#ser ompagne

[lavampira]

d'alia liveq + favorites

drink: coffee with cinnamon

comfort meal: tortilla soup

dessert: fruit tarts

travel snack: salmon jerky

book: murder mysteries, cheesy bodice-ripper romances, arcanima nonfiction

music: wood instruments

animal: coeurls

flower: sunflowers

color: rust red

scent: cedarwood

soap: lavender + honey

weapon: greatsword

clothing item: thighboots

weather: warm and sunny

time of day: dawn

place: the forgotten knight

mount: sol (her chocobo), garlond gl-ii

holiday: the rising

gift: caladbolg/ser ompagne's sword

[queenofnohr]

Odeline Backstory

CW for sexual abuse towards a minor

Odeline's parents were of the Qerel tribe, exiled for becoming "Taken," and wandered the land for a place they could continue their nomadic tradition, while also avoiding the Garlean Empire. They thus found themselves on the plains of Coerthas, alongside others such as Sidurgu's family...... They were, of course, slaughtered by Ishgardians believing them to be Dravanian, though Ser Ompagne saved Sid and Odeline. Sidurgu, then 11, decided to become Ompagne's disciple. Odeline, only 8, declined the knight's invitation, fearful of what walking the path of a Dark Knight might mean (also. she was 8. what the fuck.)

Ompagne found an orphanage on the outskirts of Coerthas that would take her in despite being Au Ra, though little did he know that her hell started then. Humiliated daily, forced to do hard manual labor, and neglected, this was Odeline's life at the orphanage. Many a time did she seek to run away, only to find herself unsuited to surviving the elements by her lonesome, only to return and be punished horrifically for her actions.

This changed one day when Odeline was 14, when a well off Ishgardian priest sought to adopt her. She was transported from a life of hardship and humiliation to a cushy life in Foundation. He veils her to protect her from unwanted eyes in Ishgard. Upon his recommendation, she begins to study at Saint Endalim's Scholasticate. Unbeknownst to her, in reality, her "savior" is a pervert with a hardon for "correcting" a "dravanian" to be moral and pure and then taking that "dravanian" to bed with him. As she, unfortunately, soon finds out.

She lives like this for 5 long years, taught that being good and obedient will save her from the pain she suffered in her past, all while praying every night for the Fury to punish her "father" for his transgressions........ and every day he is not punished, starting to believe that this is what she deserves as it is the Fury's apparent will. Until, one day, her "father" is persecuted for being a heretic. He and his wife (yes, that bitch was married - he sent her for schooling also as plausible deniability about his intentions for her) are executed as heretics by First Inquisitor Charibert........ though Odeline does not know this at the time. This accusation seemingly coming out of the blue make her believe that Halone really does have a plan. Her trial - not being blood related to the heretic in question - 1. outs her as an Au Ra to the society at large and 2. is a major ordeal for Ishgardian law because it's kind has never been seen before. It's like. A Whole Thing. It cumulates in a trial by combat with Odeline winning with her prodigious magics (also Hydaelyn's favorite child, warrior of light, etcetc)

However, her schooling at the Scholasticate is put into question as her recommendation was written by a heretic....... and besides, she has no money to continue her schooling. Haumeric, a friend of her "father's" as he knew him as a fellow clergyman, and believing his designation as heretic as well as his execution to be an unjustified act of violence by the malevolent Charibert, takes pity on his "daughter," Odeline, and offers to complete her schooling on his recommendation and his coin. She takes his offer and graduates to become an acolyte.

She showed significant potential as an astrologian in her schooling, and so puts up with Jannequard and practices "heretical" astrology alongside traditional Ishgardian astrology in order to "get in good" with one of House Durendaire, constantly fearing for her own persecution should she be anything less than the perfect church Sister.

Even though the time has long since passed for Ishgardians to slaughter Au Ra indiscriminately, her heritage means that Ishgard kiiiiiiiiiiinda wants her dead, frequently ordering her into dangerous places to "chart the stars" hoping she will not come back.

Charibert also wants to persecute her soooooooooooooooooooo badly. She's "the one that got away." His white whale so to speak.

Anyway basically the tl;dr is:

birth-8 traveling with her parents to find a place where they won't be killed

8-14 living in hell orphanage

14-19 hell existence living a "cushy" life but sexually and emotionally (and sometimes physically, if she acted out) abused by her "father"

19-23 finally able to live a "free" life though she's shackled by the trauma of her past and hellbent on 1. being the goodest good church girl she can be bc surely that will ensure her continued survival and 2. if 1. does not work, getting in the good graces of whatever clergy/noble she can will surely save her in that event

arr start

[mortuarywriting]

📚 🧚‍♀️ Just one or both if you'd like 👉👈

I can do both!! These were super neat to think on!! the second one is absolutely why this gets a read more. I went off the shits. So sorry about that.

📚 how do you come up with the fics you write

Hmmm sometimes it's seeing the right prompt, sometimes its seeing ideas being tossed around and thinking on it, sometimes its taking the canon and seeing how a seemingly small but significant shift would impact it and how that would domino effect! I love playing with worldbuilding sandboxes so much that sometimes the fics themselves fall to the wayside ">>

🧚‍♀️ favorite characters of all time

OUGH this is such a hard one!! How do you choose a favorite child!! I'll scoop from the top and be read for filth for it I think but. Worth it i think. Anyway you get them alphabetically

Auron - Final Fantasy X

This is it. This is your story. It all begins here.

I. boy I am really not immune to Dark Knights in the FF franchise the more I think about it but! Auron has always been such a good character and I associate him so much with a song I LOVE... Auron is just one of my favorite companions, I love the insight he brings and how he was a Guardian for Yuna's Father as well as her. He's also one of Two Nickels I realize I'd have for Dark Knights in Final Fantasy Game who [REDACTED].

Death - Darksiders 2

All who live know my name, all who oppose me shall know Death.

Caaan't find a decent pic of him and I don't really wanna go and redownload the whole game for screenshot purposes yet. Aywho-

Darksiders 2 is all about Death, the oldest of the Nephilim/Horsemen of the Apocalypse proving the innocence of his brother War (seen lower in the list) for the crime of allegedly starting the Apocalypse early. Between this game and the Abomination Vault book preceding any of the games I really appreciate these two, Death being a ridiculously smart but also an apathetic asshole who only cares for a small handful, plays things close to his chest... He's a neat character and I appreciate just how far ahead he seems to plan and the lengths he'll go to make sure it all goes as he wants it to. Metal as hell.

Because War has his I also have to show Death's horse so this is Despair

And this is his Reaper Form

Fray Myste - Final Fantasy XIV

Bastard of the Brume, Fray was taken in by Ser Ompagne and became trained in becoming a Dark Knight with Sidurgu. By the time we meet them Ompagne is long dead, and Fray has just been defeated in a duel.

We find Fray, pick up the Dark Knight Soul crystal from where it had fallen beside him, and he becomes your mentor upon your waking up. You touched something that would hurt yourself and others along the way and BOY HOWDY does he have excellent threats of violence. Will follow you around on your job quests and heal you while you're being a dumb tank. He writes your quest journal entries and is such a sassy bloodthirsty shit

Fray is the other of the Two Nickels I realize I'd have for Dark Knights in Final Fantasy Game who [REDACTED].

Jarlaxle Baenre - Forgotten Realms

I am Jarlaxle. I have been everywhere.

Lets start with Jarlaxle was born the third son of the Highest House in Menzoberranzan- a city where the houses are constantly trying to kill the house ahead of them for status and do so to not get caught, their goddess Lolth favoring those who get away with no evidence to damn themselves. To that end there's a firm rule enforced by Lolth- every third son is to be sacrificed to her- two male children are expendable and acceptable but any further are sacrificed after birth.

Jarlaxle's mother, ruler of the highest house and having kept that seat for Ages, went to acquiesce with that upon Jarlaxle's birth.

Lolth told her no. Jarlaxle was to live, he was too interesting.

He has since made this an everyone else problem. Man has connections in the underdark and surface, everything he wears is in some form enchanted, he's proficient with just about everything, and he is so fascinated with various things and just wants to see what happens next and how it can help him get ahead. I love him. I wanna study him under a microscope. Every character that's been in a campaign he's turned up in has vibe checked him and decided they want out of the room right now immediately. Most notably my dude who was sometimes part moose said "I'd like to leave, actually"

Urick - Drakengard 2

A masked man who lives a life haunted by the curse of death. Three years ago, after a tragic incident, he made a pact with the Reaper, although the price he paid for this pact is unknown. At first glance he appears to be a carefree, lively character who could never bear a grudge. However, on rare occasions, his jovial facade can't quite conceal the truth...

To preface the significance of this-

A Pact, also known as a Contract (契約 Keiyaku?) in the Japanese version, is a contract system in the world of Drakengard between a human (or other humanoid race) and a beast. By merging their souls together, the human gains supernatural powers, and both participants gain a second chance in life should either or both be close to death. The human must pay some price for the pact, and if one should be fatally injured, it means death for both unless the pact is broken. Beings who have formed a pact with each other are referred to as "pact-partners".

Urik's pact is his mortality. Straight up he does not have a heart in his chest anymore. He's just a generally chill guy and while I haven't gone through Drakengard 2 in years (thanks playstation for 0 drakengard or drakengard 2 rep) I remember him fondly. I forgot how much I loved him and that his wiki trivia describes him as "Urick is good at playing dead." The game quote they chose for him is "Just because you can't make any friends, doesn't mean you should take it out on the rest of us" which is what he says as he's about to save your character's life.

plus lookit this smile

War - Darksiders

You can look me in the eye when I kill you.

Darksiders is a game about oops, the apocalypse started on earth! Heaven and Hell start duking it out in the streets and humanity suffers for it. Humans die out, earth is in ruins, and all of it is conveniently laid at the feet of War - youngest of the Four Horsemen who has gotten in trouble for fighting with humanity before (please see left arm being fuckoff huge gauntlet. That's a prosthetic. Death cut his arm off for that bullshit in the comics).

Now, War is a man of his word and high code of honor- he said he'd leave humans be and he did. He's been framed and the Council- those in charge of keeping the balance and the bosses of the Horsemen- gives him a shot to prove his innocence and find the actual culprits with a Watcher keeping tabs and reporting back.

This is his horse, Ruin

This is his Chaos Form

War is voiced by Liam O'Brian and the Watcher is voiced by Mark Hamill. so that's fun. Samael in game could also get it but that does not a fav make.

Also fun lore fact: all the horsemen's horses are the same species. The horse just reflects the rider once they've bonded. Fun magic shit.

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 13 Nov

I put myself to bed early and then went out into the sun, which as it turns out is a very effective treatment for sleepy bitch disease, as I was able to make up just a bunch of ground today. Also, can you believe I was going to cut this encounter? It literally was not in my outline. Foolishness beyond foolishness.

Previously: Week One, Week Two Previously: 11 Nov, 12 Nov

She felt little better by morning, with her shattered crystal returned to its keeping beside her heart. That was proof enough of the events of the night before, she supposed. With a clearer head, she laid atop the bedcovers, closed her eyes, and reached out—the way Fray had taught her, when first they had communed.

He did not answer, no voice rising to greet her above the sea of whispers. But … she felt … something. A presence, beyond her reach, too weak to come to her; and felt herself, too weak to go to it.

“I’ll find you,” she promised, and when she sat up she was not sure whether she felt more or less alone.

Then she bathed and dressed, and found Myste waiting for her in the Forgotten Knight.

“So,” he said. “You really came.” There was gladness in his eyes. In the light, their color was familiar, and she could see his hair was not blonde as she had supposed, but silvery, hanging like a banner down his back. “I’m trying to get better about meeting people where I promise to,” she said with a wry smile. “Have you thought about where we can find people to help?” Myste asked. “The Brume isn’t far. Do you know it?” He looked up at her, then glanced away. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s begin there.”

He offered her his hand, and she took it, leading him down the back stairway and out into the crisp light of day. Even in summer, Ishgard never grew warm, though the cold was not the only reason she brought her hood up.

“Do you know anyone here?” Myste asked her as they walked the city wall. In the belly of the Brume, she watched the laborers repairing the stone masonry and the scaffolding. The foreman wore livery of gray, the rook-and-halberds of House Dzemael embroidered over his back, and she wasn’t sure whether to be cynical about the fact that the High Houses still held control even here, or simply grateful that they’d taken an interest at all. “Sort of. I knew people who came from here—Hilda, of course, and a few students at the Scholisticate, and Fray. Some of the soldiers who served beside me—not the Temple Knights, just the common infantry. But … they don’t love me here like they do in the Pillars. They’ve seen too many sons die to believe in heroes.” Not that she hadn’t lost the High Houses their sons too. “Fray,” he echoed, leading her through the uneven streets and the stilted homes of the Brume. Shasi let him pull her along by the hand, watching the faces of all those who turned to watch them pass. She saw small sorrows written on many, and sometimes recognition—but only when they looked at her. Never when they were watching Myste. “Who’s that?” Shasi pursed her lips, watching the wind stir Myste’s hair. It shone in the sunlight, brilliant as a blade’s edge. Who was Fray? It seemed far too complex to describe their relationship, and she knew little enough to say about his personal life. But there was a simple answer she could give, so she did. “Fray is a friend.”

“Is he happy?” “No,” Shasi said. “And when he was, it was never for long.” “Where is he? Maybe we can help him.” Myste paused, turning back to look up at her. Shasi closed her eyes on that plaintive face. “This is going to sound insane,” she said. “You may even want to go to the Inquisition about it, but please don’t. Fray and I are traveling companions.” “Why would I tell the Inquisition about that?” Myste asked. “Because … Fray died.” “Oh,” Myste said, face falling. “I don’t know that I can help the dead.” “The thing is … I can still hear his voice—or I could. Fray owned the soul crystal I carry, and it has his memories. I can still feel his presence, a little. But ever since last night, he hasn’t spoken to me.” “I’m sorry,” Myste said, his shoulders hunching as though in anticipation of some reprisal. “I’m not angry,” Shasi said. “I’m just ...” “Worried?” “Yes,” she said. “I’m worried.” Myste nodded, very solemnly. “What if … I were to help Fray? Would that make you feel better?” She felt something ease in her chest, though a part of her remained tense, unsure—of Myste’s intentions? His ability? Even Shasi couldn’t quite make sense of the feeling. “I think so,” she said. “Then … please ask him to forgive me. And think of someone important to him he’d like to speak to again. Do you know a place he would have liked?” Shasi shook her head. “Nowhere nearby. He said he liked to travel, but I’m not sure ...” If that was him or me. The line was so blurry when she looked back on their journey together. “I know where he told me to bury him, but that’s all.” “Then just go somewhere you feel calm,” Myste offered.

That was a tall order in Ishgard, but Shasi resolved to try. She could not focus enough for true communion and move at the same time, but allowed her thoughts to wander along with her feet, bearing her away from the sounds of construction in the Brume, descending into the charred ruins of row houses. She remembered when they had burned—how the Holy See had held hostage the families fleeing the fires. And something compelled her to enter just the same, to walk among the burned-out husks, every one a life. Every one a family, disrupted by her actions. She could still smell the smoke. She could still taste the fear in the air.

She entered one of them, its skeleton frame burnt to black, but she could see the shape of the house, the bedrooms on its second floor. Shasi touched the scorched wallpaper, picking her way carefully through the remnants that littered the floor. Anything still intact had been looted long before; anything that would burn had been consumed—either by the first fire, or burned for warmth sometime after that. Something about the sight made her sad—not guilty, as perhaps she had felt a moment before, merely sad. But still, too, and she let a deep breath fill her lungs and leave her.

“This is the place,” she said, and when she turned back to look at Myste, she saw a third figure coming in through the door frame. Like her young companion, he was an Elezen, but there the resemblance ended—the visitor was aged, his hair gone hoary, his face scarred by a life of battle. He wore the armor for it too, black as the beams around them. His eyes met Shasi’s. “What are you doing in my house?” he asked. “Sorry,” she began, “I was only looking for a place to meditate.” “I know that sword,” he said, his gaze fixed upon the handle of the greatsword that rose above her shoulder. The moment he said it, she saw he bore one of his own—more ornate, perhaps, but she knew him then for another dark knight. “That’s Fray’s sword.” “Fray was my mentor,” Shasi said. “Is, still, I suppose.” “As I was his,” said the knight. “Ser Ompagne.” “Shasi Souleater,” she replied. That felt right. “I didn’t think we called ourselves ‘Ser.’” “A relic of my old life,” he said. “I would invite you to sit, but ...” he gestured helplessly to the ruin around him. “You can’t still live here,” Shasi mused. Ompagne just looked at her. “I don’t,” he said. “But I did, when Fray was a boy.” “So that’s why I came here,” Shasi said. Ompagne seemed unfazed by this, merely waiting for her to continue. “He hasn’t told me much about you, I’m afraid. Or much at all about his old life.” That made him laugh, a full-throated chuckle that set her slightly more at ease. “No, he always played things close to his chest. Not half so moody as Sidurgu, though.” “Sidurgu,” she echoed. “‘Sid?’” “Aye, the very same. He sees me in you, did you know that?” “Fray?” she asked, pausing to reflect the way she always did after she spoke his name. But he didn’t answer—nor had she really expected him to. “Why?”

“Because I was a hero once, too.” Shasi blinked at him. He smiled, a touch wryly, and shook his head. “I never saved Eorzea, I suppose, but I was hero enough for Ishgard, and hero enough for the Temple Knights. I knew nothing of the darkness then, but I knew how to swing a sword, how to kill Dravanians, how to earn the love and respect of my men. I could have led a charge into the Seventh Hell in the full knowledge that they would follow after. There were times I did exactly that. It was enough to lead us to victory, and victory was enough for them to laud me.” “But?” Shasi asked, gesturing to the blade at his shoulder. “There always is a ‘but,’ isn’t there,” he said, his smile growing grim. “But they never counted the cost when they handed me my accolades—and my reinforcements. For every man I lost, there were a dozen who would have gladly died for Ompagne the hero, for their dreams of glory. And they did, green boys spilling red blood on white snow.” Shasi looked away, only nodding once. “There were so many of them, and one day I realized I couldn’t remember … I couldn’t remember the first one’s name, couldn’t call to memory his face. He had died for me, and I had forgotten. That was the day I left the Temple Knights.” Shasi cast her mind back, remembering the faces of her squadmates. She had always counted them as the first, but part of her wondered if there wasn’t another answer. If she would always be spared Ser Ompagne’s sorrow—because the first to die for her was her mother. That answer, she supposed, depended on whether X’shakkal Halha was her first victim, or the last sacrifice to the Warriors of Light that had disappeared. But she said none of that, settling instead on “I’m sorry.” “So am I,” Ompagne said. “And I was sorry enough then that I swore I would never lose anyone I cared about after that day … because I would never allow myself to grow so attached again.”

Shasi lifted her eyes to the stairway, the steps broken beyond her ability to climb them. “Then how did Fray come to live here?” “Because nothing lasts forever, my girl,” he said with a bitter laugh. “I gave up my shield and relinquished my title, but my sword was my own to keep, and for a time it was enough to punish the wicked, to find—to create—righteousness in a world that seemed to lack all familiarity with the concept. I wanted justice for the boys I’d failed; forgiveness for the blood on my hands. But though I saved lives … death separates us from those we love, but life may do that too. Circumstances conspire to part us from our charges, don’t they.” Shasi plucked at her necklace, listening to the silence after. She thought of the Scions, and wondered how they were getting on without her. Of X’rhun, who had undertaken some journey of his own. Of Minfilia, lingering somewhere beyond both her reach and her grasp. “Yes,” she agreed. “Even so, I wanted to … feel something again, to care for another person even knowing that someday we would say goodbye and never greet one another again. And I wanted to atone for my sins, for the lives I’d lost by my heroics.” Shasi could only nod solemnly at that, cast back into that mode which demanded her resolute silence, her unspoken understanding.

“That’s why I adopted Fray—and Sidurgu. No one should be alone in this world. I thought if I could teach them all I knew, help them learn from my mistakes, they wouldn’t make the same ones. Fray was an eager student, you know.” “He did tell me that,” Shasi nodded. “But this is not a calling one can thrust upon another.” Shasi blinked, remembering something suddenly. “Did you teach him conjury, or was that someone else?” Ompagne laughed. “Not I. A chirurgeon, who I had cause to be well-acquainted with before my retirement and after. Fray studied with him a few months, but he never really put down the books I’d given him. It was no surprise, really, when he told me.” “I think … he was grateful of the choice just the same,” Shasi said. “He made sure I knew I always had one, too.” “Then … I can be proud,” Ompagne told her, reaching out to grasp her shoulder. “Of my legacy. Of Fray’s. Maybe I’ve done enough to be forgiven.”

“You should say goodbye now,” Myste said softly, his whispery voice cutting through the stillness of the ruined house. She had almost forgotten he was there, he had gone so still, so silent. “Ah, there, my lesson demonstrates itself,” Ompagne said, his smile coming more easily. “One last piece of wisdom first. You are, in a sense, my disciple too.” “Of course,” she said, smiling at him as fondly as a grandfather. “You will meet many people in your life. You have already, and will in the future. For all you gain, you will lose in equal measure—for each introduction, a farewell. This is the way of things. You may fear that loss, and mourn it when it comes to pass—and you should. From these feelings the dark knight draws their strength. No sense in avoiding it, my girl; you will not protect yourself even so. And when the parting comes … bear it with the grace and strength I see in you now. Keep the departed in your heart, and you will feel them so close to you, you can feel their breath on your cheek.” “‘Strength is sacrifice,’” she said, echoing the thing that was not quite Fray. “Yes,” Ompagne said, “but what you must know that Fray did not is this: sacrifice is strength. It will make you the greatest of us one day.” “I’m glad to have met you,” Shasi said. “Remain so when I am gone,” Ompagne said.

Myste let out a shuddering little sigh, slumping to his knees, and Shasi moved to stand over him, putting a hand on his back. “Are you alright?” she asked. “I … I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to keep them together for so long.” “Keep them together?” Shasi asked, crouching down beside him. “What do you mean?” Myste lifted his hand to point, and she followed the line of his arm. There, in the center of the room, a pool of inky blackness swirled, glittering lights not quite able to escape its depths. “What … is that?” “That’s the aether from your crystal,” Myste said. “I used it to make Ompagne whole … and maybe Fray, too. It’s yours to reclaim now.” Shasi blinked at him, not fully understanding, but she felt the call of the abyss that had opened before her. She drew her sword, and channeled the aether along the blade in the same way she had learned to bolster herself when she flagged.

It tasted of steel and regret.

“Fray?” she asked. There was no answer, but she could feel him now, even without trying—wary, yes, but grateful too. And … perhaps, a little embarrassed. Shasi couldn’t help but to smile at that. “Was that really someone you knew?” She could feel his certitude, his sense of filial duty, and she nodded to herself. “Fray … still won’t speak to me,” she said, fishing out her crystal. There was still a large portion missing, and she could feel a foreign dismay at the back of her mind. “I thought you promised to give it back?” she said, not harsh but stern. “I did, and so I have,” Myste said. “Forgive me if you feel yourself misled—the portion I used for my power just now … is yours again.” “And the rest?” “The rest is enough to do this … perhaps four more times. Will you still help me?” “I don’t really understand what you did,” Shasi admitted. “That wasn’t really him?”

“It was him,” Myste insisted. “It was him as your friend Fray remembers him. I can give the memories form, I can breathe life into them and return them to those they love.” Shasi felt a shock of cold. “And all you need for this is aether?” she asked, her throat growing tight. A part of her knew what this must be—what any being conjured with hope and aether must be—but it was another part of her that spoke first. “I can get you crystals. Hundreds of them, if that’s what you need. If you can help me.” There were so many people she longed to see again … He looked at her with a sad smile. “I can help you,” he said, “and I will, since you are helping me, but I will not help only you.” She fell to her knees—relieved, exhausted, overwhelmed, and Myste leaned in to embrace her again. “Please,” she said. “Let’s set the world right together.”

[rsenak]

Stormblood | Dark Knight - 7/?

[spinneryesteryear]

It's harder than I thought to stop myself from calling Sid 'my video game husband' in front of my brothers.

[autumnslance]

LynMars’s FFXIV Write 2022 Master Post

Writings completed for this year’s daily challenge. As usual any of my ship-related content is marked with an asterisk (*) to seek or avoid as needed.

The goal this year was to write less than I have in previous years; to allow myself shorter scenes and not push myself on free days. To actually relax, have fun, and not stress about writing “enough”. To make my prose just as long as it needed to be.

Overall, I succeeded in said goals.

Breakdowns and commentary under the cut for those interested!

1. Cross - Two travelers’ journey over time & adventuring together. 2. Bolt - Iyna doing her duty as a rebel versus the Empire. 3. Temper - Midgardsormr keeps a promise to forge a hero. 4. Free Day! 5. Cutting Corners - Dark Autumn after a company officer meeting. 6. Onerous - Thancred & the Immortal Flames, post-Ifrit. 7. Pawn - Emelia obtains passage for her family to Thavnair. 8. Tepid - Zaine realizing he doesn’t belong with the Radiant Host. 9. Yawn - Aeryn escaping the Bloody Banquet through the tunnel. 10. Channel - C’oretta’s thought processes. 11. Free Day! 12. Miss the Boat - Urianger, Moenbryda, and regrets. 13. Confluence - Venat tracing the flow of fate. 14. Attrition - Ser Ompagne has a brief theological discussion. 15. Row - Dark versus a certain baby behemoth. 16. Deiform - Dark, Aeryn, Iyna, & C’oretta in Delubrum Reginae. 17. Novel* - Aeryn, Thancred, & a borrowed book over time. 18. Free Day - Memory* - Aeryn & Thancred discuss his possession. 19. Turn a Blind Eye - Lahabrea contemplates his mistakes. 20. Anon - Ryne learning two opposing definitions of the word. 21. Solution - 2 Azems discuss the plans for the Final Days. 22. Veracity - In a possible future, Iyna ensures history’s truth. 23. Pitch* - Thancred knows how to distract Aeryn when necessary. 24. Vicissitudes - Ascian viewpoints on their stolen mortal bodies. 25. Free Day! 26. Break a Leg - Iyna & C’oretta help the dancers at a recital. 27. Hail - An Estinien PoV of the final fight in the Aitiascope. 28. Vainglory - The Warrior of Light isn’t what Jullus expected. 29. Fuse - Tanzel thinks of ways to handle his stepchild’s temper. 30. Sojourn - A family of travelers, in 1 lifetime & perspective.

Totals: 18,813 words.

A bit more than my 2018 (around 16k), less than my 2019 (21.4K), and way less than 2020 and 2021. I was realistic about my time and energy, asked myself what is the core idea or scene I really want to get across, and any spot-editing was for tightening wording and phrases. I feel like it got harder to keep writing shorter as the month went on and my focus slipped--and I really got into a writing groove!

I could have definitely gone on longer for some of these, and do have other scene ideas and notes in the drafts. But for the 24 hour challenge I tried to keep them short, though they’re each as long as they need to be.

I did mean to put out old WIPs again on free days, but that time/energy factor combined with busy weekends, so I took them off. "Memory" actually came out of "Yawn" and was plinked at over the week before it went up for the 18th.

Only a couple wolcred fics this year; got in a good mix of NPCs and OCs, with Iyna taking a bit more of a POV spotlight in the non-Aeryn-focused stories, though all the girls got at least one. More Ancients and Ascians than I generally go with, though still made sure some favorite Scions got in there. And a bit more of Aeryn's family and backstory, as getting Thavnair finally has put that forefront in my brain.

I was hoping something would spark an idea for an Avengret chapter I feel is "missing" but I may have to resign myself to the fact that chapter doesn't want to be written as I continue revising last year's unexpected longfic. Thankfully this year's prompts were all standalones.

More Breakdowns:

Longest: 17 Novel, 2073. Shortest: 15 Row, 220.

Between 1500 - 2000: 24 Vicissitudes (1522), 29 Fuse (1678) Between 1000 - 1499: 18 Memory (1034) Between 500 - 999: 3 Temper (537), 8 Tepid (500), 10 Channel (586), 12 Miss the Boat (824), 13 Confluence (702), 14 Attrition (683), 20 Anon (839), 21 Solution (532), 22 Veracity (857), 28 Vainglory (864), 30 Sojourn (989) Between 200 - 499: 1 Cross (386), 2 Bolt (299), 5 Cutting Corners (445), 6 Onerous (488), 7 Pawn (300), 9 Yawn (375), 15 Row (220), 16 Deiform (375), 19 Turn a Blind Eye (277), 23 Pitch (481), 26 Break a Leg (462), 27 Hail (485)

General WoL: 1 Cross, 3 Temper, 13 Confluence, 22 Veracity I tend to default to feminine pronouns when writing Generic Default WoL.

WoL Aeryn (as an adult): 6 Onerous, 9 Yawn, 16 Deiform, 17 Novel, 18 Memory, 23 Pitch, 27 Hail, 28 Vainglory, 30 Sojourn

Wolcred: 17 Novel, 18 Memory, 23 Pitch.

Child Aeryn: 7 Pawn, 29 Fuse

Aeryn’s Family: 7 Pawn, 8 Tepid, 29 Fuse, 30 Sojourn

Other OCs: 2 Bolt (Iyna), 5 Cutting Corners (Dark), 10 Channel (C'oretta), 15 Row (Dark & Violet), 16 Deiform (Iyna, Dark, C'oretta, Aeryn), 21 Solution (Pandora), 22 Veracity (Iyna), 26 Break a Leg (Iyna & C'oretta)

Ancients & Ascians: 13 Confluence (Venat), 19 Turn a Blind Eye (Lahabrea), 21 Solution (Venat), 24 Vicissitudes (Lahabrea & Emet-Selch)

Other NPCs: 3 Temper (Midgardsormr), 12 Miss the Boat (Urianger, Moenbryda, Louisoix), 14 Attrition (Ser Ompagne), 20 Anon (Ryne, Ran’jit, Thancred), 27 Hail (Estinien, other Scions)

[ievaxol]

the winner of my giveaway on twt and the fic they requested <3 After the fight with Ser Ompagne Sidurgu is wounded and has to stay at Moghome for a while. Anora stays with him and tends to his wounds. >>LINK HERE<<

[witchofthescions]

Sid's still pretty beat up from that fight with Ser Ompagne, but Myste doesn't wanna sit around and wait. So we're heading to Castrum Oriens to see if anyone there might benefit from his gift.

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

FFXIVWrite2022 - Free entry

Prompt 25: Heresy Characters: The Advocate (much younger) & Ser Ompagne (Sidurgu’s and Fray’s master) Timeline: Before the Calamity, not long after Ser Ompagne became a Dark Knight

"I tire of this farce. - Careful, young man. One might hear in those words a faint trace of heresy. - Then let them hear what they want."

Ser Ompagne didn't reply immediately, instead putting two cups of tea on the table before he sat in the opposite chair. It was quiet in his abode, far from the agitation of the barracks or the Brume, but everything in the small room reminded the young dragoon of the soldier Ser Ompagne used to be. It was too clean, too tidy... too ready for a sudden departure, for an emergency.

Then there was the sword. Gigantic, dark and so unlike those of the Temple Knights, it stood against the wall, defiant.

"Why are you telling me this? asked the older man after a long moment of silence. - Why are you showing me this sword? You knew I was coming, you had time to hide it. - It's merely a sword. - And I'm merely tired. - Fair enough." Ser Ompagne sipped his tea. "Allow me to rephrase my question, then. You've managed to become a Dragoon, a feat not given to many and a huge honor beside. I also know what happened to your parents all those years ago. You joined the army to clean your name, did you not? - Perhaps... - Then why does it sound like you've changed your mind after coming this far?"

The wood cracked in the fireplace and for a moment, Ompagne thought he wouldn't get any answer. That the young man would take his leave rather than giving him what he wanted. But he didn't, and the anger on his face, accentuated by the flicking light of the flame, was as hot as his voice was cold.

"The last dragon I killed wasn't even one. It was just a despaired idiot who drank their blood and took their form. I wasn't even meant to take care of him, but the main fight was over and the Temple Knights had their plate full already so I dealt with him myself. Then I looked over and what did I see? One officer from a minor house and plenty of lowborn risking their life to rise through the ranks and offer a better future for their family. Many of them dead, permanently crippled or pissing themselves in fear now that they had finally met a dragon. No highborn, and certainly no heir present to risk their limbs for Ishgard's sake. And yet they will have a banquet tonight to celebrate our victory, paid with our blood and taxes.

But we have plenty. Our mountains are rich with resources, we have bountiful fields and rivers rich with life. More than enough to convince other nations to help us, more than enough to not be on the defensive for once and actually attack Niddhog in his lair. Instead we're doing what we've always done, and we're losing. We're defending Ishgard. Meanwhile, those bloody dragons can chose whenever it is convenient for them to attack us.

And if any of us say anything, how long does it take before we're trialed for heresy? Not even half a day. We can't even raise our doubts without being branded traitors.

Well so be it. I have my doubts."

The young man rose his eyes to met Ompagne's, as if to defy him to defend the Church, but the knight only took a sip again.

"I don't think they care very much if we die or not. Not as long as they can act with impunity, he concluded before reaching for his own cup. - What will you do, then? - The same as you, if you're willing. - And if I refuse to teach you?"

The young man smirked.

"The same as you, just not as well."

[weatheredpileoftomes]

hells open, heavens weep

For FFxivWrite2021 Day 23, “soul”. Post-Stormblood, mild spoilers through 4.0 and major spoilers for drk 6070 jobquests, ~950 words. Canonical character deaths, survivor’s guilt, grief.

Frydlona wasn’t at her best.

She had picked up the habit of running a finger along the jagged edge of her broken soul crystal; now that it’s mended, the habit lingers.

“Are you all right?” Rielle asks.

“I should have realized sooner.” The symbol etched into the crystal is rough under Frydlona’s fingers, a murmur of texture against the smoothness of the stone. “Before he called up your—your nightmare.” She almost says your mother, stops herself barely in time.

Rielle’s jaw tightens, but her voice is strong. “Sidurgu is overprotective. I’m fine.”

Sidurgu protests, but Frydlona, staring into the crackling fire, barely hears it. Count Edmont had offered her the hospitality of Fortemps Manor, but she has no right to it, any more than any other of the kindnesses he’s offered the woman he believes to have been his favorite son’s betrothed. She’d come back to the Forgotten Knight instead.

It’s quieter here than in Ala Mhigo, cold and grey and peaceful. Ishgard’s long war ended nigh on two years ago, and the riotousness of celebration has faded to the steady work of rebuilding. Aymeric and Francel have much to be proud of.

When she goes back to rejoin the Scions and Lyse, they’ll expect things of her again. There’s still a war to be fought, still an empire to hold off. Sidurgu and Rielle expect nothing more of Frydlona than what she can do—pick up a sword, and go on, with or without a smile and a brave word to the troops. She can steal a few more minutes here with them before she returns to her work.

“But you, Frydlona.”

Frydlona blinks and looks around at Rielle. “I should have suspected sooner that something wasn’t right. Sidurgu did.”

Rielle rolls her eyes, not disguising the fondness there. “Sidurgu suspects everyone.”

“I wanted to believe Myste could offer what he promised.” Frydlona presses her thumb flat against the starry sword of the crystal, over Fray’s mark, grounding herself. “The—the last one, before this, he… Houdart was a true ghost, I think. He knew things Gallien didn’t, or at least he seemed to.”

That that tragedy had come because Gallien never told her he needed more medicine—she could have made it for him, if he’d only asked. She had watched Buscarron, she had asked about the remedy. He hadn’t had to die at all.

“You wanted to see someone yourself,” Sidurgu says, wincing. “Even after he called up Ser Ompagne?”

Frydlona closes her eyes and nods. Tears sting against her eyelids, and she has to remind herself that it doesn’t matter if Sidurgu and Rielle see. To anyone else in this corner of the Forgotten Knight she’s just another swordswoman, the heavy armor she wears plain and unmemorable. She’d stopped wearing gleaming-bright armor after Whitebrim, in case…in case. Even once she knew that wouldn’t happen again, she hadn’t changed it back.

“But…” Rielle’s voice is unusually hesitant. “But you would have known they were dead.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Frydlona’s hand tightens around the soul crystal. I forgive you, Fray says in her memory. I forgive you, I forgive you. She doesn’t know what she would do without Fray. “I just—I need—if it were his ghost, like Houdart’s. If I could just—tell him I’m sorry, for everything. Ask if he still doesn’t regret it.”

Myste couldn’t have given her that. If she’d realized who Myste was sooner, she would have known that, and maybe spared Rielle the sight of Ystride de Caulignont.

Myste couldn’t have given her that, because she can’t give it to herself, after all.

“Why would he regret it?” Fray asks from behind her. “Look at you. So kind, in spite of every time I tried to make you less so.”

Frydlona half-expects her to go on: savior of Ishgard, friend of Doma, liberator of Ala Mhigo. Everything she’s done, every war she’s fought, all of them good and necessary, every accomplishment worthy of pride and gladness, none of them doing any more to ease the guilt festering away in the far corners of her soul than her glaive through Zephirin’s throat did.

Fray doesn’t, though. What she says, so much more gently than when Frydlona first picked up the crystal from a corpse in the Brume, is, “Listen to your friends, you fool. Rielle had the right of it in Gyr Abania. Do you want me to tell her you think she’s too young to be worth listening to?”

“Don’t you dare,” Frydlona says. Aloud, because she’s forgotten; it’s just Sidurgu and Rielle, after all.

“What?” Sidurgu asks.

Frydlona shakes her head. “Fray.” At the alarm flickering across Sidurgu’s face, she quickly adds, “Not—she wants me to listen to Rielle, that’s all.”

“Sound advice,” Rielle says. “Have you eaten yet today?”

Frydlona has to think about it, and while she does Rielle jumps up to wave over a barmaid. Stew, Rielle says, and mulled wine, on a day as bitter cold as this.

It does sound good. The fire crackles behind her, the noise blunting the harsher edges of Frydlona’s thoughts. She’ll let Rielle order her food, and lecture her and Sidurgu both, and maybe before she leaves for Ala Mhigo again her friends’ kindness will have done something to salve the wound that Myste had torn open again.

It hadn’t been healing right, she knows; if it had been Myste would never have…happened. Maybe this time it will heal clean.

[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #6 - Avatar

"Tell me about Fray."

Sidurgu did not look up from the strap on his pauldron he was mending, but he did stay his hands. He responded with one word.

"Why?"

Xiao shrugged in a nonchalant manner, also not looking up from her own armor maintenance, "Just making conversation."

"Absolutely not."

This made Xiao glance over with a scowl, meeting and matching Sid's, or at least whatever passed as more scowling than Sid's usual expression.

"Your Darkside already manifests in my dead friend's image. I will do naught that would empower it more, intentionally or unintentionally." His eyes narrowed further, "I'll pray for both our sakes that you're not asking so you can make your Darkside more accurate."

Xiao looked away, tail flicking in annoyance, "I have no such ulterior motives. I just barely know what a Dark Knight is, past the hearsay and whispers of the Temple Knights. You've not been forthwith about you and yours, after all."

The Au'ra set down the pauldron and sighed, "There's naught to be forthwith about. Ser Ompagne refounded our so-called order after its destruction decades before. From what he could tell or at least what he told me, ever since the Temple Knights and Inquisitors started besetting themselves on the smallfolk, we Dark Knights rise again and again in their defense. Getting to know me or mine or Fray will do you no better than listening to yourself and your own righteousness."

The Miqo'te hmphed in a way that would make Gaius van Baelsar proud.

"For what it's worth, and I do not say this lightly, I could not imagine a better soul to fill his legacy." Sid offered a very brief sincere smile. It didn't suit him at all.

"I think most would find your imagination wanting."

Xiao ducked to dodge the riveter thrown at her head.

* * *

"He was warm and kind, but stern," Rielle said, chopping vegetables, "Like a gauntlet of steel wrapped in wool and fur."

Xiao stopped stirring the pot for a moment in contemplation.

"You'll have to understand, we were constantly relocating in the shadows to stay ahead of the Temple Knights, and what little time we had together, Fray did his best to teach me conjury. There was hardly any time in the few moons we spent together to really speak of other matters."

Xiao wanted to ask how, as someone who knew no conjury whatsoever at the time, Fray-- Nay, her Darkside, was able to cast conjury, but it didn't seem like a fair question to ask the young Elezen. Not that she would have a good explanation either way.

"He and Sid would argue long into the night about the right course of action. He believed we should hide out in the Hinterlands for a spell until the Temple Knights let up on their search. Sid refused to leave Ishgard for the sake of those like me. He insisted I was nothing special, just another poor soul to save, and 'twas a betrayal of his teacher's legacy to abandon the others for our own sake."

And just how many did you save in that time running around, Sid?

Speaking of, the Au'ra finally returned, two hapless cloudkin thrown over his shoulder.

"These may be a bit gamey, but it's sustenance all the same."

"The time you've been gone, I swore you'd be bringing back a Moogle," Xiao said, with a sly smile.

Sid looked up in mock contemplation as Rielle squealed in protest, "How dare you even joke about that! We are not hurting any more Moogles!"

What was it about Elezen women and favoring the white bepommed bastards?

No matter.

* * *

And now, as expected, it returns to this, does it not? Perhaps you know where this is going, and what role I play.

Overlooking a certain cliff, out at the city of Ishgard, well, where the city of Ishgard would be if not for the constant cloud and snow and gloom. They were never really good at symbolism, were they? Or perhaps it was all too fitting.

Francel had left, and it was just Xiao staring off into the off-white void...

And the abyss below.

Did I deign it necessary to make an appearance? Nay. In this search for truth amongst falsehoods, how could yet another lie help?

Ah, but how could it hinder?

"I'm not going to ask you the same question," Xiao said, sitting down at the edge, letting her feet dangle, "For I feel I already know the answer."

But of course she did ask, internally. But of course she knew the answer before she had finished thinking. As you know, she and I--

"But yes, it matters to me. I just wish I were less adrift in all of it."

Perhaps, dear reader, you can guess my response.

It was folly to ask, but she had to pursue that folly for questions she knew couldn't be answered.

"Nothing huh? Perhaps I really was better off being ordered around by Alphinaud." She flicked some snow off the side of the cliff with a gauntlet and watched it fall deep into the Sea of Chaos below.

How far deep was that abyss indeed?

In all of these pleasant but tumultuous falsehood, did one determine the truth by which ever ideas were tumultuous and unpleasant? Was that the grim reality of it all? Or perhaps just another layer of fiction on top of more fiction. The Temple Knights guarded and maintained a deception. Did the Dark Knights that opposed them slice closer to the truth?

How would you answer her, I wonder? What learning was she supposed to take from this cryptic lesson from her long departed teacher?

Can you stack lies until you reach a truth?

"Who was Fray?" she asked, "What are Dark Knights?" she asked.

When really, she was really asking "Who am I?"

"What have I become?"

What indeed.

[espressoxpanna]

Sidurgu genuinely wants to be like Ser Ompagne when Older, Not just because of his Skill as Dark knight, but also for how he took care of him and Fray. The problem is his kind words come out wrong, even if he worries extremely much about Fray and Rielle. Even the WoL

[coeurcondamne]

@ofonyxshade // starter

“Living Dead, Ser Ompagne called it? The runes?” A pale hand traces ghosts of ancient letters into the tabletop in front of the other, written in a circle before Zephirin rests his hand in the center of that imaginary ring. The mug of apple wine is warm in his hands, its presence lifting him just slightly over the din of the tavern- Like spectres, snowflakes piled on a branch, leaves on the surface of a pond. His face is warm, his arms ache, but it’s a satisfying feeling, warm and drowsy, too tired to pay the background noise as much mind as he normally would.

It’s anchoring all the same, the feeling of that little bubble around their table. The young knight looks up at Fray sitting across from him and stays awake.

“Have you or yours ever had to use it?” The question comes without thinking- And after it falls, he winces a little. Though his hands have scarce been dipped in the black, he knows that consorting with the abyss can be a risky thing- Surely a skill called Living Dead couldn’t be good for you. But also, all the spells and skills sound similarly dark- He remembers Unmend prickling at his fingertips, and keeps that feeling in the hand grasping the handle of his mug.

[starcunning]

By the way, this seems an opportune moment for me to post my favorite track from the latest VNV Nation album and the jewel of the Fraylist

[viridian-dragoon]

Brandt Character Profile (UPDATED!)

  General Characteristics

Name: Brandt Vedyrson

Other Names: “Brandy” (a nickname used by friends to annoy him), Unknown Family Name, “Lizard” (derogatory term for Au Ra by Ishgardians), Shinjiro “Shinji” Ishida (pseudonym)

Titles: The Travelling Hunter, Black Dragon, Captain, Voidbuster/Sinrender. (Both of which he’s tried to kick off himself.)

  Personal Characteristics

Primary Objective: Brandt’s raison d'être, his reason for being, is to protect the innocent and powerless. To this end, he hunts those who would prey on the weak and set up an agency in Mor Dhona where they can come for help. Recently he was contacted by a mysterious figure who requested his presence at the Crystal Tower...

Secondary Objectives: Brandt seeks to make amends with the Dragons for wrongs he committed to them in the Dragonsong War after their recent armistice with Ishgard. Along the way, Brandt is keen to discover his true identity.

Secrets: As a youth, Brandt came into direct contact with the Eye of Nidhogg during a dragon raid. This caused him to become aetherically linked to the Black Wyrm and was the cause of him being inducted into the Dragoon Corps at an earlier age than most. He keeps this fact hidden from most unless he places a great deal of trust in them.

Quirks: While often serious, having a tenancy to fall into episodes of reflection, Brand can often act quite snarky and cocky. Additionally, Brandt tends to give people short nicknames after a while, a sign of friendship on his part though they usually consist of a shortening of their first name or a defining attribute.

  Mental Characteristics

Known Languages: Eorzean. Conversational Hingan and Xaelan. Rough knowledge of Doman.

Lures: Brandt seeks dangerous situations, usually ones he can solve with a cutting remark or a cut of his Trigger. He will also often be drawn to people who are willing to share their time and experiences with him.

Savvies: Due to being a highly trained Dragoon, Brandt is skilled in the art of physical combat and is generally quite Acrobatic for his stature. He has put extensive research into beings not of Hydaelyn, Voidsent and the like, and knows the ins and outs of most of their ilk.

Ineptities: Given his history, Brandt cannot understand the weight placed on family ties. He is also incapable of playing musical instruments, but appreciates the art all the same. Recently discovered to be an absolutely terrible shot.

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Hobbies: In the pursuit of self-betterment Brandt has taken up Fishing and Cooking. These combine with a love of sightseeing as a driving force to explore Hydaelyn.

  Philosophical Characteristics

Morality: Brandt usually believes that he is morally decent in most aspects, accepting of almost all viewpoints. However, he is not above committing criminal acts should he view them as just in the moment, unless at the detriment of another he sees as innocent, and has participated in shadier dealings in the past. He also believes that it is generally fine to indulge one’s self in their vices, I.E. drinking, gambling or use of narcotics.

Perception: Brandt is typically a realist, leaning more towards a pessimistic view of a situation’s potential outcomes. When given the glass example he would respond saying it was half empty, but that it can be refilled. He does seek to be a voice of calm in heated situations.

  Spiritual Characteristics

Religion: Brought up around belief of The Twelve, mainly Halone. Has recently embraced a belief in the Kami as well as Azim and Nhamaa.

Superstitions: Brandt generally believes that it is bad luck to speak ill of the recently departed or tamper with gravesites. Given his recent line of work, Brandt is certain of the paranormal world’s existence.

Virtues: Humility, Patience, Diligence.

Vices: Lust, Wrath, Despair.

  Supernatural Characteristics

Ability: As a former Dragoon, Brandt is highly acrobatic, able to leap great distances both vertically and horizontally. He has high aerial control and is able to discharge aether from his body to adjust his trajectory, a skill all Dragoons are taught.He is also able to brace his body against long falls, again in line with all dragoons. Having been “selected” by the Eye of Nidhogg, Brandt also holds the power of the azure dragoon. After a recent episode of influence he has decided to abandon his lance unless the circumstances call for it, opting instead to use an Ironworks-built Gunblade..

Strengths: Brandt is trained in the art of “Critical Combat”, the art of taking down opponents by striking vital points. Brandt is also moderately trained in various forms of swordplay, including as a Gladiator, Hingan Samurai and self-practised Dark Knight. Has some mild shooting ability, but opts instead to use a modified rifle if he has, slashing first and then pulling the trigger.

Weaknesses: As he is blind in one eye, Brandt often has difficulty telling distances accurately, usually taking long times to plan his jumps. Brandt is also unusually pain-tolerant, meaning he often fights on after sustaining heavy injuries and causing him numerous issues. His accuracy with ranged combat is also more or less nil.

Restrictions: Due to his somewhat unique circumstance as an non-ishgardian under influence from Nidhogg, Brandt is more susceptible to corruption by it. His emotions have to be kept in check at most times and after experiencing bouts of great stress, his control over it slips. In order to combat this, he has been given training in various self-control methods, including tutelage on the Darkside and the Inner Beast, giving him a much tighter grip on it.

  Likes and Dislikes

Likes: Rainy weather, home cooking (favourite food is Coerthan Casserole), Looking at beautiful scenery, Sake, Hingan cigars, gatherings organised by friends, Taunting.

Dislikes: Heavy snow, oppressive rulers, ridiculously sweet things, people who enforce their ideals on others.

  Apparel

Equipment: Brandt always makes sure to hold a concealed knife on his person, otherwise he is usually in possession of his personalised Gunblade.

Wardrobe: Brandt tends to dress in dark tones, most commonly a dull green and black. Stylistically he wears clothing recommended to him by peers leaning towards heavier, warmer clothing but has also taken to wearing traditional Doman clothing. When expecting serious combat situations he will don armour, including that usually worn by Temple Knights.

  Social Characteristics

Emotional Stability: Cocky. Due to his early life and training in Ishgard, Brandt is otherwise characteristically stoic. It takes lots to bring him out of his shell, however he is very quick to upset.

Humor: Brandt’s tone of humor is fairly dark, but enjoys most forms of comedy. He cannot abide by speaking ill of the recently deceased however.

Status: Brandt generally tries to keep a low profile in Coerthas as he is considered a deserter by the Holy See’s old regime. Outside of Coerthan jurisdiction, Brandt is an honorary first lieutenant for the Maelstrom due to services rendered and is well known in Othard as a roaming hunter.

  School

Education: Brandt was taught to the base standards of education in Ishgard, including literacy and a decent understanding of mathematics. In addition he was given rudimentary lessons in cartography and tracking.

School: Brandt was home-schooled by Ser Ompagne, and given further training in the Ishgardian barracks.

Study Habits: Brandt will often only study while motivated to do so, such as after finding important information or when with a study partner.

Learning Type: Learns best via experience. Teaching him new ways to control his aether takes a heavy amount of effort.

  Interpersonal Connections

Allies: The Bumble Braves (de facto leader), The Stray Sheep (former member)

Enemies: No true enemies to date. Carries much disdain for the corrupt Ishgardian clergy. Makes effort to avoid dragons due to actions during the Dragonsong War.

Friends: The Kimura Siblings, Pixhie Neva, Chibisuke Neva, Daedari Arulaq, Naevia Sorel, Kaito Ninomiya, Iry Valbe, Sidurgu Orl, Yuki-chan, Kikyo Mihata, Khagarel Kha, Shur Kha, Oriana Daethal

Heroes: Estinien Wyrmblood, Ser Ompagne

Pets: None for right now.

Rivals: Nathan Nuhn, Sidurgu Orl, Kuro Solaire

  Physical Characteristics

Height: 84.6in (215cm)

Weight: 273lbs (124kg)

Species: Au Ra (Xaela)

Skin Color: Dark Blue-Grey

Hair Color: Green

Hair Length: Varies, tends to keep it mid-length..

Eye Color: Red

Tail Length: 45cm

Tail Color: Black

Scars: Faint scarring on left eye. Various marks across body.

Tattoos and Piercings: None as of yet. Contemplating some traditional Xaelan designs.

  Health and Fitness

Addictions: Heavy social drinker, smoker. When intimate situations, he becomes quite intoxicated by a lustful disposition.

Handicaps: Monocular vision (left-eye blind).

  Sexual Characteristics

Gender: Male

Orientation: Straight

Significant Other: Available (not really looking)