#shtola: i think she brought that for you

[scionshtola]

i was making a post about cori’s mom liking shtola but then got really emotional thinking about how cori’s dad would probably like shtola so much if he had been able to meet her 🥹🥹

[yzeltia]

Happiest Starlight Ever Day 1: We Need A Little Starlight

Characters: Y'mariah Rhul, Y'mhitra Rhul, Y'zel Tia Rating: T Expansion: N/A Notes: I wonder who she could be taking about.

“I think she hates me. Ooooh! I can't stand it. I want her to like me so bad. I can't remember a time when Shtola ever brought someone home to meet us.”

Y'zel and Y’mhitra sipped his tea quietly as Y’mariah whined and draped herself over her section of the table, ears sunk back in defeat. Y'zel hummed, frowning as he tested his cup and saucer in his lap. “I can't imagine her being rude. I think it might be impossible for her to do so. What exactly happened?”

“I was browsing for Starlight gift ideas on Hawker's Alley and spotted her at the nautical tools stand. I approached her friendly enough and asked her if she was excited for Starlight and she got this look on her face as if I'd suddenly vanished from view then turned and walked away without a word. I'd almost say I mistook her for someone else but how many Elezen women are that tall!?”

Y'zel furrowed his brow. “She does stand out in the crowd. We're Ishgardian though, so Starlight is a coin flip. As a child of the Brume Starlight, the Temple Knights made sure to make it a wonderful experience. I imagine those more fortunate it passes like just another day or was made harder reflecting on those without. Still, I've seen her enjoy Starlight festivities. Something is strange there.”

“A rather honeyed view of the Ishgardian gentry for a former heretic, Zel,” Y’mhitra sighed before taking another sip of tea and crossing her leg. With a purse or her lips she looked between them. “Do you suppose though, that her reaction might have been from the fact that it is still the middle of Summer?”

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 19. Weal Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Zoissette Vauban Rating: Teen Summary: Through thick and thin, for better or for worse Notes: This one is too big for FFXIV Write, and I think I shall be expanding it at a later date

It was raining outside of Gage Acquisition's headquarters. A lazy Gridanian rain, warm and heavy, fat raindrops that seemed less to fall than to sort of meander their way down to the ground in their due time.

Zoissette held an umbrella over Y'shtola's head, and the two were walking along the pathway. It had been a quiet walk.

Despite the time they had spent apart, they still knew how to enjoy a comfortable, companionable silence. Y'shtola had asked after Apple, and Zoissette still had no answers. Zoissette had asked after the thirteenth, and Y'shtola had much the same.

She was one of the few people Zoissette felt really comfortable around, after returning from the rift. Around most of the others, she was friendly. Gregarious, even, she could not help it, it seemed so hard to keep herself in as she had before.

But still.

She had always felt like an outsider before, and she still did now. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be fully a part of the shared human experience.

But with Y'shtola, she felt like she belonged. Grounded. The woman's strength and confidence were an anchor, and the ease with which Y'shtola treated her, the naked honesty of the woman.

If the rift made her lost, then Y'shtola, in more ways than one, brought her home.

She just wished Lavender had arrived home with her. The familiar had not come to her since she had arrived, though. The little armature was full of a life of its own, but it was its own being, its own existence. She was glad for it, but it was not the same.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as they stopped out in front of the building, and Zoissette looked to Y'shtola.

"I appreciate your company more than I have the words for. But I am certain you have other more important matters to attend to."

Y'shtola looked up at her, and gave her a smile.

"You are the important matter I wish to attend to, my friend. Trust that I keep my affairs well in hand, even as I keep you company."

"...thank you."

Zoissette fidgeted with the umbrella handle a bit as Y'shtola looked her over. She knew what she was looking for. She was afraid of what she would find.

"...'tis much the same," she said after several long moments. "I do not have the fine tune instrumentation of the infirmary, but while you have gained some muscle mass, your aether remains ever thin."

"I am not recovering."

"It is true, that the rate of replenishment of you aether seems to have reached a plateau. But it is early, yet, even - and perhaps especially - for one as puissant as you."

"I feel so useless in the meanwhile."

Y'shtola looked thoughtful for a moment.

"And yet you have begun investigations, have you not?"

"That - that is different. I am used to being a warrior. That is what a knight is for. That is what a knight should be for. I feel like I lost sight of that, and have regained it again, only to lose the capability to be so."

"And yet you still are. You would not say such things of Krile, who has little martial prowess. Or your own brother, who still shines as a knight true."

Zoissette shifted from foot to foot, considering.

"You are right."

"I suspect I only tell you that which you already knew."

"You are right. I know. I know. I just - I just feel so useless, Shtola. Mathye hovers as I go about tasks I once found trivial. Tasks I now find challenging. Klynt or Ryssthota are at my elbow anytime I even voice consideration of approaching the laboratory. C'oretta and Meya are spending too much time on me. I have shifted from shield to gunblade, to try to make up for my deficiencies, but... still. I do not wish to be a burden. Not on you. Not on anyone."

Zoissette looked away, feeling herself unable to meet Y'shtola's eyes. She was complaining. She was whinging. Others would be envious of her position. She should be glad for what she had, not whatever this was. She was better than this.

But at the same time, she wished to run and hide and fade back to vanish behind a desk. Useful but invisible but helpful. Good, reliable Zoissette, able to be called upon at a moment's notice. Not someone who needed looked after all the time.

Again, she missed Lavender. They had learned to lean on one another in the rift. She would lean on her once more.

She felt Y'shtola's hand on her arm.

"This may be a burden, but not one I shy away from. For how oft have you helped others in need with no wish for recompense? How oft have you been fulfilled by helping with our burdens, and allowed us to draw succor in return? 'Tis true, what brought us together is what you are, blessed of Hydaelyn and strong in arm. But what has kept us together as comrades is who you are. Kind in spirit. Curious in mind. Patient through trial. I am with you. In weal and in woe. If weal, then weal, and all is well. If woe, then that woe must needs be endured, and I would not countenance that you do so alone."

The rain fair hummed for a moment, and the colors around her shifted slightly. She blinked, staring into the rain, as it somehow became more blue. She turned to her. Y'shtola was resplendent in her composure, in her poise, as she always was. Confidence and power which she was now so clearly offering to Zoissette. Half a meder away, Zoissette felt she could feel the woman's presence radiating off her, and she almost seemed to glow. Zoissette tentatively reached a hand out to touch her face, and Y'shtola smiled, and closed her eyes gently, and there was just the gentlest pulse of living levin, and.

Oh.

Oh, hells.

[vermanaward]

dawntrail msq, 95-97

tuliyolal, evenutally

okay so that was the end of disc one i guess

i would ask 'why couldn't she have asked him earlier' but. the drama.

everyone seems remarkably unconcerned about first promise and/or the dickhead trailing around after him. counting down the minutes until one or both of them causes problems on purpose

why are the hyper capitalists in xiv always short. lalas, pelupelu, mord.

...oh okay here we go, disc two commences!

shaaloani

bison!!

swear words?!?!

how come npcs get to have guns without shitty lunchboxes. ANSWER ME YOSHI P

"saddle up!" [proceeds to make me ride bareback]

WHALAQEE MENTIONED

somewhere between "my poor boy erenville being deadnamed to heck and back" and "ah. yeah. immigrant adopts local name to not stick out, resulting in Complicated Feelings when they go back home and people use their native culture's name"

oh. a bent cop. whoever saw that one coming

i would ask 'why are there dinosaurs in north america' but. you know what. it makes a pleasant change from them being in africa

"hey, remember shadowbringers. you guys liked shadowbringers, right? everyone loved the bit with the trolley?? right????"

at least there isn't a dead wife this time ig

the design of this train is offensively bad. like it's a stream train, fine, except it has a ceruleum (ie. petrol/diesel) engine, fine. except it's a steam train but instead of steam coming out the top its?? burning ceruleum? what???

welp

tuliyolal

man i was just thinking to myself this morning. 'we haven't seen yshtola all expac. it's been so nice not having to constantly brace myself for her biannual death fakeout.'

oh and she brought the allagan fanboy too. yay.

>!?!?!?!?!??!?!!??!?!?!!?!??!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!?!

at least it's not the fucking allagans ig

(obligatory: ok so shtola is here so she can reprogram the gate and go get some ronso booty)

rofl though. so okay if this is a 9 parallel, then who is garland here, and when will necron come haring out of the left field wait that was endsinger nm

unrelated but the more i think about it the more :\ i am that the girl is The Emotional One and the dude is The Logical One. like bruh

estinien is determined to be Sir Not Playable This Expac and honestly i can't blame him

"don't do anything reckless" what like pick up both eyes of nidhogg while soaked in his blood? that kind of reckless?

haha see the joke is that in the First his wife is dead aren't dead wives funny

heritage found

alexandria, huh [chinhands]

man. this is extremely the "hey, remember shb?!" expac. and not in a good way.

honestly this is a gripe for another day but i really hate the way this game just goes [handwave] ~time dilation~ any time they want something dramatic to happen with shit on reflections. time always passes at the speed of drama. it bugs me.

actually ykw. this expac is so actively pro monarchy it's kinda nauseating. there i said it

erenville's mom is dead isn't she. .-.

heavensward: let's kill the pope and install democracy! shadowbringers: let's kill a dictator and install a democracy! stormblood, dawntrail: let's, uh. install and uphold monarchies! yay royalty! yay bloodlines!

do i expect progressive politics from final fantasy? hell no, i'm not delusional. does this mean i'm going to let this slide? also no!

ooh namika's going to be euthanised isn't she

ha ha he's wearing armour from the alex raids ha ha

in a robot? no just piloting a robot.

okay i take it back this hellhole is worse than amaurot. good job a+

that said: it's absolutely a fragment of a world consumed in a rejoining that somehow managed to avoid being rejoined, yes yes? from the calamity of lightning, for obvious reasons.

which would make oblivion that shard's equivalent of the scions/ardbert and his gang

which unrelated but would mean there are people on the source at 6/14 aetheric density. (and would put krile at 1/14, for that matter)

...hm. are we supposed to take from this then that alexandria and 'the golden city' are two seperate places?

oh. yeah i found rowena's shard from the lightning reflection. lel.

100 scrip vendor unlocked finally, time todo what i came here for: FISH

[solveigruna]

Treasure Vaults ‘Neath the Bounty

Solveig couldn’t remember the last time she had fought through a dangerous cavern without the fate of the world at stake; the last time she truly remembered feeling like the adventurer she had set out to be. But, fighting through the VAST treasure vaults of Alzadaal had truly been one of them - despite the spinning and nausea THAT brought with it. She’d been invigorated and excited - simply an adventurer doing adventurer things with her friends. Even Vrtra showing up, under the guise of his simulacrum - Varshahn - had not dampened her spirits. Nor the revelation that the Vaults held a natural portal to the doomed Thirteenth shard, though that DID earn a raised eyebrow from her. While Urianger and Shtola had come along based on rumours that SOMETHING existed down here, Solveig wasn’t sure any of them expected THAT. But - it wasn’t world ending and, for the retired Warrior of Light, that was what mattered. It also gave her a new mission - reuniting Vrtra with his lost sibling. Simple, easy, exciting.

When she turned around to make her way out was when things ground to an unexpected halt. She hadn’t FULLY registered what she was seeing but the voice that had started accompanying her since Elpis noticed it right away. 

“My mark.” Solveig’s eyes stopped their roaming and reversed back over what she had just glanced at.  There, amongst the beautiful scrollwork in the archway, was the mark of Azem. 

“I’ve never been here.” 

“Vrtra, do you know how that,” Solveig’s arm lifted and pointed towards the mark. “Came to be here?” 

The small form of Varshahn moved to stand beside her while the others that accompanied her followed her arm up and stared. “The Mark of Azem, I believe,” Urianger commented. “Indeed,” Y’shtola replied. “Though, how it came to be….? These vaults did not exist during her time.” “I know not who this Azem is,” Varshahn started. “And, as you can imagine, the break-ins to the Vault have never made it this far.” Solveig eyed the mark and smiled very slightly. No break-ins that he was aware of didn’t mean she couldn’t think of at least one person who could’ve done it and remained undetected - should they have chosen. In fact, that very person had even told her she should come here. “Has anyone ever gotten close?” she asked instead. “Only two have ever made it pass the second guardian. One died shortly after of their wounds. One was never accounted for. There was never a body found - but no tampering had occurred either.” Solveig noted the exchanged looks between Shtola, Raha, and Urianger. They understood also. 

“Raha? Do you think you can get me up there?” Solveig looked over to the Miqo’te with her head tilted and his eyes widened. “I mean…I could certainly try. Though, I must admit, I am..rather on the short side. Perhaps Ser Estinien or Urianger would be better suited to lifting you up…? Not that I’m saying I COULDN’T…” The man in front of her blushed a bit and she blinked before quietly sighing out a laugh. “Raha. Float.” “....OH!” The man’s face flushed a deeper red at the reminder that he had a useful tool just for this type of situation. “Of course!” He heard very quiet chuckling behind him from Y’shtola and one of his ears twitched slightly, but otherwise, he paid it no mind. A few moments passed as he focused on the needed aether and then, slowly, Solveig began floating into the air. G’raha gently guided her up and closer to the mark of Azem that loomed in the archway above them. 

As she got closer to the mark on the archway she noted that it didn’t appear to have been chiseled in - the lines were too smooth and perfect. They were also deeply carved into the stone. Whoever had done it wanted to make sure it lasted. She cautiously reached out a hand and ran it over its surface. Almost immediately her vision swam and she could feel the same light headed feeling taking over whenever she had an Echo flashback. 

He floated in front of her, all in black, white hair to his shoulders. While there was some differences she could TELL that this was Hades; Emet-Selch. Though, based on appearances, it was definitely before he became Solus zos Galvus - Emperor of Garlemald. He floated there, just in front of the symbol, his hand out-stretched and the faint glow of purple magic dissipating around his hand. 

So, she thought. He carved it with magic. But to what end? She remembered, before he and ‘Daeus had disappeared, that he had mentioned something about how he had taken being the bearer of Azem’s stone seriously. Maybe it was a way to mark that he had traveled and been to far off places and adventures? 

“I don’t know who you are, or how you got this far without me knowing…” Solveig blinked at the voice and watched as the man’s body turned in the air and his head swiveled to regard her - his own eyes widening just barely. “How…do you…” Emet-Selch stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, before he shook his head and raised his hand up. She could see that he was getting ready to do something and prepared for whatever it was. This marked the second time he had noticed her in an Echo flashback - the first being in Elpis when she had witnessed a scene between him, ‘Daeus, and Soteria. He hadn’t gotten a chance to interact with her at that time as he had been otherwise occupied. Her face reddened a bit at that particular moment. But, whatever the snap he was about to do was meant to entail…never happened as her focus jolted back to the present and he was gone from her sight and lost to the past. She was left staring back at the mark of Azem and collecting her thoughts. “Raha,” she called out. “Please lower me.” 

Mixed emotions and feelings coursed through her. Sadness for the man that had been there, sadness for what he had lost, sadness because she had wanted more time, but gladness that he had had those moments of clarity and purpose. Moments that had clearly meant something to him. 

[allycryz]

Nsfw prompt: “Oh my god. Did we just break the bed?” for the ot6 :3

Alright, here it folks. Urianger gets spoiled, six people are very cute, a bed gets broken. Also pushed myself to write this in past tense since I haven’t done it in a while.

Rated E for Eggsplicit, is honestly pretty PWP but there’s feelings and fluff in there

“I beg thy forgiveness.” Urianger frowned at the piles of books crowding his room. His hands stroked light upon the spines, tracing letters, "I am certain thy book was here but it seems not."

“It’s alright.” Nerys said from her perch on his bed. The thin mattress creaked beneath her weight, swaying with each minute gesture. "I know you'll find it. Come sit with me."

He looked up with a hand caught in his silver locks and mouth curled into a frown. Twas not often he wore his consternation so openly and it was...quite charming. Not least of which because of the subtle pouting of his full lips. (She hoped he was not so upset as to halt her plans.)

“Nay, I shall keep searching.”

“Uri.” She patted the space beside her. “Please?”  

"I am unable to refuse such an invitation twice." Urianger moved like a dancer, once explaining that his poise and posture came from learning at the elbow of Louisoix Leveilleur. Nerys mostly believed it, seeing all the similarities in how he and the twins held themselves. And yet–she was convinced it was not the whole of the story.

He sank to his knees before her, rather than where she indicated. “It has been some time since I relaxed by thy side.”

Nerys stroked over his noble brow, nails scratching light into his scalp. “Far too long. Though this is not by my side.”

“But how else shall I do this?” He brought her hand up, leaving reverent kisses upon her fingertips. As always it made her breath catch, whether alone or in the company of their lovers.

They were not often alone, just the two of them. (And with what she planned, it would not be this way long.) There was so much she had yet to discover about him, the newest of her lovers. The sinuous sway of his hips was but one coin from a well-buried, well-protected treasure chest of knowledge. 

But there were facets of him that were extensions of the relationship they already had; as her comrade, her friend, partner of her partners. He was always kind and respectful, as willing to listen as to teach. That impish sense of humor he kept beneath it all–she had found that long before she took him as hers.

Here was one discovery that still made her tremble: the way he looked at her as if she was a treasure worth worshipping.

Another: the secretive smile upon his lips before he struck. Nerys was a moment forewarned by it before he rose to kiss her. 

Still another: how good a kisser he was. She was overwhelmed enough that one moment his lips were on hers, the next she was beneath him. The bed groaned and swayed with their movements, an anchor in the swirling sea of his presence.

Besides being noisy, the bed was on the small side. Not really what she expected. Urianger could live like a monk, subsisting on water and archon loaf with naught but a candle for luxury. But with the way he luxuriated in Haurche’s sumptuous bed or the raptures on his face when he shopped for fine clothes…

Nerys had assumed he was only a hermit when his studies called, not as a matter of course.

“We need to get you a new bed.” She murmured as he unfastened her already half-open shirt. His eyes had gone to the partly revealed breastband since her arrival. “You’ve barely any room for yourself.”

"No need, my lady. I seldom sleep here--indeed, I have moved most of my possessions to Haurchefant's and Thancred's rooms."

“Yes but-” Nerys unclasped the golden torque about his neck.  "You have been in the Sands for a week now. And I'm sure this won't be the last time you have to stay here."

"Would it comfort thee…" His words became a moan as her hands worked into his taut shoulders and nape. Were he able to, he might purr under her ministrations.

“Yes?”

"I often avail myself...of the cot in the archives."

“Uri.” She clucked her tongue. As if he and their lovers didn’t admonish her for various bad habits ranging from overextending herself to less-than-prudent jumps down cliffsides. 

Today is not about me though.

“Once again, I must beg thy gracious pardon.” He lowered his cheek to her chest, nuzzling against the swell of breast even as his hands eased down the breastband. His long fingers kneaded the sides of her chest slow and gentle. “In penance, I shall serve thee faithfully all afternoon and into the evening.”

Desire coiled in her belly. One word from her and Urianger would worship her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Even now, his practiced healer’s touch found her pains and soothed them away. But she came here with an agenda and she must not forget it, even-

Her mouth fell open with a moan as he took handfuls of her chest, squeezing with gentle strength. That impish gleam was in his eyes when he looked down. 

“Will you…” She swallowed. “Lie on your back for me?”

“If that is thy wish…” He flipped them easily, settling her atop him. Hands slid over her bottom and squeezed. “Dost thou wish for control today?”

“Just a shred.”

His lips caught hers as she slithered down, meeting the barest resistance before he let go with a chuckle. Nerys gave him a look and received only a smile in reply.

According to Haurche, the chiton was far easier to deal with than his scholar’s robes. She never had the pleasure of unwrapping him from his old mode of dress. Piece by piece, I took him apart like a present before taking him apart as a lover might do. There is nothing quite like a reveal, my heart.

That conversation ended with Haurche performing his own slow striptease. Nerys drifted from the fond memory to the present, to the bunch of fabric now at Urianger’s waist and the silken black smalls she unveiled beneath. His cock strained against the taut fabric, twitching at the glide of her hand.

"Wilt thou let me return whatever favors thou dispenses?" His voice dropped to low and rumbly and then to a groan as she rubbed her cheek upon his clothed cock. 

“I’ll think about it...You certainly proved your tongue’s prowess when we were last together.”

Urianger sighed, either from her touches or the memory of nine days ago–him and her and Y’shtola between them. “I-I didst not sup upon thy nectar then…”

She squeezed his thigh. “No but I saw you send ‘Shtola into the heavens.”

“Where she doth belong, crowned in stars and cloaked in moonlight.” His words then turned to garbles and gasps as she mouthed against the fabric. Traced her tongue over the solid outline of his shaft and inhaled his musk.

“And what shall be her throne?” Nerys hummed against him. His hand found purchase in her hair and tugged. Heat kindled between her legs at the touch, more when he did it again. Sitting up so she could see the intent in his eyes.

“Thy visage is the most glorious sight of all…” He groaned, digging filed-down nails into her scalp until she trembled. “What better seat for our beloved than that?”

“Oh,” she breathed. It had taken him no time to master her needs and wants. Had he not watched her plenty, with a lover or two or three between them? And you really are that easy. 

Nerys would not be the only one losing sense and control. Her thumbs hooked beneath his smalls to ease them down, freeing his erect length from their confines. She squeezed his thighs as her tongue dragged up his shaft, finding the sensitive ridge under his head. 

“N-nerys-” he gasps, reaching for the white cotton sheets and grabbing them by the fistful. “I-I should have better control, than to be driven so wild so quickly.”

She pulled off of him with a soft pop of sound. "You've been locked away in here for a week with only your hand to relieve you. No wonder you're sensitive."

“I shall...endeavor to satisfy thee. Thou need not worry-”

The door opening startled her, even though it was Phase Two of her plan coming to fruition. Urianger froze beneath her before he chuckled, the sound as much sigh as it was mirthful. “My lady, didst thou invite them and not tell me?”

“Surprise.” She grinned and turned her head. Y’shtola and Thancred watched them with twin expressions of pleasure. “I hope this is alright?”

Urianger groaned. "I wouldst never turn away those I love so dearly. And they look upon me as if I am a feast laid out for their sampling."

“Ha,” Thancred snorted. "Seems like Nerys has the feasting part well in hand."

Y’shtola smiled, turning her back towards Thancred while keeping her eyes upon them. He dutifully took care of the hooks at her nape, easing the scarlet and gray dress down her shoulders. She arched an eyebrow at the pair on the bed. “Well? Don’t stop on our account.”

Nerys gave the slightest hint of her intentions–a little secret smirk she’d learned at his feet–before swallowing him down. Breathing with purpose through her nose to take him deep, deeper, deeper still. Gods but Elezen were thick, and the reduced air goaded her as much as the eyes upon her. 

The gaze of the world was ever upon her in ways that made her anxious, embarrassed, fearful. But to simply put on a show for others, to stir their passion? That was something Nerys loved. No one expected too much of her besides the occasional fling, and those were more and more rare these days. There was no time to adventure in Eorzea’s bedrooms as she once had.

How lucky, that her lovers liked to watch as much as she liked to perform, while duty kept her from the dark corners of taverns and rolls in the hay.

Urianger laid back, forearm pressed against his brow. Lowered it so he might press his fist to his mouth. Nerys hummed around him, sinking further onto him until she could take no more. It was not enough, not yet, but he moaned all the same.

The heat of Thancred’s bare skin pressed against her back and his palms curled over her breasts. Toyed with them as his lips trailed over her spine. “You need a bigger bed, Uri.”

His response was a muffled groan about clenched knuckles. Y’shtola crawled onto the bed, over him with teasing touches, and stretched her small frame between him and the wall. She seized his wrist, dragging it to lips. “Ah ah. How will she know she’s doing a good job? Let her hear you.”

“Sh-shtola-” Urianger shuddered with the full force of his body as Thancred’s hand slipped down his stomach, fondling his sack. Nerys began to lift her head, found Thancred pressing her back down.

“Good,” said Y’shtola with an approving nod. “Keep her there a moment, Thancred. Urianger–there is no one to overhear you. So I had best hear your response.”

They watched as Urianger opened his mouth, his wordless cries filling the room with their sweet, penitent notes. His reward was another fondle, another suck; Y’shtola petting his hair.

“Nerys is far too overdressed for this.” Thancred said, drawing her up at last.

“And so is he,” Y’shtola agreed before she caught Urianger’s chin and kissed him. The man made a desperate noise before giving himself over to his passion. Nine days ago, Nerys watched him do the same as he filled Y’shtola, as Nerys held her close. Then he’d had the presence of mind to extol her virtues between breathless kisses. 

The same passion is clear in his half-lidded eyes and fervent mouth. Even if he is now in a place beyond poetry.

“You should have a taste too,” Nerys gasped, writhing against Thancred’s purposeful touch over her trousers. For his complaint about her state of dress, he was taking advantage of the friction of cloth against her skin. 

“Do you think so? I think that if we both suck him, he’s liable to pop.”

“What about all his rings?”

“They’re in my quarters,” Thancred laughed against her ear. “Besides, that’s not a guarantee he’ll be able to hold off-”

“I swear to thee.” Urianger licked his lips, eyes flickering from Nerys’ mouth to Y’shtola’s hands kneading his chest to whatever expression Thancred made. "If thou drives me to completion, I shall return the favor in kind. Thou...thou should not go unsatisfied because of my folly."

“Yes, definitely folly to show us how bad you want us.” Thancred snorted. “Uri, it’s okay to come. We’re not going anywhere.”

“True enough.” Y’shtola nipped at his jaw when he tried to rise. “I was going to make him hold off but that might be cruel…”

“I’m disappointed, darling.” The new voice sent shivers through Nerys. Thancred’s steady grip kept her from turning to greet him. “It’s ever so entertaining when you’re cruel to our lovers.”

He is not due quite yet… Not that she minded. Hopefully, in his impatience he remembered to bring-

“Surely,” Haurchefant said with a laugh. “You might magick up a way to help him hold back? As all his rings are in Mor Dhona, and not always reliable.”

“That will cost you, my Lord Emissary.”

“Tell me then, O Great and Powerful Sorcerer: how much for such a device, snapping away everyone’s clothes, and your cock in my mouth later?”

Hades’ laugh was a clear ringing sound that warmed Nerys’ already heated flesh. He was often playful, this ancient lover of theirs. Seldom was he so open as she heard in the notes of his mirth, playing in harmony with Haurchefant’s chuckles. Urianger met her gaze, his smile softening even more the warm mush her heart turned into. And then he gasped as Thancred ran a teasing hand up his length and Y’shtola bit down on his shoulder. 

A snap and her clothes disappeared, along with the bunched up chiton and the black smalls shoved about Urianger’s knees. Thancred’s warm skin pressed against hers–chest to her spine, thighs to the backs of her legs, his unclothed cock hard against her rear. Before them, a ring of black and purple aether pulsed at the base of Urianger’s cock.

She put a hand to it. It felt solid but as it shimmered, she saw flashes of the skin beneath. Hades had all manner of aether tricks to aid in the bedroom. This was one she hadn’t seen before.

He knelt on the floor beside the bed as bare as everyone else. His hand slid past her a moment, she caught the motion of him patting Thancred’s cheek. Then his fingers were on her chin, tilting it up for him to brush lips against lips. She moved to deepen the contact and he pulled back, clucking his tongue. “Ah ah, your mouth is destined elsewhere.”

“One kiss won’t hurt.” Nerys squirmed against Thancred’s hold but today, he was willing to cooperate with Hades. He held her fast and pressed light kisses down the line of her neck. 

“I wonder. Now, my dear–how long should we make our scholar squirm?”

“Oh not too long. Remember why we’re here after all.” Urianger looked up at that with raw curiosity in his gaze. 

“Please, the man loves when we deny him.” Hades rose then to perch on the edge of the bed with his torso turned towards Urianger’s face. His bare fingers ran over his chest till they found the gold hoops in his nipples. A small tug set Urianger’s face and neck red with pleasure. “Does that feel good then?”

"L-lovely,” groaned Urianger. "My lady Nerys...didst thou c-conspire against me?"

She laughed. Haurchefant made himself known then with his fingers guiding her limbs, positioning Thancred alongside her. He caressed them both while they obeyed onto their hands and knees, arms and shoulders against each other. "You've been holed up here for days. I thought you were due a respite."

"And I thought you deserved a little punishment as well." Hades added, thumb circling the stiffening nipple. "Depriving us for days."

"H-ha." Urianger quirked a brow. "Couldst thou not visit me whenever thou desires, Hades? I did not bar my door to thee."

"Impudent man." Hades leaned forward to kiss him as Y’shtola tugged at his silver locks.

A hand pressed against her nape as she saw another do the same to Thancred. Haurchefant must have removed his rings prior to his arrival. She could not feel the familiar press of metal or see his signet contrasted with Thancred’s white locks. Even with his fingers bare, with him standing behind them, she would have known his touch without ever having to see them.

It was that way with all of them now. Even Urianger. She had learned the feel of him that first night with Thancred between them and his touch reaching behind her for Haurchefant, caressing her arm lightly as she shook with the overwhelming pleasure of that moment. 

“Ladies first,” Thancred purred when their eyes were level with the ring. 

Nerys laughed, from the remark, from the surge of joy rushing through her. She licked a stripe up the thick shaft. Thancred did the same, meeting her with an open-mouth kiss that had the benefit of teasing against Urianger. They pushed each other–matching every swirl, lick, and suck; triumphant when one coaxed a loud moan or gasp. It was a heady competition, egged on by Haurchefant stroking her spine and praising them both. 

“You two are exquisite,” Haurchefant sighed as his hands drew away. Fingertips dragged over her skin until she felt them dip between her thighs, heard Thancred groan aloud. Nerys half-expected the mattress to dip with Haurchefant’s weight but instead he drew her back. She had to stretch her long torso to keep her mouth against Urianger.

He accommodated and leaned forward, bracing hands on either side of her. “Dearest Thancred, you will help her for this next part? She is radiant when she takes a cock completely.”

“Hmm…” A raised eyebrow. “Alright Haurche. Long as you promise to give me something nice later. No fair if only Hades gets your mouth tonight.”

“My darling boy…” Hades raised his head and Urianger whimpered at the loss. “Since when are you the arbiter of what is fair or not?”

“You hush.”

“If you want to stop my mouth, you need to be far more creative.”

“Both of you hush,” said Y’shtola. Her voice trembled as Urianger suckled at her chest but still resounded with the underlying core of iron. “You’ll get your turns later, if you’re good.”

“Yes ‘Shtola,” said Thancred with a laugh. He curled a hand over Nerys’ nape and helped her ease back onto Urianger. Behind them Haurchefant praised their obedience while the head of his cock notched against her folds. 

Urianger was a writhing mess beneath them and it was beautiful. The disheveled state of his hair; the blossom of red suffusing his upper body; the sighs they pulled from him; the pattern of bites on his neck from Y’shtola and on his torso from Hades. And him, impossibly hard and impossibly large in her mouth as Thancred dragged her up and down and Haurchefant sank into her. 

Their eyes met, his mouth worked. She reached forward though it could upset her balance. Brushed fingertips against his and then seized his hand. His hips canted upwards and it was almost too much with him so lost in sensation. Somehow, she managed to take him all the same. 

His trembling lips tried again before they managed a word in the babble of whimpers and sobs. “Please...please…”

Nerys answered with her eyes while her hand reached out again, brushing against Hades’ side. Haurchefant picked up her pace and she all but collapsed. It was then Hades turned his amused look at her and the hand desperately groping at his hip.

“May I help you?”

Her eyes swept downward. She could not see the ring just then–Thancred pressed her down so far that her eyes could see only golden skin and silver, curling hair. Haurchefant sighed behind her. “What a good girl, taking him all the way. You’re doing beautifully, my heart.”

“I wonder…” Hades voice floated above her. “What could she be trying to say? Have you any notion, ser?”

“I am not a betting man-” (Thancred’s derisive snort at that became a groan.) “But perhaps she would like to be dear Uri’s angel of mercy.”

“Certainly not. Our ferocious hero?”

“Our compassionate hero.” Haurchefant’s hand joined Thancred’s and brought her up. Hades met her pleading gaze with a sigh and an incongruously soft kiss to her forehead.

“If you insist, dear.” The ring disappeared and they were all lost.

Haurchefant and Thancred pushed her down, Urianger bucked upward. Hades leaned entirely on the bed, bare chest against their scholar as he kissed him with Y’shtola dragging her nails down his back. 

“That’s it,” Haurche panted in her ear. “Help him finish, beloved, dearest, our Nerys-”

Urianger cried out as his hand reached for her-

Haurchefant knelt on the bed and filled her-

And as Urianger spilled into her mouth, the chorus of their raptures was overwritten by an earsplitting crack! There was the sensation of falling, of balance going horribly wrong as she slid backwards into Haurchefant and Hades into both of them. A strange sound escaped her mouth when the momentum and impact both caused Haurchefant to fill her and not entirely pleasantly. 

She lifted her head and Urianger looked down at her. He had not sat up. His eyes were glazed with satisfaction even as realization pierced the fog of his climax.

“Oh my gods.” Nerys stared at the ramp they occupied. “Did we just break the bed?”

Shocked silence met her question. It was Urianger who broke it with low, barely concealed laughter. He slapped a hand over his mouth and his shoulders shook with the effort of not breaking. Behind her, Haurchefant chuckled into her ear as Hades scowled at them all.  Y’shtola stretched out where she was. Thancred roared with laughter behind them on the floor.

“Th-thou didst tell me…” Urianger said, fighting to control his mirth. “That I was in need of a bigger bed.”

“And I was right!” She watched Hades vacate the space between them before squeezing Urianger’s thigh. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

In answer, Urianger sat up with care and eased himself down. His warm hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up to receive the brush of his mouth against hers. “That I am glad we have a Sorcerer of Eld to set us to rights.”

“Hm.” Hades dusted off his arms with great exaggeration and wounded dignity. The gleam in his pale gold eyes was the only clue he was not so piqued as he pretended. “Give me a moment. As today we are demanding favors before we do anything, I needs must calculate the price.”

“Do make haste, lovely man.” Haurchefant adjusted Nerys in his lap and the friction sent her shivering. “I would like to finish what I started.”

“If I may offer a suggestion…” Y’shtola stretched herself upwards and Nerys could not help watching the curve and rise of her bosom, the marks of lips and teeth upon the teak skin. She wrapped her arms about Urianger from behind and propped her chin upon his shoulder. “You could ask to give Nerys proper thanks for arranging all this.”

That twitch at the corners of her mouth spelled Nerys’ salvation and destruction. “Now wait a minute-”

“Brilliant as always,” Hades smirked. “While the guest of honor recovers, I would like a sampling of our event planner in exchange for my great and powerful magicks.”

“Deal!” Haurchefant said, lifting her up while the bed repaired itself with a rush of aether. He had to withdraw from her to do so but from the looks around her...she would not be empty for long. “Have a care with her, lest we break it again.”

“I have ensured it won’t tonight.” Hades stepped over and gathered her into his arms. Laid her back upon the mattress, sprawled upon Urianger’s lap. “And tomorrow we purchase Urianger a bigger, sturdier bed.”

“There, my lady.” Urianger grinned above her. “Thou shalt get thy way after all.”

“I usually do,” she said before Hades moved to have his way with her.

Not that she was complaining.

[xiakha]

FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #13 - Oneirophrenia

The Scions did not return to the Crystarium alone. Well, the bally whole world also had to get back from the outing to Scree and Amity, and the residents of the Crystarium were no different, but there was another rumor.

Something else stalked those returning to the Crystarium. Whispers of something on the edges, a shape at the corner of the eye, an errant rustle in the stillness. The two day's travel was condensed into a day of forced marching. With the Light returned and so many of the Crystarium outside its protective walls, the chance that irreparable damage could be done to its personnel was too much of a risk.

But whatever it was followed them, somehow, across the sea despite each ferry being checked and triple checked for both stragglers and unwanted hitchhikers.

Was it paranoia because the grand scheme went awry? Was it simply exhaustion from sleepless days imbuing and doing hard labor?

It wasn't a sin eater. Even Lightwardens, as intelligent as they may have been, could not resist the lure of so much living aether to sup. They would have been attacked while organizing for the lift back down or while on the shore waiting for the ferry.

Ghost was the word passed around. An old concept from before the Flood when there was enough darkness to half see apparitions in. It enjoyed a new heyday with the return of the Night, but a ghost in the brightness, that strange contradiction, was in a way perhaps even more unnerving. Everyone needed to rest. In the confines of the Crystarium, so guarded for a full century without a breach in the walls, rest would come easier.

At least, for those not burdened with the truth. For those that didn't have a bellglass in their heads, the sands dropping one by one. If they tarried too long, never mind a breach in the walls, the Lightwarden, or worse, would be born within those walls. The Flood would complete its ruin, and the Calamity that the Exarch and so many others had worked centuries to prevent would happen anyway.

So rather than rest, they poured themselves into research.

Without the coming and going of the night, the constant brightness made days feel like bells. How long had it been since she had gotten any shuteye? She looked at Thancred, resting his head on his chin, hands crossed but still holding onto a mothbitten scroll. The man was hardly an academic, but the skills had come back to him after some practice. Alphinaud by her side, splayed across the table, a priceless ancient tome for a pillow. Urianger had left to peruse the archive in the Ocular, how long ago? Was it a bell? Three bells? A day? Her tea had long gone cold and the biscuits were all eaten. She looked at the pile of books in their reshelve pile. They had raided half the Cabinet of Curiosity and Moren would undoubtedly throw a fit whenever he would next check up on him. The next day? What day was it. Y'shtola was aware of the feeling of needing to remember a bellglass. They were working against time... for what?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the gate to the forbidden section that she and the Scions had inhabited for at least a day. Perhaps three.

"Alisaie, is that you? Have you brought us poor trapped souls more tea?"

Silence.

Alisaie didn't have the patience to sit and scour tomes. She and Ryne were running over all of Nordvandt to look for solutions. Y'shtola tried to focus. Perhaps they could be back from the Inn at Journey's Head by now.

But Alisaie was not very good at being silent, especially when addressed. Nor did she usually carry something heavy enough to drag behind her. The scrape and clang of metal on metal steps made Y'shtola glance at the two men at the same table with her aethersight, not turning her head from the stairs. No they didn't seem to rouse despite the sound. Was she dreaming? Was this a dream?

The thoughts of the ghost returned to her. Didn't they say it looked like a knight? Didn't it whisper something? "Run.." "Where..." and "Stolen..." were the repeated sentiments, reportedly.

Y'shtola prepared for the worst. She raised the tome she had been reading from defensively and wished she had brought her staff down here.

As the figure came into view, her mind's eye was overwhelmed with brilliant light.

Y'shtola turned and threw an arm up in an attempt to shield from the light instinctively before remembering that her sight didn't work that way. She willed herself to shut off her aethersight and was shocked to see even then some Light leaking into her head.

It was certainly in the shape of a knight, she recognized the armor to be of Ishgardian make, not in a remote way similar to the armored knights of the First. It dragged behind a large block of steel that could maybe pass for a greatsword. This was the ghost all right. And Y'shtola put a few things together quickly, even as sleep deprived as she was.

"Why, you must be Fray."

"Shtola..."

Despite her present circumstances, she clicked her tongue in irritation, "You know better than to call me that," Even if this was a dream, she had standards. She lowered the book and placed it back on the table. Shtola, stolen, ah.

"Where..."

It occurred to her that there was something wrong. Fray was dressed in black armor, Xiao had told her. Not the gleaming white, dripping with astral aether here in front of her.

"Shtola... run..."

Y'shtola pinched herself. Definitely not dreaming here.

"Absolutely not. Besides where shall we run? Shall we run to the ends of Nordvandt and have you destroy the First from there? Shall we run back to the Source and wreak all sorts of ruin there? Jumpstart the next Calamity there and now? I think not."

"Where..."

For that, she had no response. The Warrior of Light was a bomb now. No different from the firekin that traversed Vylbrand, mayhap with but a little more self control. Y'shtola questioned for a moment how much control the bombs had to contain their explosions. Or was it all down to one errant slip?

"...Where is Xiao? Well, let's go bring you back to her, shall we?"

* * *

Her hand went numb. As if with the cold, but Fray's gauntlet wasn't cold. Jolts of fuzzy pain went up her arm like she had fallen asleep in an awkward pose and had compressed it under her body. She tried not to think about what her hand must look like.

As luck would have it, it was past clock midnight, meaning the rest of the Crystarium was largely asleep. Few people would see her escorting the ghost trailing and dripping with light aether to the Pendants. And even then, the Sorceress from Rak'tika aiding a ghost? Better her than them. She kept her aethersight on and gripped her mostly unfeeling hand harder to avoid looking back at what was a small sun in her mind's eye. The amount of aether cast strange shadows in the Musica Universalis.

The Manager of the Pendants of course was awake, but if he was surprised by the ghost that Y'shtola led by the hand, the Elf did not show it.

"You'll be headed to Mistress Longbao's room, I presume?"

Y'shtola nodded, now aware that her arm was completely numb to the elbow and somehow the numbness radiated to the small of her back. The manager went ahead to unlock the door and ushered the two, and the sword, in. Discretion was perhaps his greatest strength.

Xiao was in bed, seemingly slumbering, her expression troubled. Y'shtola, Ryne, and Alisaie had stripped her from her armor to her smallclothes and wiped the raw light aether from her body before doing another sealing of the Light and covering her with a blanket. The rags were burnt afterwards but Y'shtola remembered how stiff and brittle the cloth became. She wondered what was happening within the Warrior of Light.

"Shtola... Where..." The voice came from both Fray and Xiao simultaneously.

Letting go of Fray's gauntlet, Y'shtola kneeled by the bed and grasped Xiao's hand, entwining her fingers delicately and kissing the coarse, battleworn knuckles. Xiao did not squeeze back, but the troubled expression lessened. Her hand was still warm, warmer than Y'shtola's as usual, And if anything, the numbing that holding on to Fray's (or the thing that resembled Fray, Y'shtola there was none of the snide eloquence that Xiao had previously described) hand caused lessened.

Y'shtola still couldn't look at her directly with her aethersight, however. She was still far too bright, brimming with Light.

"Urianger found poetry in the Oculuar. Did you know they wrote poems and songs about us? The Warrior of Light and her Sweet? Apparently I die in your arms and you follow not long after. Very tragic. Very touching."

She placed her head on Xiao's chest, listening to her breathing, still deep, not shallow or pained. She didn't let go of Xiao's hand.

"Unfortunately I do not aim to be immortalized in sappy poetry anytime soon, so no dying in my arms, you hear?" Y'shtola said to Xiao's slumbering form.

She must have stayed there for quite a while, fingers locked with the other Miqo'te, for when she awoke again the specter of Fray had disappeared, whether it wandered off or returned to whence it came, she could not tell. Despite the awkward position in which she slept, she was refreshed, at least in the mind. Her back and knees were killing her.

Xiao also looked much more at peace, her brow was light and her mouth seemed curled in a slight smile. Y'shtola extracted her hand, all feeling returned, and left quietly. She needed more tea and biscuits and another tome to devour.

The bellglass in her head was righted and the sands began to slip once more.

[thecat-inthehat]

4. Clinch

Y’shtola x WoL, NSFW. Y’shtola gives Nive the Strap. 

I’ve been meaning to actually write this for forever, and then before I knew it, it was 2.5k, complete with pining during sex. This was written under the idea that hrothgar/ronso go into heat, while miqo’te do not, and Y’shtola offered to help Nive out. Some light warnings for Nive angsting over being half-hrothgar and not understanding/being frustrated by her own biology, also some ace-like notions of “not wanting to deal with sex at all”. 

This is largely unedited, because I’m tired as fuck. Enjoy [sprinkles confetti] 

“Shh, Shh, I have you,” Y’shtola murmured, her fingers working magic between Nive’s thighs, each stroke of Nive’s clit sending fire rushing through her veins. Nive couldn't help how her hips pushed up into it, desperately trying to get more and more of that lovely friction. 

“N-not enough,” Nive gasped, reaching for Y’shtola’s neck and pulling her down for a kiss. It was needy and hungry, as if they’d never kissed before, or that Y’shtola’s kiss was the only thing that could keep her from drowning. 

Y’shtola twisted her fingers, curling them, and dipped two into Nive’s wet heat, quickly building up a steady rhythm. She was rewarded with Nive’s cry that echoed in the small room, and the younger woman couldn’t have even stopped the orgasm if she tried. Nive clenched around Y’shtola’s fingers, helplessly rocking her hips to try and prolong it as she kissed Y’shtola again and again. 

When the two finally broke apart, Y’shtola nuzzled her neck, a light purr coming from the back of her throat. “Was that enough, dear Nivelth?” 

Nive couldn’t answer immediately, instead wrapping her arms around Y’shtola’s shoulders and pulling her close. Her thigh was twitching, and her tail was thumping on the bed in agitation. “N-no. Gods, I hate this, it’s still not enough—“

“Shh, it’s alright,” Y’shtola said, dragging her hands through Nive’s hair, and caressing one of her diminutive ears. “You said it was heat, yes? A mere four climaxes is like as not to do anything for you.” 

“I hate it,” Nive said miserably, leaning into Y’shtola’s touch. “It’s never regular, I never know if it lasts for hours or days, and sometimes I can barely think. I just want more, and I haven’t even made you feel good yet.” 

Y’shtola ran her other hand over Nive’s side, heedless of the mess on her fingers, instead tracing the star-white freckles on the keeper’s brown skin. She gently stroked her skin, soothing her as best she could through the fever like flush that rose from her. “It’s alright, Nivelth, you needn’t worry about me. You came to me for help, and I intend to give it. Granted, I’ve never experienced a heat myself, but I know they can be unpleasant without a partner.” 

“It’s horrible,” Nive murmured, and arched into Y’shtola’s touch. She twisted her hips and tried to get comfortable on the bed again, both leaning into and away from Y’shtola’s touch. 

“Hmm… talented as my tongue might be, and my fingers too, I don’t think this is cutting it,” Y’shtola observed. “Might I retrieve something that might help, dear Nivelth?” 

Nive nodded, sitting up to disentangle herself from the seeker, and give herself a shake. “Go ahead, though I’m not sure what else could help at this rate. Maybe a sleeping potion, so I don’t have to be awake through the rest of this heat.” 

Y’shtola kissed her sweetly, just long and firmly enough that it made Nive’s breath catch, and the heat in her belly clench. Nive tried to follow her as she pulled away, but Y’shtola clicked her tongue and smirked. “Patience, my dear. Now let me go and find it…” 

Y’shtola pulled back, going to walk to her dresser, her white tail swaying over her bare thighs, highlighting the soft curve of her ass, and Nive couldn't look away. A pale strip of moonlight fell over Y’shtola’s back, putting her shoulder blades into sharp relief, and highlighting the slight muscle that belied her thin frame. A sudden desire to bite into Y’shtola’s neck swept through her, a want to lay mark after mark along the knobbles of Y’shtola’s spine, to have the seeker woman needing her touch… 

Nive looked down at her hands, clenching them so tight that her claws pricked her palms. No, no, that wasn’t what she was here for. Y’shtola wasn’t hers (no matter how much she wanted), this was just… a friend helping out another with strange bits of their biology. 

Not for the first time, Nivelth detested her half-hrothgar nature. Other miqo’te didn’t have to deal with heat, or obnoxiously thick fur along their arms and legs, or an instinct to bare their teeth at a threat. Maybe if there were more like her around, she wouldn’t feel like this, but… there was only herself. 

The slight jingle of a belt buckle broke her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Y’shtola fixing smooth leather straps around her thighs. The seeker’s meticulous hands were clinching each belt buckle smoothly, adjusting what looked like a … harness? around her hips. The leather straps circled over each thigh, resting just below each pert cheek of Y’shtola’s ass, accentuating it nicely, and more leather rested over her hips. 

“Y’shtola…?” Nive asked in confusion. 

Y’shtola turned, leaning back against the dresser, and that same strip of moonlight fell over her once more, illuminating the black leather harness that adorned her now. Jutting out from just above the tops of her thighs was a cock made of polished wood that gleamed faintly in the moonlight, swaying just slightly when Y’shtola settled against the dresser. She slanted her hips to the side, putting the weight on one leg and pushing the other forward just slightly, showing the curve of her waist all the more. She tapped a finger to her lips, and smirked at Nive’s wide eyes, giving a wink. 

“I do hope this is alright…?” She asked, her tone ever so slightly teasing. “I’ve been looking for a chance to use it…” 

“Uhm.” Was Nive’s brilliant reply. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as the flush rose high, high up on her cheeks. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had to swallow to try and get herself able to say something, but all that came out was a thin whine of want. Her heat, cooled to a mild embers after her last climax, came roaring back to life, burning its way through her belly and making her clench her thighs together. Twelve, how could just a simple view make her so wet like that? 

Y’shtola’s smirk widened, and she practically stalked back over to the bed, her steps firm and assured. She took Nive’s face into her hands and pulled her up for a blistering kiss, climbing onto the bed and knocking Nive back against the pillows so she could hover over her. She reached down to stroke Nive’s clit gently, and made an appreciative noise against Nive’s mouth when she found how wet she was. 

“Eager, are we?” Y’shtola asked, chuckling softly. “If I knew you liked this, I’d have brought it out sooner.” 

Nive groaned into the kiss and reached for her, needing to touch and bite, to drag her claws in. “I didn’t know I liked it,” she said breathlessly, running her hands down Y’shtola’s chest to get to her hips, and hesitating to touch the dildo. “B-but it’s you, so…” 

Y’shtola’s eyes softened as she smiled down at her, and she canted her hips forward to rub the strap against Nive’s clit. Nive couldn’t stop the cry that escaped her, and her hips pushed up against Y’shtola, desperately trying to get more. It felt like it was ridged, even, creating electric little shocks that pulsed through Nive’s system, and getting her even wetter. Gods, she was going to soak the bed at this rate. 

“Thighs apart, Nivelth,” Y’shtola said firmly, and the tone of her voice sent a thrill through Nive. “Relax while I push in, yes?” 

Nive nodded, and barely had time to do anything but follow her instructions as Y’shtola gripped one of her thighs and lined herself up, pushing in slowly. Nive’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cry, and she couldn’t even as Y’shtola seated herself inside her, suddenly feeling both too-full and desperate for more all at once. Gods, she’d never had anything like this inside her, and to have it be Y’shtola, no less, gazing down at her with an interested gleam in her eye… Nive felt caught, almost, pinned between Y’shtola’s sharp eyes and her strap, and she honestly couldn’t bring herself to want anything else. 

“M-move?” Nive asked, trying to push her hips to try and have some kind of friction. She didn’t know the first thing about how to move, but she was a fast learner, she could pick this up. 

“Does it feel good?” Y’shtola asked instead, running her hand up and down Nive’s thigh soothingly. “Talk to me, dearest. I cannot know I’ve done a good job for you unless you tell me.” 

“It’s--” Nive stopped, taking a breath and forcing herself to not respond right away. “It’s a lot. B-but it’s good, Y’shtola. Twelve, please, could you move, I want to feel you.” 

“Good,” Y’shtola said, practically preening under the praise and she nodded, pulling her hips back and giving a firm thrust back in. “Don’t hold back now, dear.” 

Nive’s back arched off the bed with that first true thrust, and twelve was it ever what she needed, what her body craved. She couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled forth from her lips, and each sound she made only seemed to spurr Y’shtola on, until she was practically lost under it all. Gods, she hadn’t realized heat could feel this good, every other heat had been lonely and insufferable. 

Y’shtola ran her hands over Nive’s thighs again, then to her calves, not even balking at the thick fur that lined her legs. She kept rocking her hips into Nive, making the younger woman squirm and clench around the strap, and desperately ask Y’shtola for more. Her hands came up to grab at Y’shtola’s shoulders, digging her claws in without meaning to, and she kept trying to meet Y’shtola’s thrusts as best she could, to chase that sweet, sweet feeling. 

“G-Gods, Shtola--” she tried, her back arching once more, and dragging Y’shtola’s face down so she could kiss the seeker desperately. Y’shtola moaned into her mouth, purring in the back of her throat, and ground her hips in just right that it had Nive crying out. It was almost enough, almost, if she could just-- 

Nive didn’t even realize she had flipped them both until Y’shtola let out a sound of surprise, blinking up at her from where she lay on the pillows, her hair splayed out over the sheets like a crescent moon. 

“N-Nivelth…?” Y’shtola asked, a half laugh of surprise bubbling up from her lips. “Gods, you’re so strong. If you wish to ride me, you can certainly do so.” 

“S-sorry, I -- I didn’t mean to--I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Nive asked, even as she felt horribly empty from Y’shtola’s cock slipping out in her haste to get on top. 

“Not at all, just a bit of a shock,” Y’shtola purred, and her hands ran over Nive’s shoulders, and down her belly, pushing her hips back. “Let’s get you seated, shall we?” 

Y’shtola’s touch was like fire and Nive could only do as bid, shifting back until she could sink down onto the seeker’s strap. A growl of satisfaction slipped past her clenched teeth, and before she knew it she had sunk to the base, grinding down on her happily. It took a few faltering motions before Nive figured out how to ride her properly, but once she did, she didn’t hold back at all. She placed her hands on Y’shtola’s stomach and chased after that electric sizzling down her spine, going faster than even Y’shtola had before. 

Hands fell onto Nive’s hips, steadying her, and Y’shtola gazed up at her happily, a warm smile on her lips. “That’s it, Nivelth,” she murmured, running her hand along Nive’s hip. “That’s it, keep going. I have you.” 

Nive moaned softly at the softness of the gesture, desperately wanting to feel that same motion, that same tenderness when it wasn’t just her heat, when she actually had control over herself. To have Y’shtola smile at her, kiss her, just for the sake of doing it, not because it was a problem that needed fixing. She shivered as Y’shtola’s hands dipped lower, caressing her skin, and then let out a shout as Y’shtola’s thumb found her clit. Y’shtola stroked her in time to Nive’s thrusts, careful to not have it be too much too fast, keeping her just on the edge of overstimulated. 

It didn’t last -- whatever tenuous balance Y’shtola was able to strike with her skilled fingers shattered when Nive grinded her hips down just right and came with a yowl. She kept rocking her hips desperately as the climax overtook her, trying to prolong it as much as she could, even as Y’shtola worked over her clit to help. Nive let out a whine as it became too much, and she pitched forward, almost collapsing on top of Y’shtola, and just barely managing to catch herself. 

Y’shtola reached up to wrap her arms around Nive anyways, guiding her down to lie on top of her, and rocking her hips just a little more. Nive gave a weak whine into Y’shtola’s neck, shivering as she felt her body clench a little bit more. 

“My dear Nivelth,” Y’shtola murmured, kissing her sweaty brow and stroking down her back, while twining their tails together. “I have you, it’s alright…” 

Nive shivered in her hold, and gingerly went to wrap her arms around Y’shtola, finally, finally feeling her heat recede. She couldn’t even say anything, too caught up in the post orgasm haze to actually form a coherent thought, save for how lovely Y’shtola smelled, and how beautiful her eyes looked in the light of the moon. What she wouldn’t give to stay like this forever, she thought. 

Y’shtola’s nails dragged down her spine, and she was purring again, holding her close. “Did that help, then…?” 

Nive nodded against her shoulder, starting to purr as well. “Y-yes, I think. Mm… I think my heat isn’t gone, not yet, but… it’s receded a bit, at least for an hour or so.” 

“Perfect. Enough time to get some water and clean up a bit. You’re rather messy, Nivelth,” she scolded lightly, her teal eyes bubbling with mirth. 

Nive flushed a dark red and buried her face into Y’shtola’s neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“I’m teasing, Nivelth,” Y’shtola chuckled, and kissed her brow. “Now, shall we see about getting ready for the next round…?” 

Nive pulled back to look at her, her hair falling down to give them a curtain that cut them off from the rest of the world, till it was just them. 

“Thank you, Y’shtola. It… I know you didn’t have to help me,” she said softly. “And I know this isn’t over, and you could be doing so much else with your time.” 

Y’shtola smiled warmly, and leaned up to kiss her, soft and sweet. “Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. We’ve nowhere to be until that Alliance banquet in Ul’dah tomorrow evening, so we’ve time yet to spare. And truth be told, I’d sooner spend my time with you, rather than anywhere else.”

[acrystalssoul]

So as I’ve mentioned there is a lack of Y’shtola content(specifically art, but nonetheless), I thought I’d share a fic a wrote of my own WoL/DxY’shtola. Ngl, very anxious about doing so, so gonna put it under a cut:

My WoL/D - Ruby Soul

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Ruby was laying on her bed reflecting on the events that had occurred in The Rak’tika Greatwoods. With the Lightwarden of the area, Eros, slayed; the world was one step closer to being free from the flood of light.

There was one event that stuck out however; reuniting with Y’shtola. What should have been a happy moment for the both of them was ruined by the fact she didn’t recognise her. The fact Y’shtola thought Ruby was a Sin Eater hurt. Her morale dropped and while working with Y’shtola again helped the pain hasn’t completely gone away.

A knock on the door distracts Ruby away from her thoughts; getting up to answer it.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything?” A friendly voice asks upon the door opening. The voice belonging to the Scion she was thinking about; Y’shtola.

“Not at all,” Ruby smiles, “come in.” Inviting the Scion in, closing the door after her guest. “What do I owe this visit?”

At this question Y’shtola stops looking around and turns around, glancing at the ground.

“I… I never did address our reunion.” She says solemnly, shyly looking up to meet Ruby’s gaze “It was not how I wanted it to happen.”

“To find me infused with light?”

“Indeed. A fact I still worry about. Nonetheless, I did want to apologise.” Y’shtola states walking closer to Ruby, taking a hold of her left hand. “I did miss you terribly.”

“So did I.” Ruby smiles, also closing the distance between them. “I was by your side as often as I could until I was brought here.”

“Were you now?” Y’shtola smiles back, closing the final distance between the two, resting her forehead on Ruby’s. “It is reassuring to know you did not want to leave my side.”

Ruby hums contently and takes Y’shtola’s other hand, relaxing in her presence. Oh how she wished this could last forever.

“Now then my Crystal of Darkness, you should get some rest. We cannot have you exhaust yourself just yet.” The scion says breaking the silence.

“I’m fine Shtola.”

“The light you have absorbed says otherwise.

“...Alright,” Ruby concedes after a short pause, “but only if you stay with me.”

“Very well.” Y’shtola chuckles.

In response Ruby smiles and leads Y’shtola towards the bed. “It hasn’t even been a moon for me since you got transported here.”

“I am sure the Exarch has told you how long it has been for me.” Y’shtola says as they both sit down on the bed. “There were times I did yearn for your embrace.”

Getting on the bed fully Ruby extends her arms to invite Y’shtola in for a hug; who smiles and accepts it.

Sighing contently Ruby nuzzles Y’shtola’s neck, “It is really good to see you again Shtola.”

“It is good to see you again too Ruby. Now, time for rest.”

“Okay okay.” Ruby says as she lays down, Y’shtola doing so shortly after.

Taking ahold of Y’shtola’s hand Ruby closes her eyes, happy to be in the presence of the Scion again.

“Sleep, my crystal, you will need your rest.” Y’shtola whispers, as Ruby drifts off to sleep.

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My characterisation is probably not the best, I don’t think I got Shtola’s speech pattern down perfectly, but I’m proud of this all the same.  I wrote this before 5.3, probably around 5.1ish.

You may have to excuse my cheesiness though.  Oh and please go easy on me >.>



[draw-you-coward]

ao3

~*~

Ikael is talking, and Thancred is listening.

Ikael is not just talking. Ikael is bouncing, a little or a lot perhaps, because he is excited, and he is gesturing and shaking his fingers and pointing at things and talking to the rocking chair, the rug, the ceiling—he moves quickly at times, because he wants to rake his eyes past Thancred's nice face and keep talking. About baking, about tempering chocolate and aethermometers and what he’s learned about Ishgardian cacao beans and it’s interesting, Thancred, it really is, and do you know how they manage to grow them in such a cold climate?! It’s fascinating and you can really tell the difference when you eat Ishgardian chocolate compared to other types of chocolate because it’s all very different really Thancred and Ikael should bring some back next time he visits, he thinks, and they can make hot cocoa from it and it will be different than what you are used to, Thancred! But it’s all very good but also personally Ikael likes a very similar kind of drink in Ul’dah better, although of course they don’t really make hot cocoa there but they do make something similar oh has he said that already but yes they make a different spiced drink, and Ikael likes it a lot very much yes because—

So Ikael is talking. And Thancred is listening, leaning forwards in interest, his face resting on a curled hand. He is not making very many noises, like some people do when Ikael talks to them (they make them seemingly at random, he thinks, and he does not know why they do, but he has taken it to mean that they are not paying attention to him), but he is responding in that muted, careful way of his that means he is weighing very much what Ikael is saying. Occasionally Ikael will pause for half a breath to check that he is making sense, because he is sure he has repeated himself a few times, but then Thancred will give one of his very ponderous, intense thinky nods that only move his head by the thickness of a fingernail, and Ikael will get a burst of love and energy and repeat himself again for maybe the third time, and then he will keep talking.

Nobody has ever listened to Ikael for this long, and Thancred hasn’t so much as told him to slow down. Ikael loves him so much.

“I see,” Thancred says when he has finally finished. He had run his thoughts up a wall but then discovered that there was no gravity to keep them there, and they have abruptly trickled off.

Thancred uncurls his fist to scratch at his jaw. He hadn’t had time to shave this morning, and he has an uneven, patchy spread of stubble dotted across a very small amount of his face. (Ikael had at first, in concern, offered him his face cream, until Thancred had looked at him in disgruntlement and he’d realized that it was actually facial hair, and that Thancred was not, in fact, having a skin problem). He says, “That is an interesting point you make, about having to balance out rich frosting. Do you think we should go that route and make the cake lighter, or would Ryne prefer the opposite?”

Ikael blinks jerkily, dragging his eyes across Thancred’s face once more. His chin is red where it has been resting on his hand. “Like I—like I said, I do not think thick cake is good because it feels…”

“Cloggy, since it is too dense,” Thancred finishes. He makes a thoughtful expression. “Yes. That makes sense. We will need a whisk, in that case. Truth be told, I am surprised you have not gotten one yet.”

Ikael smiles at him shyly, because Thancred is smiling with his words and also his mouth and that means Ikael is being teased. “I-I did not think we would do much baking,” he says. He nibbles on his hand, and adds, “Truth be—be told, the oven is shite.”

Thancred barks out a laugh. Ikael glows at him.

~*~

Ikael is standing in the corner of the party, humming loudly to himself. He is very excited—very excited, and he has a lot of energy. His palms are red, because he is digging his nails into them, but the hurt does not stick. (There are too many people there is too much noise he is excited because he is glad for Ryne but there are t—) He had begun to scratch himself earlier, but Thancred had immediately noticed and had stopped him with a concerned expression and a murmured explanation. Ikael understands. Sometimes he cannot think ahead, because there is too much going on in his mind, and the value of consequences drop below his feet and sink into the dirt.

Thancred comes up to him a few minutes later to silently hand him a spongy red ball. Ikael gasps softly and sinks his nails into it. He removes his hand, and it springs back. He gasps again.

Ikael likes doing things with his hands. Baking, and cooking, and feeling, and fighting. If he is doing something with his hands, he can forget everything else exists. He can shrink his world, until there is only one thing that demands his attention instead of fifty.

He squeezes the ball tightly until it is very small, and, holding it like that, begins to look for somewhere to bake.

Stress-baking, people sometimes say about him, and then they laugh, although he does not understand why. Haha, he stress-bakes! Isn’t that an adorable way to calm yourself? I wish I was good at baking.

Ikael does not think they understand why he bakes. He had tried to explain it, once. All the focus is chopped up, and then you put it together, he had said; the easiest way he knew how to explain.

He’d gotten more of those little laughs. Adorable! Again.

Ikael gets frustrated, at times. It is when he has been away from the Scions for too long, and there are people around who may as well be strangers because they are not his friends. It is not that they are not nice.

Adorable! More laughs, and smiles, and that look. That look.

I killed someone yesterday, Ikael wants to say back to that word sometimes.

Sometimes he screams. He gets so overwhelmed by everything that there is nothing he can do but scream and scream and scream. Thancred has been around for that a few times. He finds out why the screaming is happening, and he makes it so that Ikael does not have to do it. Thancred has been around for it only a few times, because when he is there, it does not start.

Ikael is looking for a kitchen. He does not find one, but he does find Thancred when he steps in front of him.

“No one believes me when I tell them that I made the lemon bars,” Thancred says in greeting. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Ikael automatically takes his arm with his free hand, squeezing his gauntlet tightly tightly tightly. It is alright, he knows, because it is metal. His other arm is strained, forearm taut from clenching the ball.

“Who—who—isn’t. Believing you,” he says.

“Y'shtola, for starters.” Thancred is walking for them, so Ikael only has to follow him. “I asked her, is it that hard to believe that I can develop basic skills?”

“You pick things up very—quickly,” Ikael says, because it is true, and he privately thinks it is amazing. Thancred is so smart. But more importantly right now, the walls are very white, which means it is too loud everywhere and a little bit awful.

“Moreover, I do not know what kind of man I’d be if I never paid so much as an iota of attention to my living conditions.” Thancred is walking them through a door, and Ikael has to squeeze himself into mush to fit in alongside him. “Why, you might as well have a wall for a partner if I simply ignored you all the time!”

“Walls too bright,” Ikael says automatically.

“Ah.” Thancred clicks his tongue in a thoughtful sort of way, low in his throat. “Close your eyes, then. We’ll go join Nunsi-Lea.”

Ikael squeezes his eyes shut, readjusting his grip on Thancred's gauntlet. He does not say anything more. They walk until the tiled floor changes into grass tickling Ikael’s feet, and he can feel the sun warming his face. Thancred stops, and he opens his eyes.

He gasps softly, letting go of Thancred and kneeling down on the ground. There is a mystel girl sitting cross-legged a few yalms away, intently focused on the blades of grass she is plucking out and laying on her knee. She does not say anything.

Ikael straightens, looking up at Thancred. He must have brought Ikael out here to remind him of how cute mystel kits are—much more than the other races. Thancred likes cute things, Ikael knows, like Ryne and his nutkin and also Ikael.

“Nunsi-Lea, one of Ryne’s friends,” Thancred elaborates in a low voice. “She has an interest in aetherobiology, I believe. The party was bothering her as well, so I brought her out here.”

Ikael smiles at him. “Her tail is beginning to grow out,” he says. “I wonder if she will get a different colour, also like me.”

Thancred's eyes do that specific minuscule tilt they do when he is surprised. Then, faintly, he smiles back. “I wonder,” he says.

Ikael drags them far enough away that they will not bother Nunsi-Lea. They sit down in the grass, facing the sun. It is a nice day out, and the sky is bright and blue.

Thancred tugs Ikael to him until they are sitting snug together. He settles his head into the crook of Ikael’s neck and says, “Thank you for doing this for Ryne.”

“Ohhhh,” Ikael breathes out. “No Thancred, you helped too! And if Shtola says you cannot do things then I will tell her that you can, and that you baked a lot of things very well.”

He feels a soft puff of laughter against his skin. “I do not mean all of the food, although I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Thancred's head settles heavier. “Just… thank you.”

Ikael pets his little bony ear. I want her to have a proper family because I only ever had my mother, he considers saying. I am so glad you trust me because you help me exist, he considers saying also, more relevant to his mind. But he does not say either of those things.

“Grana,” he murmurs instead. Thancred's head stops sinking, and then slowly lifts a fraction. “Grana i sivi. I thank you also, sína.”

Thancred breathes in, steady and gradual. “Grana,” he tries, and his accent is almost perfect.

Thancred is so smart, so adaptable. He picks up new skills as if they are spilled syrup and he is a sponge. Ikael had almost been scared of it.

He nods, and lets it go. “Grana. Benaraki,” he can’t help but add.

He feels Thancred make a smile to match his own. “Now I know that is an insult,” that leveled voice drawls. Ikael laughs, rightfully caught.

“Thank you,” he says again, against Thancred's soft hair and warm skull. “Thank you for helping me be me.”

~*~

[ainarosewood]

Echos of Memory

Warning 5.2 Spoilers beneath cut (some of it will be direct quotes from the cutscene in A Sleep Disturbed.)

Also a very long post beneath it as well.  Suffice to say I was quite inspired....he he.

@ffxiv-writers​

Y’shtola’s eyes narrowed at Uimet’s flippant response to her question and she muttered about dealing with foolhardy youths under her breath.  This caused Aina to smirk in amusement, the miq’ote was more like her master than she wanted to believe.

Uimet meanwhile placed the statue on the open pedestal causing the second pillar to light with an orange glow and the door to open.  The five of them entered and before them stood a coffin with a faded mural painted on the wall behind.

“He who would disturb a hero’s slumber,” Y’shtola stated softly then as they looked around she continued, “A tomb just as i thought, befitting a hero.”

Almet looked upon the mural and gasped, “She is Viis!  Could it be the Archmage Tiuna?”

At their questioning looks she explained, “A Legendary hero of Ronka, as you surmised.  The Tales tell of how she smote entire armies with a single incantation, so potent was her spell craft---though she ever fought in the name of peace.”

Suddenly Aina’s heart pounded in her ears followed by a roar and the white out that she was all to familiar with.  The other’s voices faded away replaced by the flickering image of a massive army arrayed before her.  

“You have this one chance to turn around and return from whence you came,” she stated calmly, “In the name of the Ronkan Emperor, I implore you. Leave now and return to your home.”

“Forward!” the General of the army shouted, “Kill the Viis Mage then continue till we reach the capitol.”

Tiuna closed her eyes and murmured sadly, “You leave me no choice then.”  She raised her hand above her head and began incantation.”  

A light began to glow about the Archmage and she felt the all to familiar presence of the Mother as she finished the spell.

Suddenly the sky above filled with billowing clouds and turned a lurid red.  In moments countless meteors rained down on the army crushing and burning all who were in their path.  Cries of war changed to screams of terror and those not directly hit broke ranks and fled desperately trying to avoid the deadly fall.

Once the spell finished and before her was naught but smoldering corpses and pockmarks she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to Ox’Dalan for the souls she had just sent to him this day.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Again the area flickered and whited out then Aina found herself staring at a concerned Cymet staring at her, “Are you alright?” she asked softly.

Aina shook her head to clear it of the lingering pain of the Echo vision and gave Cymet a smile of reassurance.  Beyond the young Viis Aina heard Almet state, “Tuina was not only a master of spell craft.  It was said that she could  see truths long lost and hear the voices of men’s hearts.”

Aina and Y’shtola exchanged looks and the miq’ote exclaimed, “Naught less that the Echo.....in which case none of this is mere coincidence ”

“I just had a vision of what was depicted in the mural...sort of....it was an Echo vision and yet...instead of viewing it from some other view point it was from Tiuna’s direct.”  the Viera stated to them, “I was her, calling down the meteoric rain that destroyed an entire army.  Just before the spell finished she was filled with Her Light....”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened at the statement while the three Viis looked confused.  Aina turned to them and stated, “To her it felt like the ‘Mother’s” light.”  That seemed enough for the Viis to understand.

“So Tiuna was one of her Chosen,” Y’shtola said softly touching her chin thoughtfully, “ A shower of stars setting the sky aflame-and in both this world and the Source we find individuals with in whom a mysterious power awakened at the sight.  We could never unpick the why of it. Now however I believe we might.”

Aina turned back toward the mural and Y’shtola asked, “Does the scene  depicted here not resemble the one we saw when we first entered the Qitana Raval?  Does not what you described from your vision, as well as the image here, also bring to mind what Emet-Selch’s described of the Final Days?”

Y’shtola then turned contemplative as she added, “If, as the Excarch’s research suggests that mind and soul share a fragile, yet profound bond, might it not be possible for an event to leave such an deep imprint upon the soul that it could be perceived eons later-given a suitable trigger?”

Aina thought about that herself, could it?  Could all of those that bear the Echo merely be fragments of souls that witnessed the Final Days?  She knew that some how, some way Ardbert had been just that.  A fragment of her soul that once returned saved her from certain death. Also Emet had stated that she had been ‘rejoined’ with seven other fragments of herself with each calamity.  So were all of the Warrior’s of Light in the past just fragments of the same soul?  That would explain why she saw this particular vision from direct point of view rather than another’s.

“The Echo defies explanation by conventional aetherolocial theory or shall we say modern aetherolocial theory.  But if it is a power that once belonged to the Ancients, to souls yet undivided...” Y’shtola muttered then seemed to shake herself stating, “It would I have entered the realm of pure speculation.  And I call myself a scholar.  I shall refrain from making any further wild claims until such time as i have evidence”

“Speculation or not Shtola, it doesn’t sound that far fetched considering all we have witnessed.” Aina responded.

“Jumping to conclusions will avail us not and certainly wont supply us any of the answers we seek.  Trouble your self no more with my ramblings.” Y’shtola countered then continued softly, “Still I cannot choose but be reminded of our experience in Amarout.”

“Then you must recall Emet-Selch’s dying request.” Aina murmured sadly 

Y’shtola closed her eyes saying, “Remember Us.”

They all stood in silence for a long moment staring at the mural each occupied with their own thoughts before Almet broke the silence, “History is learned not lived. We have ever protected the Tales of Ronka just has we have protected this place.  But we are mindful of what our mother’s taught us”

They all turned to her and she continued, “We see the past through our own eyes and speak of it with our own words. Thus do we come to understand it, in our own way.  But this is not the same as remembering.”

Aina thought about these words.  For Aina, it made sense, it was not unlike what her own mother had taught her concerning the Tales of the Wood from whence her mother came.  She had told her the stories of their past and bade her to think of them and learn them in her own way not the way her mother knew them to be.

“Your Mother’s were wise,”  Y’shtola stated turning to Aina adding, “Though we witnessed the Final Days our impressions could not fail but to be colored by our own experiences and expectations.  Those that lived through it would have perceived the event differently.”

Aina knew Shtola was right. But at the same time that simply brought a question unbidden to her own mind, What am I then truly?  Am I just a fragment of a soul or am I  more with the ‘rejoinings’ of the others?  Was it the same for me as it was for the other Scions?  Was this most recent vision a glimpse of someone else’s past or my own?

It had been unlike any of the other visions she had witnessed before those had always been through the eyes of another not her own.  Once again the Archbishop’s question of who or what are you echoed in her mind. 

“We must bear in mind that it is no simple task to keep the truth alive, or it will die with Emet-Selch and his kin. But, we have disturbed Tuina long enough Fanow will serve similarly well as a venue for our contemplations.”

As they left Aina glanced back at the mural and the coffin a myriad of questions swirling in her mind.  

[scionshtola]

What completely petty topic (music taste, favorite food) do they find themselves completely at odds with their partner about?

For corishtola 😌💕

thank you meg!! i have been thinking about this for two days now agdhsk and it finally came to me this morning and i think it might not count exactly but it’s funny to me so

after matoya’s relict, one of the water familiars follows them out. cori wants to keep it and shtola is very much against it—“that thing is made out of storm water, it should stay here, what are you even going to do with it?” but cori has a very cute face and knows how to persuade shtola so she relents, “but ‘tis your responsibility.”

shtola says she doesn’t like it, says cori shouldn’t have brought it with them, but like every dad who didn’t want a cat, cori frequently finds her patting drippy on the head while it does it’s little dance next to her while she reads. and pretends they don’t see it 😌

[just-the-mage]

Embracing Darkness

The cold winter air bit at Evangeline’s exposed cheeks, sending yet another shiver deep through her body. Her teeth were chattering such that she felt they might break. Long had she been used to warmer climes than these-growing up in Rabanastre’s sweltering heat hadn’t prepared her for the bone chilling winds that swept through the pale stone streets of Ishgard. Times like these made her miss Ul’Dah all the more, traitors and all.  Eva quickly tried to press the thought to the back of her mind. Thinking about this would only lead her to remembering everything in the little box she kept in the locked room in the darkest corner of her mind: the one that contained everything about the sacrifice and disappearance of her friends, the untimely death of Nanamo, and her exile.  The box had to stay locked. Shut tight. Inaccessible.  Evangeline was the Warrior of Light, the light in the darkness, the hope in everyone’s hearts when there was nothing else. She had to put on a brave face, despite how her thoughts would flit back to Y’shtola more than anything else. There was hope to find her, at least. Right? 

 Eva would be heartbroken if anything happened to any of her friends, but there was one among them she truly couldn’t bear losing.  Shtola had been there with her through so many of her trials, and they had grown close to the point at which Eva had developed some...confusing feelings about her. 

 Please let there be hope to find her. 

 Please. At least her. 

 Please. 

“Pull yourself together, Eva....” she muttered to herself, wiping half frozen tears from her cheeks, and frost from her eyelids. She breathed out an exasperated sigh, her breath forming into a visible vapour before her; a swirling mist of frustration that dissipated as soon as it had come into existence.  

 She still had Solenna.  She reminded herself of that almost constantly, ever since everything had gone to shit. They had propped each other up, barely weathering the storm of emotion brought on by the betrayal at Ul’Dah. It was as if they were two saplings caught in a maelstrom, only hanging on to the ground because their roots had grown so close together.  Even now, days after the incident, after speaking with Aymeric about the next step in their plan, the two had retired to their room to hold each other as if they were the only two left in the world. In a lot of ways, it felt like they were. 

 This, however, was when things had gone in a direction Evangeline hadn’t quite expected. 

“I can’t stop thinking about them. About what happened. We need to go back, do something.” Solenna whispered, her face buried in Eva’s shoulder.

Eva stroked Sol’s hair, gently holding the Mi’qote girl close to her. “I agree. We could be in the thick of this, trying to find everyone, fighting back. But instead we’re malms away, hiding like rats. It’s infuriating. But we have to abide by Aymeric’s plan for now-if only to keep him as an ally,” Eva said. Solenna huffed angrily into the soft cloth of Eva’s shirt. 

“I understand. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  

“I know,” Eva said, clasping Solenna to her chest. “It feels like I’m out of tears at this point. I’m so tired of crying...of thinking of them.” 

Solenna looked up at Eva. “Maybe we… You know, shouldn’t, then?” She touched Eva’s face, tracing her cheekbone up to her eyebrows, which turned up slightly in confusion. “Like, maybe we need to get our minds off it. Like a bit of a distraction?”  Solenna gently took Eva’s face in her hands and kissed her on the lips. At first, a peck, grazing softly, but quickly turning into their mouths melting together in a deep kiss; sloppy due mostly to Evangeline’s inexperience, but fiery and passionate nonetheless. Solenna gripped at Eva’s back, pulling her deeper into the kiss as her tongue explored the inside of Eva’s mouth, experimenting with her response.  Evangeline twined her fingers into Solenna’s hair, delicately pulling at it as she held Solenna’s waist; and she pulled back slightly, teasing Solenna and causing her to move and shift, straddling Evangeline and grasping at her, her hands moving from cloth to bare skin. 

 Evangeline had never been with a woman before. Her time had always been so consumed by her work, her parents, battle and training that she had barely put a thought towards a relationship outside of a few poorly thought out flings with one or two of the older teenage boys she had known living with her parents in Gridania.  Nothing she had even dreamed of could possibly even compare to this. Her thoughts of Y’shtola fled her mind, her anything and everything consumed with Solenna; her soft, delicate hands, her full lips, the heat that radiated from every pore of her being. Evangeline could feel her heartbeat thudding in her ears and-

 “Maybe we need a distraction.” 

 “-A distraction.”

 She pulled back. Ending the kiss felt like cutting off her own arm at this point. Cutting herself off from the stream of life force that kept her animated. Solenna rocked back and looked up at her, big beautiful cat eyes trained on Evangeline’s face, searching for understanding. 

“Eva?”

Evangeline shifted, moving Solenna off her lap easily with arms toned by years of combat. She stood up. 

“I don’t want us to just be a distraction.  I want to mean more than that to you.” Evangeline said, her eyes fixed on the floor. She knew that if she looked at Solenna right now she wouldn’t be able to stop from falling back into her arms. 

“I’m going to take a walk. I need to...process. I’m sorry.” She stood, moving to the door and pulling a coat from the rack. She couldn’t dare look back at Solenna as she heard her call, “No! That’s not what I meant! I just-“ her words were cut short as Evangeline walked out the door, shutting it behind her. 

 This was what had landed Evangeline out in the cold. Her own stupid pride, her own damnable desperation to be the most important figure in everyone else’s life.  So what if Solenna needed a distraction? So what if it took the form of Evangeline?  They didn’t have to be a real couple right now.  This wasn’t the time to force the start to a relationship.  Even so, what if she had misinterpreted? What if Solenna really wanted more than just meaningless sex right now? The intrusive thoughts grew so loud, so prevalent that Evangeline didn’t notice the unmoving form huddled at the foot of the stairs in the mouth of the Brume until she nearly tripped over it.  

“Ah-excuse me!” She said, looking down at the mass of Armor and rags beneath her feet.  She received no response.  It was a cold night...she should check on whoever this was. 

 Evangeline knelt down by the figure, shaking at their shoulder in an attempt to rouse them. Once again, no response...but from the figures pocket fell a small red gem. Evangeline leaned down to look at it, plucking it from the ground to study it closer. As her bare hand touched the crystal she immediately felt an outpouring of power twisting and writhing around her, permeating her skin and flowing through her. She started and moved to jump back, but dark fingers encompassed her wrist as the pile of rags and Armor seemed to animate, moving forward into a sitting position.  Evangeline let out a yelp of surprise. 

“Stay your fears and calm yourself.  I am no monster, and I will not harm you. My name is Fray.”  The figures voice was deep, but Evangeline couldn’t be sure of their gender. Upon closer inspection, their mannerisms and form appeared more feminine. Nothing more could be gleaned, however, thanks to the full helmet covering Fray’s entire face, the slit revealing only two eyes shrouded in darkness. 

 “Who are you, and what is this? What is this gem, and what manner of power resides within it?” Evangeline asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she expected.  

“Ah. I see you have found resonance with the soul of the Dark Knight.  ‘Tis a path that not many would wish to walk.” Fray tilted their head, looking about as if they noticed something. “But I see that we won’t have much time to discuss that now.”  They looked to the large greatsword laying by their feet. “Take up this sword. It may aid in giving you the answers you need.”  Fray stood, dusting themselves off. “And attend to your woman. You have wronged her, and misunderstood her intent . You need her just as she needs you. Weather the oncoming storm with her at your side.”  Fray turned to leave, moving up the steps towards the inn. “Meet me here in two days time. We have much to discuss.”  Evangeline moved towards him, intent to ask more questions, but a voice caught her ear before she could. 

“Eva!” She turned her head to see Solenna running towards her, still in her nightclothes. Gasping for breath, she could barely get words out. “Ran all over looking… You’re not...a distraction...you’re more than that...to me. I’ve been...I’ve wanted, you know,” she gestured between them “this, for...for a long time.”

 Without a word, Evangeline drew her into a hug. She looked down to the Mi’qote girl, her cheeks flushed red from the cold, and smiled. “I’m so sorry, Sol. You didn’t deserve what I said.  I care for you so deeply, and I know you care for me. I shouldn’t have made any assumptions.”  

Solenna looked up to her, a grin spreading across her face. She squeezed Evangeline once, her eyes sparkling. “Should we pick up where we left off?” 

 Evangeline flushed heavily, most certainly not because of the cold. “Perhaps we should get inside first.” And removed her coat, draping it around Solenna. She shivered as the cold air blasted across her skin. “Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind.”  

 Solenna pulled at her arm, walking quickly towards the room they shared at House Fortemps. “Sooner sounds like an excellent idea.” She said, as the two of them disappeared into the dark Ishgardian night. 

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #18: Aftermath

Prompt: wilt | Master Post | On AO3

Krile shoved the glass bottle into Synnove’s face. “Drink,” she said, not unkindly.

Synnove cracked an eye open and groaned at the sight. “Oh, please. Please, not the aether syrup,” she croaked out plaintively. The Highlander looked honestly distressed, a sight worsened by the ashen pallor of her skin.

Krile ignored the sympathetic pang in her chest, and instead shook the bottle for emphasis. She wasn’t going to budge on this.

Synnove groaned again, but carefully leveraged herself up to a sitting position on the cot, grimacing only slightly; one the assistant conjurers scurried over at Krile’s glare to help her, stuffing a few pillows behind her back to support. The arcanist nodded her thanks to the conjurer, who went to tend to another patient, and then sighed heavily as she accepted the bottle from Krile. Synnove broke the seal and brought the bottle to her lips, hands shaking with tremors. Another look of distress crossed her features—and Krile felt terrible all over again—before she pinched her nose shut, threw back her head, and chugged.

Once the bottle was empty, she handed it back to Krile and put her other hand over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut as she fought back nausea. A minute passed before Synnove finally dropped her hand, taking a heavy breath—and wincing as it pulled at the wound on her stomach. “Fuck,” she said in a tiny voice.

Krile took her hand in her own and patted it gently. “Already looking less like the walking dead,” she said quietly. “You’ll need to drink one every bell, however, until we’ve got your aether levels stabilized again.”

Synnove closed her eyes, head dropping back against the pillows. “Hate that stuff,” she said.

She didn’t blame Synnove at all. Aether syrup was a vile concoction: a thick solution of water and sugar, mixed with a powder made from elemental shards of each aspect. It sweet to the point of disgusting—even a notorious lover of sweets like Synnove couldn’t stand it, and more than one arcanist and thaumaturge and conjurer had gagged trying to keep it down. But it was absolutely invaluable for staving off aether shock in mages who had been casting in a pitched battle for so long and for so hard their magic started eating away at their bodies for fuel.

Like Synnove, who had been practically catatonic in the short time it took to get her to the infirmary where the viceroy had left her and the other Warriors of Light. Krile and Alphinaud had watched, terrified but unable to leave Y’shtola and Conrad as they pumped healing magic into them to keep them from bleeding out, as the four desperately fought against Zenos yae Galvus, all for nought.

He had nearly severed Rereha’s arm entirely with that blade of his, and she had collapsed, bow dropping her then-useless hand, screaming; Alisaie had crawled forward to pull her to safety and got a tourniquet on her arm. Alakhai’s ribs were broken, as was her left leg, and she had a concussion, all from impacting the canyon wall Zenos had thrown her into; Grand Marshal Tarupin had managed to get a healing potion down her throat before shock settled in. Heron and Synnove had lasted the longest, but Synnove’s enormous aether reserves had been running dry after the long slog of a bloodbath the Scions had all fought through. Only Tyr had been left to guard her flank, and he’d flickered out of existence with a shrill shriek of utter terror as Zenos’s blade cut through Synnove’s stomach and she had dropped to the ground like a stone. The only reason her gut wound wasn’t worse was because Heron and her plate armor and her now-broken shield had taken the brunt of it.

Krile had bellowed to the healers arriving with General Aldynn’s reinforcements to prep for aether shock; if Synnove was bad, then any surviving Resistance mages would potentially be worse. Once she’d been able to entrust Y’shtola to the care of a cadre of Serpent conjurers, she’d gone and forced a bottle of that damnable aether syrup down her own gullet, rolled up her sleeves, and taken over the care of the Warriors of Light herself, with Alphinaud as her dutiful assistant. (He’d grimaced at the sight of the syrup bottles, too, but choked through drinking one with no complaint.)

After a few long moments of Krile providing silent comfort, Synnove managed to say, “How’re the others? Can’t turn and look for ‘em.”

Krile gave Synnove’s hand another reflexive pat as she sighed softly. “Rereha will regain full use of her arm,” she began, “thanks in no small part to Alisaie. If she hadn’t gotten the tourniquet on so quickly, Rere might have either lost partial mobility or even the arm entirely. She’s out cold for now in the next cell, for which we’re going to nag her about later, as Grand Marshal Tarupin had to strip out of his chestplate for the healers to treat his own wounds and she missed the show.”

Synnove cracked a grin. “Oh, she’s going to be so pissed,” she said.

“Take her mind off that wound quite nicely, I think,” Krile agreed. “Alakhai’s getting her bones set before I start casting any healing spells on her, one of the Gridanians is taking care of that. We’re going to put her on the cot to your right, so you can grumble at one another to your hearts’ content.”

“’ppreciate it, Krile.”

“Of course, my dear,” she said, letting a bit of honest cheer seep through. “Heron’s asleep for now, too. We’ve got her wounds treated and dressed, nothing so bad we needed to move her up the triage lists for immediate care by a conjurer. She’ll keep until the worst is over.”

“For the best,” Synnove slurred, eyes starting to droop. “You know Heron, she’s such a worrywart she’d insist the conjurers see to someone else first even if she was the worst off. Not likely to stress herself now.”

“Precisely my own thinking,” said Krile. “Heron’s in with Rereha, and Alisaie is sitting with Heron. Alphinaud I sent off to nap, poor boy was looking like a hothouse orchid in the midst of Coerthas. Lyse, too, she’s been running herself ragged. Conrad will be fine, and Y’shtola…” She heaved a sigh. “The conjurers and I are in agreement: we’re keeping her in a coma to let her heal. It was…it was bad. She should be fine once she heals, but we’ll be treating her like a porcelain doll until she is.”

“Ooh, don’t tell her you said that when she wakes up,” murmured Synnove, eyes now closed. She had a very tiny smile on her face. “Shtola will fight you on that.”

“I hope she will,” said Krile fondly. “I’ll be back in a bell to give you the next bottle of aether syrup; if you’ve stabilized enough after that one, I’ll let you sleep a few more bells before the next one, all right?”

“’kay,” Synnove said, voice a whisper. “Thanks, Krile.”

Krile gave her hand one last pat. “You’re welcome, Synnove.”

[voidsentprinces]

Yep, definitely enjoyed Thancred’s arc that was brought up Post-Heavensward with the Minfilia reveal. Actually processed through this expansion. Though I still would of liked it, if Emet-Selch was still the reflection of all the Scions and Ran’jit didn’t end up being in it but, eh.

Ryne, the fragmented and broken husk. No memory of her birth name, raised to fight a battle for Hydaelyn in the First. And, for all intents and purposes, tempered by one of the ancient Primals.

Urianger, the man made to be burdened with the truth of the situation, unable to divert from his path for the good of his homeland. Having to be distant and closed off from his peers.

Thancred, as you stated, the man who has lost and lost and lost. Having to see the one he loved embodied in a fragment of her original existence. Held prisoner, initially, by the vainest beings on the First.

Alisaie, fighting hard for the cause and the hope of both her world and this one. But, always having to watch the ones she cares for suffer. Carrying their prayers for a better tomorrow on her back. The loss of her grandfather, Ga Bu, and the Scions as they vanished still lingering with her. Even if the Scions were found safe and sound on the otherside.

Alphinaud, the scholar, and brilliant strategist. Made to make tough choices in the face of adversary. Always having to find a way forward.

Y’shtola, who found her own people among the Night’s blessed. A group of darkness worshipping people. Who find the strength to fight against the light. She gives up most of her white magic conjury in return for the offensive and greater power of thaumaturge. Unable to recognize her dearest friend, bathed in light. The first time they remet.

And yet they all make choices that Emet fails to.

Ryne instead of wallowing in who she was, if she had any family in the First. Forges her own existence, her own path to fight. Pushing against Emet’s philosophy that the broken fragments of perfection are lesser beings. Though she was hesitant at first. When she claims her own place in the First as Ryne instead of Minfilia. She is shown to be far more courageous, certain of what she wishes to do. And by all the Twelve in the Source, she is going to do it. She wants to be part of the Scion’s family and keep it. And no one, not even a “Great Sorcerer of Eld” is gonna stop her. She is more aware of her weaknesses but, also given the power to track down Lightwardens along with Eden later on. She supports the Warrior of Light by controlling the raging warden light within them. Saving us AND the First more than we ever did her.

Urianger closes the distance between him and his friends quickly once the game is up. Free of his burden, he is even more animated than before. Forging his own destiny in the First. Using his knowledge of the Fae to track down Bismarck on a fluke. Helping the people of the First, that he simply did not know. Out of the goodness of the realm and not for the goodness of the Exarch’s plan. The script was torn up and thrown out. And he was able to do as he longed to.

Thancred accepted that Minfilia was never coming back, he didn’t deny Ryne any longer. He wouldn’t coddle her or speak for her. He would protect her and see her grow as a person, not as a phantom. She was no longer Minfilia but, by the Gods. Like any of his remaining Scion friends, if anyone tries to get Ryne, you’re going to find a Gunblade SQUARELY in your chest. Minfilia is gone and he couldn’t make amends for the carnival accident or Nabriales or Lahabrea or the Banquet. But, he COULD make amends to Ryne and his previous treatment of her. Force to shrug off the cloak of martyrdom that Emet wears as a robe. Both men trying to make amends for their failing in the past and wallowing in pity, but only one of them stands up and takes responsibility. And has now started to work towards forgiveness and recovery. (Plus he lost his “eye patch” bandana soooo...)

Alisaie finds her own strength to keep the friends she has and make good on honoring the friends she lost. Expunging light from the First and protecting the Warrior of Light in the climax of the expansion, the best to her abilities. And when she is knocked back by a greater power. One battle later, she stands back up and channels her aether into the great demi-deity to see his end. And by extention the end of the torment the residence of the Inn at Journey’s End experienced. Fighting for the future of those who still remained instead of clinging to those lost in the past.

Alphinaud, having to face his fear of water from showering to swimming. Having to accept that some powers are beyond him. But, finally after trying to make amends for the Crystal Brave debacle. For Ilberd’s rise to power which lead to the summoning of Shinryu and the death of Papalymo. After months of trying to prove his worth to everyone. The Warrior of Light, Ysayle, Estinien, and his own sister. Without a second thought when his sister is blown back by Emet-Selch. He doesn’t think, he immediately jumps into action. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t think, he doesn’t look for a way to defeat Emet-Selch. He becomes like the Warrior, he so often idolized after the Braves. And just does for the greater good, when faced with the impossible task. He stands against it none the less. No longer floundering like he had while swimming, he pulls his own weight above the tide of dark and swims against it. No longer enchanted by the tales and past, but hellbent on protecting the future.

Y’shtola no longer carrying the hopes of the Night’s Blessed by her own. No longer cutting out her allies or second guessing herself. She goes through very reckless means to ensure their survival. But, now she shares it with her peers. Something Emet-Selch has always neglected to do. Always working alone, feeling his power was enough to stand by himself. Avoiding the other Ascians because they show him not the rose tinted nostalgia he painted in Amaurot. But, what they’ve become, what HE’S become. Both characters take the title of a station that isn’t their own and play the part to perfection. But Shtola recognizes that Master Matoya as a title does not define her existence or who she actually is. While Hades wears Emet-Selch and stifles his very being within his own flesh. Only discarding it at the last moment, but still clinging to his group of followers and their prayers for a dark tomorrow. Not the bright future they now have as fragments among the shards. Similarly, Y’shtola insists the Night’s Blessed can stand on their own without her. She’ll be there in times of need, but she cannot be their only source of hope nor can the Warrior of Dark. They have prayers of their own which she did once seek to see come true. But, upon being unable to recognize the Warrior of Light. Comes to see the bigger picture. She constantly shows concern over her friend letting what they’ve become back behind the wall she had put up. Accepting that this was the only way forward and trusting in Urianger and the Exarch to an extent despite her misgivings. And when the house of cards collapsed, she didn’t resent Urianger or the Exarch for the facade and secrecy, she still held belief in them knowing that like Thancred. They had always been men of resilience and they would continue to be so.

Emet-Selch never put his trust or hope in Lahabrea or Elidibus, openly mocking them both in front of anyone who would listen. Chastising Lahabrea for working against the Warrior of Light. Only to do so himself just because the Warrior couldn’t handle the light of the Wardens all at once. Calling Elidibus a worrier in a mocking way. Being so full of himself and his own plan. Standing alone and so sure of himself. That he did not foresee his end until it came. And despite getting killed by his previous friend. He let go, trusting in the Warrior to carry the memory of his people as he was fading.

He was a bad man, he had done terrible things. But, now...at the end. He trusted his most hated enemy with his people’s future. The Amaurot citizens and Ascians who hadn’t succumb to Zodiark. That still existed in the fragments? Remember them, remember they once lived. They are now the Warrior’s burden to bear. And despite all his postering and blustering at the end. The Warrior of Light was the only “Ascian”, Emet-Selch ever put his trust in. Even if it was for a selfish wish in the end.

Something Y’shtola recognizes and begins working towards almost immediately after she doesn’t recognize us. Having us shoulder the prayers of her own people, making us walk among the Night’s Blessed just as they were, not as echos of how they were and through the realistic odds put against her. As well as cooperation with her peers sees the Night’s Blessed prayers fulfilled. Not at the cost of their rivals the Children of the Eternal Night with their “backwards” thinking. But, for the good of everyone.

[0bsidian5ire]

Resurrect the Art of Allag (Reverse the Curse of Amon): Chapter 1

Summary: All legends start somewhere. Kharagal's starts with a letter from her guild-mistress, a meeting with one of the Sons of Saint Coinach and a five thousand-year-old soul stone. And a curiosity that's likely on par with the Allagan's.

That might come back to bite her sooner rather then later. At least life is never boring...

Or... How the Lvl. 30 Summoner quest went for my WoL. And the unorthodox application of it afterwards.

Originally posted here.

Chapter 1: The Soul Stone

After everything that happened due to helping kill Ifrit, Kharagal was more then happy to get interrupted by a Post-Moogle with a letter from Thubyrgeim asking her to come back to the Arcanists' Guild to discus something. For better or for worse, taking part in killing a primal meant people knew who Kharagal was now and that came with complications. The complications ran from people wondering if she was half-Amalj'aa to wondering if it was possible to catch the diseases that Bio mimicked. Kharagal supposed none of them had put together that the Arcanists' Guild was in a major port city and that if Bio did spread like a normal disease, it wouldn't be a spell the Guild would teach novice mages, if at all. And if Bane was something she forgot to mention, well, no one really had to know.

It didn't help that the people with the Echo had to stay in Ul'dah to fill in the Immortal Flames on what happened with Ifrit. It had been over a week since Ifrit had been banished and Kharagal was starting to go a bit stir-crazy. For the first twenty-odd years of her life, Kharagal had wandered a desert where walls were temporary tents that could easily be torn down when needed. Ul'dah's walls were thick stone and from what Kharagal could gather, had been designed to keep people both in and out of the city. Any excuse to leave Ul'dah for Limsa Lominsa was welcome.

The Arcanists' Guild was it's usual busy self when Kharagal got there; the main level was over-viewing cargo manifests, while the bottom floor echoed with Ruin blasts. On both floors, carbuncles of various colors were lying anywhere they could find a free spot.

Thubyrgeim was on the bottom floor overseeing novice arcanists casting Ruin spells. Kharagal walked over to her and watched beside her for a few minutes. Thubyrgeim smiled at her. "I remember when you first came here, Kharagal; you were fresh off a ship from the Far East and while you had one of the finest heads for geometry I have seen, your spell-book optimization needed some work."

Kharagal laughed. "In my defense, I didn't find out books existed until I was already considered a good mage. It was a lot to get used too."

Thubyrgeim nodded. "Even so, I'm happy I could be the one to teach you how to flip pages and use a quill correctly."

"And I will always be grateful for it; quills handle very differently then brushes do." Both women laughed at that.

"Reminiscing aside," Thubyrgeim said, "an intriguing matter has come up. The Sons of Saint Coinach have asked our guild to pass along a message to you or Kukunji specifically. It appears that their research is in need of an arcanist, specifically one that has defeated the primal Ifrit and not been tempered."

"The Sons of Saint Coinach? Who are they?" Kharagal frowned. Those requirements were very specific. "And why was it me you asked for and not Kukunji?"

"They are some of the finest minds in Eorzea and if the rumors are to be believed are of Sharlayan origin. From what I understand, they are specifically interested in the study of ancient Allag." Thubyrgeim shrugged. "As for why I asked for you... Kukunji is busy with a project with the Muraders' Guild. Something about the Nymian ruins."

Allag. The empire that created Dalamud... Whoever these scholars were, they would probably have more information on what Dalamud was. Or what was in it. "Who do they want me to get in contact with?"

"Y'mhitra, one of their researchers, is stationed in Grindania. She is the one who asked for you."

"I see," Kharagal smiled at Thubyrgeim. "Thanks for passing on the word. I'll have to tell you how it goes."

"I am sure you will. I am highly interested in what research the Sharlayans want to conduct with you. They--" She was interrupted by the sound of a Ruin blast that had imploded instead of exploded. Thubyrgeim turned to correct the caster's technique and waved good-bye to Kharagal. Kharagal waved back and walked up the stairs.

According to Mother Miounne, Y'mhitra liked to spend time around Apkallu Falls. Kharagal found the miqo'te lying on a bench in front of the falls with a book spread out before her and a wand lying next to her. "Y'mhitra?" she asked, "I was told-."

"Ah yes," Y'mhitra said and looked up from her book. "Kharagal Mierqid, I assume? Thank you for coming and yes, I am she. Please, sit down. I think we will be here a while."

Kharagal sat on a bench across from Y'mhitra and got a good look at her. She blinked. Many of Y'mhitra's mannerisms were very familiar. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Y'shtola would you?" she blurted.

Y'mhitra giggled. "Half-sister," she confirmed. "Shtola focused on magic and I focused on archeology. Which is what actually brought my order, the Sons of Saint Coinach, to ask your help."

"I heard they studied the Allagan Empire. What would they need me for? I never even heard of the Allagans until I came to Eorzea."

"Let me back up a bit before I get to that," Y'mhitra said and frowned. "It is true that you weren't here before the Calamity?" At Kharagal's nod, she continued. "Well, north of Thanalan is a region with a huge lake. That region is called Mor Dhona and it is very close to Carteanaeu. When the Calamity happened, Mor Dohna was hit hard and a lot of weird things happened there."

"And by weird are we talking the Burning Wall weird or Bronze Lake being drained weird?" Kharagal asked. Aether flash-crystallizing was weird on a very different level then the aftereffects of an earthquake.

"Ummm... a bit of both really." Y'mhitra shrugged. "On the one hand, the lake in Mor Dhona was partially drained which revealed a lot of Allagan ruins that had never been seen before. On the other... aether erupted out of the Lifestream from an aetherite crystal and a giant tower made out of crystal seemingly grew out of nowhere on the lakeshore. And we are pretty sure the tower is really an energy collector that is mentioned in a lot of Allagan texts."

Kharagal stared at her. "You're kidding."

"Nope!" Y'mhitra grinned. "The Sons managed to get to the ruins on the lakebed first and we have found a lot of things there even we have never read of in the Allagan texts we currently have."

"Like what?" Kharagal grinned too, Y'mhitra's glee was infections.

"Well, one thing we found was some very old texts which described a specific sect of Allagan mages known as "summoners"." Y'mhitral looked slyly at Kharagal. "Apparently these mages could siphon the essences of primals and manifest this stolen energy as a biddable ally known as an "egi"."

"But..." Kharagal started playing with her horn-ring out of habit. "How would someone get the essence of a primal and not be tempered? That's..."

"Yes," Y'mhitra nodded. "That is the sticking point. It seems that when a primal is defeated, its aetheric essence is released into whatever is in the immediate vicinity. And the Allagans learned how to take advantage of that."

"So, that's why you wanted me," Kharagal snickered. "You want to see if these techniques work the way they're supposed to."

Y'mhitra smiled at that. "Guilty. Given what the biggest threat to Eorzea currently is, research into the summoning arts is time well spent, no matter how dangerous some of my colleges think it could be. However, there is a reason I wanted to meet you or Kukunji in particular." Y'mhitra bit her lip. "Everyone knows the Allagans were more advanced then we can imagine. That is true for not just their technologies but also their magical arts. While the beginning techniques of summoning are rather simple, the advanced ones are not." Y'mhitra sighed. "To be honest, looking at those techniques reminded me of the time I got a look at the geometry some of the students back at the Studium were inventing. Only these are even more complicated and are spell geometries. Me and my colleges can read of the effects the spells produce, but none of us have the aether-control needed to even attempt casting them." She glanced at Kharagal. "To be bunt, what we really need is an arcanist who is willing to spend a lot of time learning an untested family of spell geometries in addition to someone who has defeated a primal."

Kharagal laughed. "You should have started with that, I'm always looking for more geometries to study."

"In that case, you can start with this!" Y'mhitra handed Kharagal a faceted green stone that looked like a shard of thick clear glass. "According to the texts we found, that is a Summoner's soul stone and it is needed for the most foundational of the Summoning arts."

Kharagal held up the soul stone to her eye. An isosceles triangle with a curved base was etched on one side. This close, she could see that throughout the stone was an almost invisible regular structure of what looked like hairline fractures. Only when Kharagal poked the stone with her aether, the fractures turned out to be as solid as the rest of the stone and tried to direct the aether that passed though them into some very odd shapes. Kharagal jerked her aether out of the stone with a start and found Y'mhitra looking at her. "Sorry, I just got--"

Y'mhitra giggled. "It's fine. All of us have poked it at least once, including myself. It would be weirder if you did not."

Kharagal smiled. "What were you saying before that?"

"The soul stone is needed for the most foundational summoning ritual, the ritual that creates an egi, called an Austerity. It seems the most important part of the Austerity is not the actual ritual itself, which is so simple it might not be considered a ritual at all, but rather the location the ritual is performed at." At Kharagal's raised eyebrow, Y'mhitra continued, "The texts say that the Austerity must be conducted in a land where the land's naturally dominant element matches that of the egi they wish to call forth. Fortunately for us, Ifrit's element is obviously that of fire and the Sagolii Desert has been known to be dominated by fire aspected aether since time immemorial. I figured the area west of Byregot's Strike would be the perfect place to do it."

Kharagal nodded. It made sense, except for a few major things. "Why does the land have to be the same element as the egi? and what does the summoner actually do?"

Y'mhitra sighed in frustration, though obviously not at Kharagal. "The answer to both those questions is one and the same. The summoner has to shift their aetheric balance as far as they can toward the element of the egi to manifest. Supposedly, the dominant element of the land helps them get a feel for what their aura should feel like when it is shifted far enough." Y'mhira looked at Kharagal. "Unfortunately, the particulars of how this is supposed to bring forth an egi is something we are missing information on. Most of us suspect that this is what the soul stone is needed for as the rest of the ritual does not depend on it."

"In other words, this is where the experiments start," said Kharagal with a grin and she got up from the bench and stretched. "I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," said Y'mhitra. "See you at Byregot's Strike in two weeks?"

Kharagal nodded. She could find some way to get out there. "That sound like it'll work, see you then!" The two woman said their farewells and Kharagal teleported back to Ul'dah.

Author's Notes: It's probably a good thing the Summoner soul stone was discovered before anyone realized exactly how crazy the Allagans were...

The great part about writing FFXIV fan-fiction is that I can personalize my WoL's conversations. The not-so-great part is that my WoL is a total nerd and thinks good conversations mean swapping info dumps with people. Given that most of the people she talks with are also nerds, they're pretty okay with that.

Ch 2: The Ritual →