveling alone.”

“you have no friends here.”

One man even lunged at her, but it rips sutures in his abdomen and he clutched at her, near ripping her coat to keep from falling. His breath was rotten, his body unwashed for some time. If the open wound wouldn’t kill him, the possibility of an infection would. Of course healing magic would clear it up for him, but as he shoved her away and wiped his hands down his shirt, she knew even asking would only cause more agitation.

When she met up with Alphinaud, she saw the same conclusion in his eyes. They must somehow convince the Garleans to receive succor. Perhaps through Jullus. If they could win him over, he could entreaty their cause to his people. They could start with getting better fires. Perhaps with Ceruleum left in the city.

[rafencarino]

Justice for the Dead In the Aethereal sea shortly after Hydaelyn's defeat. Warning: Spoilers ahead for those who haven't gotten there. The Great Primal was laid low, having suffered too much damage from the Scions and the Triumverate. She hadn't completely faded away after her plea, though the other Scions, Jahleen and Mahreen had begun retracing their steps, Rafen stayed behind, red eyes burning with anger, hate. Hydaelyn stared at him sadly. "Must you hate me so? After everything?" Rafen tilted his head. "Give me a reason not to."

"I tried to send her back. I pushed, but I was so weak." Rafen's face twisted into a sneer. "So weak that you couldn't help but take her at her weakest? At her most vulnerable state of mind? It was just too easy a decision to make wasn't it? Just like Lahabrea did to Thancred, but under the guise of the greater good. You're pathetic." Hydaelyn looked away, shame filling her. Rafen had her dead to rights, and she HAD tried to guide Minfilia back, but desperation not to die had pushed her decision.

"So...you're here to what? Watch me die?" Rafen nodded, but also palmed a soulstone, turning himself into a Warrior from his Bard form. He now wore a black coat that was buttoned up to just below his chin, and a black visor covered his face. "I am, but I am also going to ensure it." Hydaelyn stared at the Rava, shocked to her core at the massive Axe that was now held in his hand. "You..." Rafen nodded interrupting her. "I made you a promise those years ago Hydaelyn. I told you I would be the one to kill you. Do you remember?" Hydaelyn nodded. "I do, shortly before Minfilia took Ardbert and the others to the first, 'Come Hell or Highwater, you would be the one to finally kill me. Not The Empire, the Ascians, or Zordiark. You. For Minfilia, and for many others." Rafen nodded as she restated his vow verbatim. "And as a Carino, and for me personally, I keep my promises." Rafen shouldered the Axe and moved towards her, the Edge of the Axe glinting in the starry light of the Aetherial Sea.

The Primal just nodded and looked away. "You do Rafen Carino. Just like Macha." He smiled at his old name briefly, but then his gaze steeled as he stopped before her. Hydaelyn shifted, so that her neck was exposed. "All I ask if that you make it quick. I've lingered long enough." Rafen just nodded, assenting to her request. "You'll get that much courtesy out of me." With that, no more words were bandied between the two, and the Rava lifted his axe, and in one swift motion, brought the weapon down.

"Raif is late." Y'shtola commented, as the group waited for him at the exit. Thancred looked back where they had come from, then back to the group. "Should we go get him?" Jahleen shook her head. "No. He is doing what he came here to do. We can wait a bit longer."

"No need." Came Rafens voice as he appeared before them, still in his Warrior form, carrying his Axe in one hand. "My business with the Primal is concluded, we can head back to Labyrinthos." Thancred noted the blood that stained the Axe head, as did Y'shtola, but the look on Rafens face said it all: Hydaelyn had been executed. "Never let it be said that a Carino doesn't keep their word." Rafen said as he passed the group. "Let's get out of here. I want to check on Fordolla and the baby before we go chasing Meteion.

[orime-stories]

Ferocity and Fear

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

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The Warrior of Light considers her feelings about her two new travelling companions as they press on into Dravania together. Full story below the cut. (623 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

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Estinien made Aurelle extremely nervous.

His every communication was an impatient growl, as though her mere presence offended him. Though her existence wasn’t the only bane of his, she had to acknowledge. Not if his interactions with the others were anything to go by. Alphinaud had been politely weathering the man’s constant ill-tempered complaints, and Ysayle… Ysayle was being treated with downright contempt.

For she was Lady Iceheart — the leader of the heretics that had been such a thorn in her group’s side, and the one who had set the dragons loose on the city the time Aurelle had first been called to defend it. A woman responsible for the betrayal and death of so many of her kin. But for all that, she was also a woman blessed with the power of the Echo, who seemed to genuinely regret the harm wrought by her otherwise unrepentant pursuit of what she claimed to be a more just world.

Aurelle certainly felt more drawn to the melancholic murderer than she did the perpetually hostile ally she had set out from the city with. Which said more about Estinien’s conduct than anything else, she had reassured herself when she had realised that particular truth. And maybe with Minfilia still missing, there was a part of her that just felt relieved to meet another person like herself. Another person with this strange connection to Hydaelyn.

It certainly helped that she had brought a love story along with her — a version of Shiva’s tale where the woman was revered for uniting the nations of man and dragon by capturing the heart of one of the First Brood and falling for him in turn. Setting aside the questions of physicality, and the fact that this relationship had apparently ended with Hresvelgr eating poor Shiva (in a way she gathered was supposed to be taken as a romantic union of souls rather than a shocking act of barbarism), it was certainly doing Aurelle good to dwell in a space where impossible loves ended bitter wars right now.

Ysayle really seemed to believe that she had a piece of the real Shiva within her too. That what she was summoning was the woman’s very soul (though whether from the aetherial sea or the dragon’s belly, she had not specified and Aurelle did not think it appropriate to ask). And while experience taught her that primals just didn’t seem to work that way, part of her hoped that there could somehow be truth to this particular tale, surely no more unheard of than a mortal playing host to a primal at all, and seemingly retaining their own will to boot. If nothing else, she hoped that Hresvelgr would recognise enough of his beloved in Ysayle’s situation to consider ending this war too.

Grabbing her share of the evening meal that had been prepared in Camp Tailfeather’s simple communal space, Aurelle crossed the room towards her seat, Estinien’s eyeless gaze fixed on her all the while. She tried not to notice.

“Why do you act the part of a wilting flower?” he asked with his customary scowl as she sat herself down, shrinking herself further away from the tone of his voice. “I saw your ferocity on the Steps of Faith.”

“That’s not… That doesn’t come naturally to me. The fighting.” Just let me eat my food. Leave me be and I’ll leave you be.

“Liar. You bore it far more comfortably than the face you wear now.”

He was not entirely wrong there, she had to concede. But unless he wanted her to start violently ending his existence, she wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do with that observation.

Ferocity and fear was all she had this far from home.

[second-chance-stray]

Rp Log: Cravs meets Dornn.

Cravendy Hound ‘s evasive maneuvers have led her far beyond the reaches of Gridania - hell, she’s nearly in Coerthas, at this point. But the ones following her (a pair of clearly Ul’dahn lalafellin adventurers) are equally determined to find her, and Sea Wolves tend to stand out. It’s hard to hide when you’re literally several heads above the crowd. For now, she’s made good distance between her and her pursuers, and she ducks behind a rock to take a breather.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn || In swift trot, and swifter pursuit yet, did the waddling of teeny-tiny Lalafellin feet soon encroach upon the desolate--and terribly Lunar Golem-deprived--platform, cascading upwards to Dalamud's shards. Whether bickering or pants drew more sound was heretofore unknown--but it was not wholly long before the fledgling lass, secluded as she was behind her choice of rock, felt a much more swollen, dark shadow dwarf her from behind. Atop a comparably /larger/ rock (of which there were many >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > around here, surely), twin rubies smote down upon her, embellished with a squint of scorn, as the brilliance of the Moon slipped betwixt the wolven pelt adorning the giant's noggin. "The -eyn- time I -try- to find mohtfryd in the most desolate corner of the Hylt..." His voice rang clear, with a low, guttural thrum as he barked quietly. "Who the blaethyll are ye even, lass?"

(Cravendy Hound) what a glorious entrance (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Ironically she caught him in a time limbo (since this likely happens just a moon ahead of current date likely) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) AKA at the climax of his current mini-arc (Cravendy Hound) mini arc?! :O (Cravendy Hound) whats been going down (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) You're the first person to get a proper taste of it before anyone else. (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) You'll find out. (Cravendy Hound) oh daym, early access (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Just like with your art! (Cravendy Hound) his 'wild mountain man' arc, I will assume then >:D (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) In part, ish.

Cravendy Hound hadn’t been expecting company, not anywhere...but especially not out here. So focused she was on watching for the two lalafell adventurers that she didn’t notice his shadow cast over her space. It was only when he spoke that she snapped, like a rubber band held tense breaking without warning. She whips around and points a gun at his chest, her teeth bared with a cornered stray. “Who the fuck?”

Cravendy Hound keeps her gaze steady on the newcomer, but the sound of steps echoing throughout the bluff remind her of her present predicament. She brings her voice down to a harsh whisper. Gods, she doesn’t have time for this. “Keep yer bloody voice down! I could ask ye the same.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn || The band upon his hues may've concealed much to him where physical sight was concerned; but in the world of aether, the faint flickers and fluctuations of the pursuers, as well as the pursued, came in clear as crystal. "Keep yer blaetstymm down? Just the opposite, lass." He knew full well--if not too well--the garb of those pledged to Ul'dahn gutters and less formidable circles. A stiff grunt and a flare of his nostrils broke the peace, as he straightened his form upon the rocky outcrop.>

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > To the heavens, his spine had fled; and to the Lalafell, his voice thundered. "Ye who step on soil uncharted, would have yer freedom bartered..." Raising a palm in warning, the aetherial wellspring of Dalamud's remains soon began to bleed deeper into the land, coalescing under the very rock he held domain over. "Turn -back- now or with an axe in yer breast." With each of his words, a star upon the gown of night was drowned out--dark, foreboding clouds began to roll all the closer in, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > drowning moonlight out, each pale strand waning out with each of his wovels.

Cravendy Hound ‘s face drops from snarl to frown at the stranger’s stunt, but it’s too late now. Voice like that carried far and there was no chance it would go unnoticed. She presses her back against her rock and waits, listening for their response and waiting for an opportunity to flee. Killing these two would simply make things worse.

Cravendy Hound - The lalafell pair turn to look at Dornn. With Dalamud serving as his backdrop, he makes for a formidable foe, and one of them is clearly unnerved by his warning. But the other stands their ground and waves at him in greeting. “Hello, good sir! We don’t mean to intrude on private affairs, but there’s a dangerous criminal hiding in these lands, and we mean to bring her to justice. Have you seen anyone else around?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn raised his proud chin taller, his vigil unbroken upon the parleying Lalafellin. It wasn't long before the boon of his deep voice interjected, crashing against the offered greeting. "Judged. By. Who." He slowly uttered, the raised limb curling into a commanding fist towards the offending couple. The tresses of aether soon enough began to drench the land from Dalamud's copse, rising to figuratively soak his feet within it. Ever patiently, he awaited their response, even as the crackle of >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > thunder soon began to drift through the blanket of clouds--an eerie downpour of rain carried upon the light sway of wind.

Cravendy Hound - The cowering lalafell tugs at the others sleeve, desperate to leave this place with their lives intact, but the other pays no mind. “Weird weather we’re having! But, ah, of course. Let me refer to my documents.” The foolhardy lalafell pulls out a document. A few words here and there are drowned out by thunder.

Cravendy Hound - “By the order of Lord ------ of the Uldahn merchant’s circle, Cravendy, a Seawolf female of roughly twenty seven summers, is wanted for the following crimes. Theft, destruction of property, attempted assassination, vandalism, public drinking....” The list goes on and on and on, with items both extreme and absurdly mundane. When the lalafell is finally done, they roll up the document, chest puffed and proud.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn appeared particularly unnerved--if not, peeved--the moment the Ul'dahn banner was thrown into the lot of the meeting. Without moving his noggin, through his blindfold, his hues locked upon Cravendy's own, a secluded brow lifting in query. Not that she could see it. Ere long, his own voice rose to combat the claims. "Ul'dahn, aye?" It was with terrible difficulty that his tongue kept his accent under restraints, but so far little seemed to evade him. "Neither scoundrel nor ne'er-do-well >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > passes through these lands unscorned, this corner moreso than any other. No tarrying devil living abides about us now, as the land broke them like as not, long afore. Ye may go back to yer crooked purse-masters at ease o' heart."

Cravendy Hound grows pale, not sure if she should be more concerned about the lalafell adventurers or the strange man. She rubs at her temples as a headache builds.

Cravendy Hound - Fear finally takes hold of the less brave lalafell, who’s sent scrambling away back north and away from these rocky bluffs. Now alone, the other lalafell takes a step back, feeling unnerved. “If that’s so, could you lead us to a body? Our employer was very clear that if the target could not be taken in alive, he wanted proof that they were taken care of.”

Cravendy Hound - “Specifically, and this was the lord’s very words...’Her stupid red bandanna, if not her head.” The lalafell calls out. Cravs looks up to Dornn and shakes her head no. What now?

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn retracted the immense limb back to the swell of his waist, planting his fingers sternly atop it. Maintaining the glare from afar, a guttural growl began to underline his tongue, as the swell overhead grew far more ripe with levin; fit to properly burst. "Those bartering with the Forest's ways must pay the price--you may see the body, most certainly." His voice gradually gained in echo, until the bellow began to ricochet against every nook and rocky cranny. "If you have a mind to offer up >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > your own flesh. An eye for an eye, a due price wagered in blood and bone. Yet, with your companion now perished..." His right paw rose aloft once more, deliberating over the matter with a cup of his chin. "There'd be none left to report to your masters. Provided he, too, has not perished. 'Tis a grave, grave death sentence to wander the Forest alone... And as it stands..." His glare refocused on the gallant Lalafell, his shoulders noticeably squaring. "You are all... Alone."

Cravendy Hound - Upon being outright threatened with death, the lalafell’s courage begins to waver. One step back multiplies into many, though they keep their front facing Dornn. “A-ah, I never quite understood, er, Gridanian customs? I see! W-well, thank you kindly for your aid. It would seem this corner of the woods hides many secrets, a-and it would be foolish to go searching for them alone.

Cravendy Hound - Once they’ve backed up as far as they can go, they bow, and then quickly duck behind a rocky turn to search for their companion.

Cravendy Hound lets out a breath, but the tension doesn’t leave her shoulders. She still has her gun trained on Dornn’s form, and with the other two down, has the freedom to speak once more. “...What game are ye playin’.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn gave a most curt nod to the departing Lalafell, the strength of his voice unwavering ever still on. "Report to your master that your villain is long since perished, as ye claim for it to have strolled through these woods. Of that, ye can be certain as far as Gridanian customs go." Once finally he felt the aether of the land up once more--and the Lalafell were truly dispersed--his hues opened again, steering his steely countenance down at the lass afore him. A quizzical expression formed >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > upon his lips, yet his feet knew little rest; with a light prance, he took abandon of the rock below him, effortlessly finding ground anew. "You place your judgement into the barrel of your... Firearm? -That- quick to hand out hollow justice?" Regardless, he strode fearlessly in front of her, planting both of his palms upon his armored waist. "Go on, then. Pull the trigger."

Cravendy Hound steps closer and closer still, until the other end of her flintlock is pressed against the metal of his breastplate. A familiar sensation washes over her. Ansty and impatient and eager to gun down any who even glance at her in the wrong way. That is who she was - but is it who she is now? Cravs narrows her eyes but pulls the gun away, arm falling slack to her side.

Cravendy Hound: “Why did ye ‘elp me back there? And what are ye doin’ to these lands.” The questions fill the space like hot air, more akin to demands.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn stood near motionless as she pinned the cold steel against his armaments, yet the shot never shuffled through the barrel. "You interrupted my training, merlswys." He chose to, as ever, make his mind known, ere he took to her own query... Not that he'd answer any in particular, either. His lips maintained a neutral bend, as his knees bent ever so slightly lower, his hulking frame descending to match her height. "...Unharmed, ja?" He deeply thrummed, allowing his accent to unfetter once more.

Cravendy Hound pouts, sensing that she’s not going to get any clear answers from this guy anytime soon. She glances behind her at the entrance of this opening, double checking that no ones around. “Bah. I’m fine. I...” A simple thank you would suffice, but the words get stuck in her throat. Damnit, and she had been working on this! Cravs shakes her head and tries to convey her feelings in another way. “I would’ve been fine without ye buttin’ in.”

Cravendy Hound internally dies. Wrong words, Cravs! WRONG.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn momentarily stood half-dumbfounded--not certain as to what to make of her wording, it would not take him long to catch on, either way. A gradual half-smirk decorated his lips, as his fist arose, pounding twice-over against his broad breast. "Aye, I am all but certain those villains rightly -cowered- at yer hidin'-behind-the-rock skills." His smirk soon grew into a nostalgic smile, as his chin respectfully in a bow. "Rhotdornn Aerst-born, syn von Hyrtfyr. At yer service, and yer family's."

Cravendy Hound: “Tch! I easily could’ve dealt with them. Just that’d make things worse, so I didn’t.” She trails off. It wasn’t as if she was in the clear after this. Her pursuer’s lord held a grudge that ran dangerously deep, bordering on obsession. He wasn’t the type to give up easily.

Cravendy Hound: “Rhotdornn Aerst-born, syn...Seven ‘ells, what a mouthful.” She pauses. “Hyrtfyr. Now that’s somethin’ I didn’t expect to ‘ear, and out in bloody nowhere of all places.”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye ‘eard the two midgets. I go by Cravendy, but ye can just call me Cravs.” She shakes her head in disbelief. Either he was pretending, or he wasn’t, but that didn’t change the strangeness of the situation. Two Sea Wolves from the Northern empty, far from any body of water, meeting all the way in the boondocks. Seemed more likely to win the lottery.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn ensured a cacophony of steel and plate arose, as his large arms made their perch across his breast. "Oh, aye--ye were positively -burnin'- with eagerness to tear their faces off behind yer rock. Luckily, I averted such a gruesome an' terrible fate on their behalf." His better spirits soon felled, as his brows knitted lower, the grip of his arms tensing tighter. "...So, ye know. Hrmph." An acknowledging nod was issued thereafter, in the company of a subtle, guttural grunt. "Honour to ye, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > Cravendy. Rather strange name, now that I think of it..." Regardless, he would dwell even less upon it. With his right arm so far up, he straightened anew, only to notice a faint, crimson flicker come alive; a soft glow swelling beneath his arm-piece. "...Bah, me apologies. Y'mind if I steal that snuggly rock of yers? Jus' clear some good distance, would'ja."

Cravendy Hound: “I’ll deal with my shite at my own pace, alright? I can’t go around blastin’ new ‘oles when I’m barely keepin’ the ship afloat as it is,” she mutters as she takes a step back from the rock. A hint of a smirk perks up her lips. “Just like ‘ow yer dealin’ with yer own, little Hyrtfyr.”

Cravendy Hound has walked a safe distance away from the rock and waves her hand out to it, as if saying ‘you do you.’

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn felt a thin chuckle bubbling within his chest at that. The eight-fulm ice giant took great humour at being titled little more oft than not, no matter how rare it might've been. "Sterrdyn nurture their inner beast by overcoming trials and tribulations. Aye, 'tis true." He idly mused, his left palm aiding with the sleeve of its twin limb. Without much effort, the straps were removed, bringing to bear his massive, pale brawn; yet upon its flesh, vibrant, crimson runes were soaked with >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > terrestial aether. Curling his palm into a fist proper, he assumed a lower stance, focusing his thought. Rolling his burly neck in unison with his mountainous shoulders, the large Sea Wolf steadied his breath, focusing solely on the aether of his arm... And ere long, a sudden lunge saw him spring forth, near-pouncing on the unfortunate outcrop. A discharge of vermillion aether soon bore its full brunt through his fist, imparting a moderate tremor upon impact... And with an instantaneous >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > crackle, the boulder began to buckle, splinter, and break away--only for smaller shards to fly yonder, scattering to the four winds in a mighty, thunderous blow. As he struck, a rallying cry swept the land... Only to die down as quick as it had come, leaving the man panting rather heavily at its end. "...Guh." He muttered, wiping away at his brows with his still-clad paw. "...Blaeti residual aether welled up too much while I entertained... Yer lil' guests... Oughta be fine now."

Cravendy Hound eyes the runes, trailing the scarlet swoops to where they begin and end. With a residual aethersense, granted to her by an ‘old friend,’ she watches with interest as Dornn swells and releases his energy against the boulder. At one point, she turns away, unable to look directly at its source, but the moment passes.

Cravendy Hound: “Ye look like ye can stand to get some sun. Haven’t seen skin that pale since lookin’ at a newborn’s arse,” she muses, though the joke stands to partially cover up her reaction. “Can’t believe ye were serious when ye said ye were trainin’...”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn maintained a focus on his breathing first and foremost, but to little avail--eventually, his own aether would betray him, prompting his bulk to topple just slightly--his fist pounding against the ground, as he knelt low. "Gah... Still more work t' be done, 'twould seem..." Dissatisfaction ran deep in his words, yet he shook his head to clear out the wayward thoughts. "Eugh... Where I hail from, 'tis one o' our staples. I'm a Captain by title, so ye'll have t' take that complaint up t' me Ma>

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > an' Da fer givin' me fairer skin, aye." Not that it was particularly /too/ fair, given the plentiful peppering of crimson hairs dotting the arms generously. "'Course I blaeti was. What else would I be doin' in this man-forsaken wasteland where only aether an' rocks bloom?"

Cravendy Hound: “I’m not foolish enough to face a Mother’s ire, so I’ll stick to pokin’ at ye,” she crosses her arms with a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe yer a rock enthusiast. If ye were, ye wouldn’t be the first I’ve met.”

Cravendy Hound observes his form, and without thinking she shifts into a pugilist’s crouch. “If ye shift yer back leg just an ilm back, like this, it might ‘elp yer balance. Then ye can channel aether a bit more efficiently, if ye catch my drift.” She freezes, and quickly goes back to standing around, though it’s clear she’s a little rattled. “If yer lookin’ for tips.”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn did, for a rare wonder, drop his staunch, stoic posture, as she hit the nail on the head. Bellowing out not a storm of arcane, but a raucous laughter, he finally wobbled back onto his feet, turning about to face her--palms finding solace once more upon his hipbones. "Aye, first bloody Sage I've encountered in this laents!" He knew Hell--and then he knew a Mother scorned. It virtually saw his own hairs stand on end. "Aye, a fellow fisticuffer...?" He observed her form with keen interest, >

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn > craning his noggin with a gentile tilt as he picked up her stance--only to blink in confusion as she withdrew so swiftly. "When I aerst soaked 'pon these shores, I took a muchly similar path. Alas, now once more... I stand on the ol' precipice o' decidin' which path t' take--this time, in the Hyrthymlian art o' runic combat."

Cravendy Hound: “Ye could say that. More akin to dirty fightin’...I didn’t go to no school to learn ‘ow to punch.” Her jaw clenches as she recalls the unfortunate path she took to learn such a skill. But this seemed a good way to repay the favor, and so, Cravs relents. She shifts back into that familiar stance, fists at the ready and eyes wide open. It feels like putting on a second skin.

Cravendy Hound: “If yer trainin’, why not I give ye a live lesson?”

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn contemplated the offer in tandem with planting his gauntlet back on--fortunately, the runes glow began to dissipate dramatically, at the release of potent, forceful aether. Humming within his throat as he wagered the options, he idly began to muse out a retort. "Mm... A scrappy fighter, then. Not too shabby..." He wagered, glancing up at her in suit. "While I can't share muchly o' our traditional technique with the outside world, I would 'ardly mind seein what ye got in store."

Cravendy Hound snorts. “Couldn’t give two shites about what’s traditional and what’s not. All that matters is who’s standin’ at the end.” And with that said and done, she dashes at him without warning. A battle waits for no one.

Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn would, naturally, welcome the pounce without tapping into his runic aetherial reserves. Assuming a squared, defensive stance, the bearish Wolf spread his digits apart, ready to properly grapple the gal's tackle until dawn finally struck.

(Cravendy Hound) so many questions NO ANSWERS but one day, some answers. To dornn's shenanigans (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Oh trust me it'll just be (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) More questions (Cravendy Hound) we're both holding like, mysteries about our characters like playing cards )) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Naturally, that's the fun of it all~ (Cravendy Hound) and I am awful at poker )) (Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn) Excellent~

[izakaya-jinh]

TWICE LOST, TWICE RETURNED

PROMPT 7: REVENANT - a person who has returned, especially supposedly from the dead Word Count: 1242 | MASTERLIST “In all of history, there are but few who have returned from a misadventure in the aetherial sea possessed of mind and body both. To have done so twice beggareth belief.”

As Elwyn stood where the aetherial lamp glowed brightest, she called to the others and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for them to make their way towards her. If in fact, Emet-Selch could return their friend as promised, she did not wish to waste another moment idly.

Trudging towards her with his characteristically leisurely stride, the Ascian seemed to express little more than a passing interest in the world around him. After the briefest of glances at their surroundings, he faced Elwyn.

“Yes, this place should serve well enough.” Frowning at her, he waved his hand as if to shoo her away. “Might I have a little space? I need to concentrate.”

“An Ascian and a Garlean to boot, asking politely?” Elwyn let her jaw slacken with mock surprise, to which the Ascian rolled his eyes. “I suppose miracles do happen. Fine. Have all the space you need.”

“Thank. You.” Without a hint of sincerity, and instead carrying a clear note of disdain in his voice, Emet-Selch pointedly dragged the words out as Elwyn walked past him to join the others a short distance away. Satisfied that they were far enough not to interfere with his thoughts, he stepped forward to where the aetherial lamp had been set.

As he seemed to study the air before him, he pondered aloud, “Now then…what color was her soul again?”

Closing his eyes, the Ascian reached out and dipped his hand into the invisible currents of the aetherial sea. As he did, a confluence of aether revealed itself in the form of a shimmering array of dancing lights. Elwyn was suddenly reminded of a similar scene that had once played out beneath the boughs of another great forest when the Padjals had spent their combined efforts to return her friend. Yet in the present, a single Ascian—their greatest foe—stood poised to do the very same.

“Ah… There you are.” Emet-Selch remarked coolly as his gaze settled upon something the others could not see. With a snap of his fingers, the shimmering lights began to coalesce into a singularly blinding radiance that slowly gave form to limbs, then face, then body, as their missing comrade reappeared to them.

“He—He’s done it! He’s brought her back!” Runar exclaimed in awe.

Elwyn sucked in a breath through her teeth. What had taken the work of three Padjal, the Elementals, and Y’shtola’s very own sister, had just been done by one man. An exceedingly obnoxious man, at that. No doubt he would remind them of his good deed for countless days to come as he endeavored to chip away at the walls of distrust between them. Still, she could not deny his capabilities. Without the Ascian’s aid, there was little doubt in Elwyn’s mind that they might never have seen their friend return.

As Y’shtola’s figure hovered in the air before them, Emet-Selch snapped his fingers once more, upon which her naked form suddenly appeared clothed in her familiar black attire. Even an Ascian, it would seem, might give some consideration to modesty. Elwyn snorted at the thought that such worldly matters would cross the mind of the mighty Emet-Selch.

Their friend floated gently towards the ground, until whichever forces kept her aloft released their hold and she collapsed upon the leafy carpet of the forest floor. As the group rushed forward, Thancred was the first to kneel at her side, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Y’shtola, are you all right?”

A sound between a breath and a groan escaped Y’shtola’s lips as she stirred. Pushing herself upright, her sightless eyes glanced about as a look of bewilderment twisted her face.

“Yes… Though I cannot imagine how. What happened?”

To this, Urianger offered, “Thou didst invoke the power of Flow, which thence did usher thy soul unto the Lifestream.”

Y’shtola looked down as the memories seemed to return.

“I wanted to save the antidote, and after that…” A chuckle burst forth as realization crossed her face. “I did something exceedingly reckless. For which you will just have to forgive me.”

Elwyn shrugged her shoulders as she smiled helplessly at the sorceress. “That’s the second time you’ve given us a scare like that. Perhaps you’ll swear to us there isn’t a third?”

Before Y’shtola could reply, a flash of fur bolted past, and in an instant Runar had swept her into his arms with unrestrained joy.

“Master Matoya! Oh, thank the heavens you’re all right!” The Ronso bounced her in his arms as he shakily continued through his tears, “I had nearly given up hope.”

Uncertain at first how to respond, Y’shtola quickly composed herself and looked at him kindly. “Please, Runar, dry your tears. What would the others think if they saw you like this? Come now—did you really think I would go gently into that dark night with so much left undone? So many mysteries left unsolved?”

As Runar looked at her with uncertainty in his eyes, she smiled and nodded reassuringly. A shaky breath of relief escaped him, and though there was a hint of reluctance, he gently set her down on her feet.

The sound of a throat being cleared suddenly interrupted the touching moment, turning several heads as they looked to the source of the noise.

“Ahem. Is there aught you wish to say to me? A word of thanks, perhaps?” Emet-Selch crossed his arms and looked at the group expectantly.

I knew it, Elwyn thought to herself. Before she could come up with a suitably biting reply, however, another voice cut her off.

Gesturing at Emet-Selch, Urianger drew Y’shtola’s attention to her savior. “Emet-Selch, the Ascian of whom I spoke. ‘Twas he who plucked thee from the Lifestream.”

“I see.” It was clear at once that Y’shtola had mixed feelings about the matter as her brows knit together while studying at the Ascian. “Thank you. Differences notwithstanding, you saved my life, and for that I am grateful.”

Emet-Selch shrugged as if the ‘differences’ she spoke of were of little concern to him.

“Just take the thanks since you asked for it,” Elwyn muttered, though not loudly enough for him to hear. If not for his assistance rescuing Y’shtola, she would have been glad to see him gone. He was tolerable when silent, but nearly every time he opened his mouth, she wanted nothing more than to stuff it with a handful of clay.

Still, there were more pressing concerns than her disdain for the Ascian, as Y’shtola quickly reminded them.

“…Let us turn our attention to more important matters, such as the Qitana Ravel. You had better not have explored its depths without me.” The sorceress gave Elwyn a wry smile.

Elwyn grinned and threw her hands up in mock despair. “I wouldn’t have known where to start. But now that you’ve returned, perhaps you can lead us, Master Matoya.”

Y’shtola raised an eyebrow at hearing Elwyn call her by that name, then covered her mouth as she stifled a chuckle.

Seeing them both exchanging grins, Thancred turned to Y’shtola. “Well. Almet and the others should be pleased to see you in such uncharacteristically high spirits. Let us return to Fanow, then, and discuss the coming expedition.”

With that, the party set off to reconvene with their waiting comrades, as a motionless Emet-Selch studied their retreating figures. A muttered phrase might have escaped the Ascian’s lips, but when Elwyn turned back to look, he was no longer there.

-

@seaswolchallenge​

[onwesterlywinds]

Noble Gold and Silk

Part of my Godhands series.

Features Madelaine Lachance, a character from @llymlaenscompass.

"It's good to see you," said Élodie. The girl had brought flowers - an array of Rhalgr's gold - and as Sigrid accepted them, she lifted them to her face to take in their scent: wild, fresh, shaped in the terrain and breezes of the Peaks.

"So kind of you," she said, and meant it. Yet for all the clutter in the house, she could think of no vase in which to place them; instead, she held them upon her lap and resolved to find a worthy carrier at the market. "And I appreciate your coming."

"You're truly leaving Ala Mhigo, then?"

Sigrid had found her resolve a week ago, and the truth of it had yet to fully sunk in. She had made few preparations for the house - her linens sat unwashed, the pantry remained full, and her parents' relics sat untouched in the loft - with the result that the place looked much as it had when her father had still been alive. Sigrid had wondered for a time if the ghosts of the past would abate if she were to live under another roof, and she had gone so far as to find lodgings in an inn to put the theory to the proof. Yet her dreams had only grown worse. Better to imagine her father's curses and bellows from the basement forge than the whisper of an Undercity lord stirring her from her dreams.

"I must, Élodie." The words pained her, but they carried with them the promise of liberation. She could not stave off what she knew she must do because it would hurt.

"Who else knows? Ashley, I assume, but-"

"You're the first I've told. I meant to send word to Marco later today."

Élodie tucked a strand of her dark hair, so very much like Sigrid's own, behind her ear with a shy smile. "...I'm honored," she said at long last. She carried herself differently in private, with a youthful sort of slouch. Sigrid had once been much the same: accustomed to stooping through Undercity passages, or else lowering herself for the shorter men in her vicinity. Hopefully Élodie, too, would grow out of such habits; Sigrid's heart clenched with the knowledge that she would not be around to see for herself.

A silence drew out between them, and Élodie did not sit. She stared around at the crates stuffed with tomes and the faded rug and everywhere except at her, and her pale eyes had begun to fill with tears.

"What is it?" Sigrid asked her gently.

"Was it not enough?" Élodie blurted out. "Was it all for nothing?! After so long, why do you have to-"

"Because, Élodie," she replied, as firmly as she could muster, "there is a world far beyond Ala Mhigo that I could not even have hoped to conceive of as a servant. My mother was a learned, well-traveled woman; I have always sought to follow her example in that regard. I've gathered excerpts from her diary - records of the places she loved best, and others she never saw." Places with names like Voor Sian Siran and the Sea of Spires. "I wish to see them as well, before I am too old and too afraid to take the chance."

"It doesn't have to do with-"

Sigrid shook her head, a gesture sufficient to cut off the remainder of Élodie's sentence. "If it has to do with anyone in the city, it's Theodoric. Though I suppose I should thank him. He was as good a reason as any to go into retirement."

Élodie offered up a smile, though the expression did not reach her reddening eyes.

"Come here." Sigrid took up the flowers from her lap as she stood, and opened her arms; Élodie threw her own around her, and her lanky frame shook from unshed sobs. "I'll have to write to someone of my adventures, won't I? Marco's whereabouts change by the bell and Ashley hardly ever responds, so it'll have to be you."

"I want to hear from you every week."

"You know I won't be able to promise that." She hesitated, still holding the young woman close. It was perhaps the warmest embrace she could recall in her recent memory, at least since her stint in the Undercity. "...I had hoped to leave the house to you."

Élodie did not break the contact, yet the whole of her body stiffened. "I know what you mean to do."

"Élo-"

"It isn't going to work. I'm embedded now - living in the Undercity full-time."

"Élodie, please."

"I'm making my living, for the first time in my life, and I love it."

Sigrid held the girl at arm's length, staring her straight in the eye for a time before she spoke again. "I, too, loved the Undercity when I was a girl. Even when I was your age. I hungered for it - for its thrills, its dangers, and the things it could show me about myself. But it steeps you in things that no woman as compassionate as you should ever have to endure." Élodie made a noise that might have been a cough, but Sigrid resolved to maintain her contact. "Whatever the Undercity offers, it comes at the cost of a life full of bitterness. It is too much for any one person to change alone, or even to try. I... I meant to step away from it all, even my mother's sigils, when I found Brynhilde. I say this knowing that I would never seek to order you onto any given path, but I hope that you will listen and heed me."

"I am listening," said Élodie. "I listen, and I will remember. But I will not accept this house."

Sigrid's heart sank.

"Leave it to Ashley," Élodie continued. "Or Marco. Or even the both of them. They'll appreciate it, and they'll put it to good use."

Leave it to Ashley. For all her love for Brynhilde, the idea of giving her late partner's son a house to replace the one her death had taken away had not occurred to her. The suggestion settled somewhere deep in her gut, along with all of her suspicions that she was now giving up the last of her father's hopes for her - and she nodded her agreement.

The captain shuffled across the Merlose's deck, uneasy despite their mooring. Madelaine Lachance could hear her steps all the way from the bow. The woman's stealth had been legendary only a few moons ago, to the extent that many wondered if she could teleport throughout the ship at will for the purpose of delivering rebukes; yet her fall had taken much and more, including her mobility, and her full recovery was yet an uncertain thing.

Madelaine breathed out a little sigh but turned to greet her superior nonetheless. "So much for staying in bed."

"I ran out of water and didn't want to trouble you." Sure enough, as the captain approached unsteadily toward Madelaine's vantage in her favorite silk dressing gown, she held a full glass between her bony brown hands. "Lovely morning."

And it was at that, for nothing on Hydaelyn could compare to a sunrise in the Diadem. The region had an atmosphere of its own, as unpredictable as any sea; the aether all above and around them offered different marvels with each waking and with every turn of the head. That morning, the day dawned in a burst of heavy pinks and violets, like the bloom of some all-encompassing flower.

It was only the two of them aboard the Merlose, at least for now. The crew had been small from the first, and comprised entirely of women - less through strict doctrine like the Sanguine Sirens, and more through a string of pleasant coincidences. The other crew members had all departed within the past fortnight, however, to make their preparations for other ventures - leaving only a hold full of plunder, the captain, and Madelaine in the unexpected position of being first mate without any inclination of how long she herself was to remain aboard.

"Where to from here?" Madelaine asked. "Ala Mhigo?"

The captain tilted her head, as if to listen to the wind, but she shook her head. "Not yet."

And for a time, that was all she said as they watched the aetherial sunrise and sipped at their respective drinks. Madelaine was content to stand in silence, a buffer to the northerly winds as the captain's silvered hair whipped across her shoulders.

"Thank you," said the captain at last. "For accommodating all of my dallying. And I hope you know you're under no obligation to follow me to Ala Mhigo."

Madelaine shrugged. "Someone has to help you bring the Merlose into port."

"Perhaps so," the captain replied dryly, as if unconvinced. "A note of sentimentality, then: of all the regrets I've carried throughout my life, perhaps the heaviest of them all is that I often did not express thanks to those I loved before the chance to do so was long past."

"That is sentimental."

"Blame it on this beautiful sunrise. Now, when was the last time you dropped a line to that ranger of yours?"

Madelaine whirled around to the captain in time to see a lock of hair obscure a very self-satisfied smirk playing across her Highlander features. "Don't you try and turn this back onto me."

"I'm quite serious."

Madelaine rolled her eyes. "I imagine now that Ala Mhigo's been freed, he'll be returning at the rearguard." Timing had never been among Sairsel Arroway's virtues. "What about you? Who's waiting for you back in the capital?"

"No one anymore." Somehow, it was the definitiveness with which the captain spoke that struck Madelaine, more so than the bitter reality she conveyed. "Which means that while I may consider paying a visit to your good friend the Grand Steward, I'm in no hurry to return."

If the stories were true, Ashelia Riot had led her force against the Garlean viceroy himself. Perhaps that tenacity would be enough for her to handle whatever business the captain had with her.

"I'll be here until you're ready," Madelaine promised, and found herself meaning it. "But we'll be going nowhere until you park your arse back into bed."

Again the captain scoffed, though she began her slow retreat back to her cabin. "Oh, very well. Boss me around all you'd like, while it's just the two of us; I imagine you've earned it."

Madelaine fired up the Merlose's propellers and charted their course through the resplendent color before them, and only much later did it occur to her that the captain had expressed her love in no uncertain terms.

[captainkurosolaire]

Lord Shiro Elune

Basics

FULL NAME: Shiro Elune COMMON NAME: Shiro, Lord, Duke NICKNAME(S)/ALIAS(ES):  ‘King’(White Chess Piece), Man in the White Suit

AGE: 38 BIRTHDAY: 13th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon APPEARS HOW OLD: 28

RACE: Keeper of the Moon NATIONALITY: Coerthas Highlands - Ishgard, Holy Sees

GENDER: Male SEXUALITY: Straight RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In a Relationship

Physical

HAIR: Pure White EYES: Piercing Ice Blue

SKIN: Midnight onyx tinted skin. HEIGHT:  6 fulms BUILD: Athletically Fit

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Unique white markings that blend into his facial hair of two lines that come forward towards his eyes, that contrast with his black-lines the combinations of these are the proof of his succession in the Ishgardian noble bloodline catching his resemblance of his late Father, Silv’a Elune.  Who had to earn his title from years of contribution as a fierce destructive force as a Black Mage who mastered and manipulated the aspect of Ice during the Dragonsong War and rescued several Elezen. COMMON ACCESSORIES / APPAREL: Elegant and extravagant jewelry of the finest Goldsmiths among Ishgard but doesn’t often wear them too regularly unless making appearances. His uniforms are all pristine and tailored to the highest of qualities from his servants and also from the best apparel shop that Ishgard has to offer when it comes to weaving. He is nothing but classy constantly. He also supports his color scheme of pure white matching his groomed hairstyle which is often cleanly combed and conditioned. It’s rare for him to allow a single ounce of grime or dirt to even hit him even in battle. He often has holstered a single rapier of magnificence worth that was named after his Mother and Half-Sister, called, Mol’usa. Forged and blessed with enchantments to restrict any of the Five Senses when stricken.

Personal

PROFESSION: Ishgardian Duke, Noble Lord, Ex-Pirate Captain of the Seas and Sky, Planner. HOBBIES: Training, Painter, Writer, Researcher TRAINING: Noble Fighting Style, Beholder, Various Magic Training.

ALLEGIANCE(S): Goldbrand, Ishgard, Twin Adders, Shadow Lurkers, House of Elune (Own Knights). RANK(S): Lord AFFILIATION(S): Only if you’re not completely useless.

LANGUAGE(S): Eorzean, Pirate, Dragon Speak, Xaelic SOCIAL STATUS: Highborn FINANCIAL STATUS: Extremely wealthy and rising. CRIMINAL STATUS: No recorded crimes been found by any city-state not even a blimp of history. He though in secretly has led a pirate crew before and did vile things but always under an alias and disguised always using his intelligence to stay ahead. EDUCATIONAL STATUS: Tremendously educated in the History of the Holy Sees, Dragonsong War, rather familiar with Xaela tribes and is fascinated by them. He’s fascinated on a world level acquiring notes and details through text-smarts. But never through actual experiences to often. He also has a connection with the Dragonkin in Dravanian Forelands and their own history of ancients.

TITLE(S): ‘Ass’, Captain of the White Draco’s. White Wolf, White Moon, Lord, Duke.

RESIDENCE: Ishgard, Apartments, Diamond Sky (Sky/Sea shifting Ship). BIRTHPLACE: Ishgard

RELIGION: Former Cultist of the Primal Shiva, Of the Harriers. PATRON DEITY: Halone, Star-watcher so all constellations are admired and revered. SPIRITUAL BELIEFS: We guide ourselves, If we cannot protect what our beliefs reside in, then we have no purpose holding anything, wealth, title, love. It’s all an oath of the pride of a true Noble.

Relationships

SPOUSE(S): None PARTNER(S): Gylda Rose CHILDREN: None

PARENTS: Silv’a Elune (Father), Xusa Moshantu (Mother) SIBLINGS: Moli Moshantu (Younger Half Sister), Maybe. OTHER RELATIVES: Probably distant relatives scattered but none under Noble heritage besides his Father and himself. Then half-blooded sister, Moli.

ENEMIES/RIVALS: Kuro Solaire, Sea Lurkers, Sea Witch,  The Saint of the Dragon King’s, Orsomyr, Marsu’dumen, Flithy Pirates, Nobles who hang to their title and show no effort to proving their worth as a successor.  Worthless trash.

BEST FRIENDS: Sha Dragonheart

PETS: Hoarius - Fenrir Pup

Attributes

STRENGTH: Below Average AGILITY: Slightly Above Average WILLPOWER: Corruptible, Power-Hungry, But also has a tremendous amount of Pride that leaves him above average or above. INTELLECT: He excels above all else in intelligence at supreme levels thinking hundreds of steps ahead of the curve thinking of everything like an ongoing Ishgardian Chess game. Strategic, He’s a practical prodigy when it comes to plans and detecting the slightest details off. He can disband pirate crews, he can command a small amount of men to defeat legions with precise maneuvering and effectively think of situations and observe the talents of others. He doesn’t come at all close to being like any Keeper of traditional tribal cloth. WISDOM: He has a tremendous ray of knowledge of all forms of culture and often with textbooks alone can recite them from all pages and passages. He knows whenever a situation is grim and can fold or even decide to commit a suicidal move in order to take control of the board, even if it means working with his least likely allies to achieve it, but only after they can be trusted. CHARISMA: Incredibly Aloof, Harsh, Pompous, Prideful, Arrogant, Jealous, Defensive. He hates socializing despite being a Noble but will attend events anyway, since Ishgard is mainly governed by Elezen in-population and the Highest Ranking of Nobles dwell there are Elezen, he’s had no fondness towards many since suffering discrimination was common. But still has found convincing ways to get others to join causes or even recruit people to a Noble cause.

COMBAT SKILL: Daggers, Rapiers, Staffs are basically all he’s trained with wielding and knows how to effectively utilize his combat prowess beyond that is rather lackluster but he’s an avidly quick learner dependent on the teacher. He is a master at Noble fighting style with small weapons. ARTISTIC SKILL: He is on a whole different level with his aetherial ice magic, he can mend and weave and bend Ice to be turned into melding into any shape or design nearly he wants on the fly. Doing incredible feats, he is an artist outside of battling which helps him even more. His brain really is his ultimate weapon. TECHNICAL SKILL: He can think of several alternative ways to battle or swap stances or do situations that will allow him to get an edge decisively to win a drawn out battle. Always predicting his opponents and their flaws and analyzing even if he has to go in disguise or infiltrate. MAGICAL SKILL:  He’s studied in the Void gaining and obtaining Mhachi arts but with a costs, he’s tapped and learned ways to stop, slow or revert Time under the right situation only helping that his Mother was part Astrologian. He can bring out the dark in others if he himself is imbued with enough wickedness and feed it to others with presence. He’s learned forbidden blood magic obtaining the art of Necromancy also while in the Void studies bringing back his former dead crew as Skeletons. He’s able to use a modified version of his natural Ice aspect and evolve it to Diamond Ice after studies and acquiring tears from Shiva while serving in the Harriers. Lastly he can top into Beholder a Dragonkin form that is trained and learned by drinking Dragon Blood, kindred to the Dragoons that ultimately allows him to hit the peak of his abilities but become more savage and rely on instinct more than his cunning intellect. He is a very defensive fighter drawing out others while observing them during contest until notices their flaw and then will capitalize.

—— HABITS —— • Straightening his outfit • Pacing and pondering • Putting his arms behind his back and holding them together.

—— FEARS —— • His short list of loved ones dying and being unable to protect them. • Often doesn’t express it but he’s afraid of the waters despite sailing on them. After he acquired his Mhachi magick, he was cursed to the point if he ever meets shallow water he’ll become powerless and sink to the bottom to drown to death. • Falling in Love and losing them horrifically.

Favorites

COLOR: Pure White SMELL: Expensive Cologne, Azeyma Roses FOOD: Calamari Pizza, Spicy Food DRINK: Wine, Champagne, Water, Frosted-Grape Wine ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE: Wine or Champagne.