#so anyway have a Jarexx instead

[jasleh]

we only really have info enough (for my purposes anyway) on the First and Thirteenth, so I’ve not thought beyond those much... and I’ve not been able to put together a Thirteenth shard for Jarexx (although he has a cousin that has one)

but I live for Dwarf AU, which is both technically an AU by the nature of shards and also Fully Canon

Jarexx is still Jarexx because he’s over-dramatic about being an exile (changed his name from Jaregg, pronounced Jare-eg, NOT Jar-egg). He gets a great deal of enrichment entertainment from trading insults at top volume with Pipitt (the one non-exile of the trio) and marveling at the fact that Zurott has absolutely no alcohol tolerance.

honestly not sure how his First and Source shards would get along... probably very badly because they’re too much alike, but who knows lol

FFXIV Daily Question n°87 : Have you ever thought about what the shards of your character could look like or be ? Their races, name or their background ? Feel free to tell us as many things about them you'd like.

>> If you never have, what would be your character's reaction to learn shards of them can exist somewhere, how would they react meeting one ?

[jasleh]

Suddenly, Horns

(or, Reasons Why Experimenting On Yourself Is A Bad Idea)

(Jericho and screenshot edits by @cyranoix )

Jarexx held the bottle containing his newly completed potion in his hand, swirling it gently as he contemplated it. Behind him, Sunstone twitched in his sleep on the rug. The potion was a new invention. Recent events had made him aware of the fact that not all threats to his life involved poison. And not all of those other threats could simply be shot. An image of Zura standing over him, hand crackling with dark energy, flashed through his mind and he shuddered, banishing the thought as quickly as possible. He was weak, and so very breakable.

He had taken inspiration from pluto - a drug that temporarily increased strength and turned skin hard like iron. The substance had come into use after he had… left the business, so he had picked up a sample on the black market to reverse engineer. He wanted the strength enhancement, but not the skin hardening. Not that such a thing wasn’t a valuable effect, but it would not work well for a permanent enhancement. Instead, he had aimed for something that would strengthen his bones instead, making them much harder to break. He judged that with his reflexes - which had almost certainly been enhanced when he was a young child, although he did not know for sure - increased strength and enhanced bone structure would likely make for a decent defense if needed.

It had taken a good deal of calculation, and a few rather esoteric ingredients, but he was fairly certain that the liquid in the vial would do what he intended it to do. It would not be suitable for wider use, even if he hadn’t intended to keep it to himself. One ingredient in particular would have rather… unfortunate effects on anyone of Ishgardian descent, but as a lalafell that was hardly something he needed to worry about. However, now he once again faced his perennial problem when it came to new potions. Lack of test subjects. No matter how solid he believed his theory was, the only way to find out what the mixture actually did was to drink it… and hope that it didn’t do something terrible. Like kill him.

Now, if he was his cousin Zazalika… well, first off he wouldn’t have spent so much time carefully crafting the theory first, but that aside - he would have just pulled some poor sod off the street and force fed the potion to him… and then tried to break his bones. He was not Zazalika, however. Jarexx had never tested a potion on another person, save only when he was working on his hangover cure. And that had been only because he wanted to test it first on natural hangovers, not the alchemy-initiated ones he had been dealing with at the time. Hungover people, however, made for singularly willing test subjects. Still, he hadn’t spent all these nights and evenings working on this thing just to stare at it. Jarexx pried out the stopper, took a deep breath and let it out slowly to settle his nerves, and then drank it.

Almost immediately, a wave of pain hit him. He gasped, and the vial slipped from his hand as he fell to his knees, hands rising up to his head as though he could push the pain back. Fortunately, the bottle bounced rather than shattering, likely due to the short distance it had to fall, but he was in no state to observe it. All his focus was on the pain in his head. Beneath his hands, he felt bumps form. Sharp bumps. Oh gods what have I done to myself? He cried out as his elbow was jarred - a worried nuzzle from Sunny.

“Get back!” It was more a gasp than a yell, but the coeurl backed off obediently, making a worried whining noise. Jarexx didn’t hear it. The bumps were still growing, and the pain with them. He cried out again as the sharp points burst through the thin skin on his scalp and between his fingers. Blood began to flow, dripping down the sides of his face. Oh gods oh gods oh gods. Panic and lightheadedness intertwined and he fought both back as best he could. Blood. That was blood. He needed… he needed something to staunch it with. Cloth. Something. He stumbled to his feet, moving almost blindly towards where he kept his towels. His stomach lurched as he reached to pull one out. His hand was covered in blood. He grabbed the top towel and brought it up to his head before falling once more to his knees. The bumps - the horns - had continued to grow, and he had to wrap the towel around them.

Pressing the towel to the wounds, he tried to slow his breathing. Pull it together Jare, this isn’t the first time you’ve been hurt. It isn’t even the worst you’ve been hurt. Besides, head wounds always bleed a lot, don’t they? It’s probably not as bad as it looks. That was, of course, setting aside the fact that he seemed to now have horns. The dragon blood. Had to have been the dragon blood that did it. Jarexx wanted very badly to find a mirror, but he was still lightheaded, and almost certainly still bleeding. He needed help. At least it felt like they had stopped growing, or maybe just slowed down.

Jarexx shifted the towel around carefully, until he could more or less keep the towel in place with one hand, then pushed himself to his feet once more. With shaky steps, he moved over to where he had left his linkpearl. He put it in his ear, then promptly sat down on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. He tapped the pearl to open up a channel, then returned his hand to the towel.

“Jericho?” His voice trembled, but he couldn’t help it. Jarexx stared across the room, looking blankly at the splatters of blood on his floor, and at the worried coeurl that watched him. “I… fuck. I need help. Can you come to my apartment?” It was still early evening, surely the man would still be awake. I just pray that he’s better about keeping his linkpearl close than I am.

The voice echoed distantly across the aether streams and resonated the pearl belonging to Jericho Brandt. He was sitting in his dim chambers, two books across his broad thighs and a journal he’d been scribbling in open on a table next to him. A topaz carbuncle sat statuesque just beyond it. The carbuncle was half the size of an adventurers’ and fit comfortably in the space while eschewing a gentle glow that did more to illuminate the man’s texts than the sputtering candle next to it. Of the two orange elongations on its head that which gave the suggestion of ears, one twitched as the disembodied voice from the linkpearl vocalized Jericho’s name. The aether-creature blinked through a distant stare as Jericho turned to look at it. Its small jaw fell open an inch and his linkpearl rolled from the back of its engineered throat to rest at the front of its lower jaw, stopped by a small row of toothlike protrusions. It wasn’t unlike an eerie candy dispenser in this fashion. Jericho reached over and took the pearl from the carbuncle, applying it to his ear just in time to hear Jarexx’s desperate request.

His thick brow creased in business-like concern but something further gnawed at him; the lalafell wasn’t one to ask for help, even his simpler ministrations were denied in the past. “You’ve not told me where you reside,” Jericho began, his voice very practiced to stay calm in emergencies. “Jarexx?”

Oh thank the Twelve, an answer. Jarexx gave the address, a flat in the Mists. His voice still shook, but the relief in it was clear. “I… I’m pretty light-headed, but I should be able to get up to let you in. I think.” If he hurried, anyway. Jarexx considered the door and decided he should probably try to move closer to it once he was done with the linkpearl. It would be wisest to just… unlock it in case he passed out before the half-elezen arrived, but even now his paranoia wouldn’t allow that.

Jericho fumbled his books out of his lap as he stood. His small carbuncle leapt from the table and waddled quickly over to where his medical supplies were. It chirped at him, an alarm to let him know where his things were. He walked over to the bag and lifted it up as the creature hitched itself onto the man’s shoulders.

“Jarexx, listen to me, do not let yourself sleep. You need to let me in. I swear if I have to break that door down, you will be the one paying for it.”

Jericho threatened the lalafell in a stern tone as if he was a parent with a troublesome teen. He stood clear of his own furnishings and evoked aetherial transportation, warping himself from his home in Gridania to the small aetheryte set up at Toise’s HQ in Limsa’s housing quarters. Once apparated and whole, the carbuncle bounded from its master’s broad shoulders and immediately grew in size. The half-highlander hitched himself onto the creature, now large and strong enough to carry him. They bolted off toward the address given. Once there, Jericho banged the door with the heel of a strong fist.

Once Jarexx heard the link close, he called to Sunny. The coeurl came over quickly, and he fended off the worried nudges with one hand. “Easy boy. I just need your help to get over to the door.” The coeurl backed off slightly, and Jarexx muttered an apology as he grabbed onto the base of one thick whisker to pull himself up. The cat didn’t complain, but pulled his head back more to help pull Jarexx to his feet. Keeping a steadying hand against the coeurl’s shoulder, the two made their way over next to the door. Jarexx directed Sunny to lie down, then sat down against him and brought his knees up again, waiting for Jericho to arrive. It occurred to him as he waited that, given the nature of towels, he probably could have picked a better item to try to stop the bleeding. Too late now though.

He didn’t have to wait long. When he heard the knock he called out, “I hear you, give me a minute.” He pushed himself once more to his feet and unlocked and opened the door. He was not looking forward to explaining this, but more than anything, he just wanted his torn scalp healed… or at the very least properly bandaged.

The face that greeted Jericho was one that could have belonged to a dead man. The medic's spearmint eyes grew wide at the bloody, pale visage that was hastily wrapped in equally bloody clothes. He didn't question it beyond an initial, audible gasp and then hastily made his way inside, careful to respect Sunny's space especially when his master was so hurt.

Jericho set down his tools and open his bag. His carbuncle uncurled from his shoulder and loafed next to the bag, ready for orders. The man pulled out a well-used book and a few vials. When he lifted himself away from the bag the glowing carbuncle bounded into it and nosed out the bandages.

"Find a comfortable seat, this is going to sting," Jericho ordered.

“It already fucking stings,” Jarexx muttered. He hadn’t seen the alarmed expression, but the gasp had been less than reassuring. He didn’t bother moving to one of his chairs, he just let his knees collapse under him and sat where he was. Besides, the floor already had blood on it. The chairs didn’t.

Sunny was watching Jericho with some suspicion, but stayed where he was. Jarexx waved a hand in the coeurl’s direction, reinforcing the command. Then, he let his other hand drop from the makeshift bandage. The towel began to unwind, but didn’t fall off - the horns and blood both keeping it partially in place.

Jericho donned a pair of clean gloves and carefully knelt himself down, too aware of his own poor balance combined with the slippery floor. He reached out for the towel when he realized there were two protrusions sticking out from the lalafell's head at a strange angle. His jaw went slack a bit, his thoughts immediately going to the fact that something was impaling his patient. It started to become difficult not to question this situation. The man sucked in a breath and began to gently unwind the towel while his carbuncle pattered up to drop off the bandages. The creature was perfect to carry his sanitary tools, having no actual contact with anything but clean aether.

As he lifted the towel free he realized from the breakage in the skin that nothing had impaled his small friend but was, in fact, jutting from the lalafell's skull. He made a face, swearing he saw bone beneath the painfully stretched and broken skin. It was minor compared to the gore he'd witnessed on battlefields prior but it had been a while and he had been able to push such things out of his mind.

Jericho flicked a hand over the worn journal next to him. The pages flipped open like a breeze had caught its cover. The book turned itself to a specific glyph and he lifted an aetherial copy of the drawing from the paper, letting it hover and materialize for a moment between his palm and the yellowing pages. He turned the palm over and the glyph, hovering inches from it, obeyed and followed his movement. He brought it to Jarexx's head and the oozing wound began to scab. Jericho studied the lalafell's face as he did this, his expression stern and calculating.

Jarexx winced and hissed in a breath as the cloth was pulled away from the wounds. He nearly gasped as the aether finally reduced the pain and his eyes finally opened enough to get a good look at Jericho’s face. He didn’t much like the expression there. He kept his mouth shut at first, staring back defiantly… but then the scabs began to itch, and he spoke in an effort to distract himself from it. Scratching would not be helpful right now.

“This isn’t what I was intending to do, I will have you know.” He was still a little unclear on what exactly he had done, if he was being honest.

"So you did not intend to grow a pair of..." he stopped and studied for a moment with the word 'voidsent' on the tip of his tongue but he was uncertain that was the term he wanted to use. He produced a clean cloth and soaked it with a clear, strong smelling liquid from one of his vials. It would be easily recognizable as a wound cleaning agent, the type to cause just enough of a sting as to punish the wounded for their carelessness but not cause further agony. Jericho was uncertain if he should apply magics to this sort of thing... perhaps if he started out slow. As he cleaned the area he pushed matted hair out of the way and he snorted a laugh, his recollection of creatures coming back to him, "Ah, they look of catoblepas horns. What have you been playing in?"

“I don’t know what they look like,” Jarexx muttered grumpily. “Ow! Fuck that hurts.” He didn’t fight it though, instead curling his hands into fists at his sides and squeezing his eyes shut. “The dragon’s blood must have - ow! - had an unexpected - godsdamnit do you have to be that rough? - unexpected interaction with one of the other ingredients. There was catoblepas eye in there too.” Gods he needed a fucking mirror. Not that all the blood would help him get an accurate idea of just what had happened to his head.

Jericho paused in his ministrations and glanced down at the dramatic lalafell. He rolled his eyes and put the cloth down. He knew this twerp was stouter than perhaps he even realized. Jarexx wasn't the punching bag that their cohort Cyranoix was but he had seen the man take a lightning strike straight through his veins and still have the fury to breath.

The field medic made a noncommittal noise and raised his palms to either side of Jarexx's temple. "Fine. If you won't stomach practical medicine then we shall try aetherial mending. Pray, do report to me if you begin to feel an unwanted reaction." He warned in a less than comforting, robotic tone. He palms began to produce heat, then light, then radiating beams of energy which dusted crystalline sparks into the air. Jericho was a practiced healer even if he didn't have the stamina of other, more naturally gifted adventurers. He'd press the healing aether harder as he examined Jarexx's reaction both on his face and the surface of his forehead.

“Man’s allowed to complain when he’s hurt,” Jarexx muttered. Even so, he didn’t argue. He’d been hoping for magical healing in the first place. He couldn’t help making a slight gasp as the aether flowed into him, and the scabs began to turn to fresh scar tissue, the jagged edges of skin smoothing and adapting to the new obstructions. The pink scars seemed rather more red and irritated at the points where they came in contact with the horns, as though the skin wasn’t sure how to interface with them. Even so, there did not seem to be any adverse reaction to the flow of aether. For the most part, the horns seemed… well, rather like they belonged there.

Jericho observed the changes and deemed it fine to keep going for as long as he felt necessary. The small, citrine carbuncle sat next to him as if to play his nurse. When the magics finally faded he put his hands down and took a deep breath. A smirk appeared on his face, "You might have to throw out any collection of hats that you have acquired." He glanced about the room for a mirror.

Jarexx raised a cautious hand up to his head, feeling around the new additions to his skull. He grimaced at the sticky blood. Still sore too. “Ugh.” He felt further up, exploring the length of one horn. No, there would be no hiding these. “Good thing I’ve never been much of a one for hats,” he said. Had they been much smaller, he likely would have become a hat person, but it seemed he was just going to have to live with them… or saw them off. And after the pain of them growing in, that second option didn’t sound at all appealing. He certainly couldn’t think of a way to make a potion that would get rid of them. It would make him uncomfortably recognizable, but that was no longer quite the concern that it had once been for him. Fortunately.

Jericho stood up and brought the items he was using with him. The carbuncle leapt up to his shoulders, its near weightlessness having no bearing on his unsteady feet. "Care to tell me what you were planning on doing if not spontaneously growing horns?" He asked with an ever-present smirk as he returned the objects to his kit. He was becoming far too amused by how much dirt he was able to accumulate on one soul.

Jarexx scowled up at the man in a distinctly ungrateful manner. He opened his mouth to say it was none of his damn business, but then considered just how much blackmail Jericho had on him. Even so, he answered begrudgingly, and as vaguely as possible. “It was supposed to be an enhancement. Not the first one I’ve made, but…” he gestured vaguely at the horns, “This was an unexpected side-effect.” His previous venture into such things had been an unqualified success, with no side-effects to speak of. This time… he wasn’t even sure if it had done what it was supposed to. He’d lost too much blood to be in any fit state to test his strength, and he wasn’t about to try breaking his own bones.

Perhaps being vague and choosing those words was not the wisest decision in seriousness as Jericho's smirk was suddenly partnered with a snort to contain his laughter. "An enhancement, huh?" He cleared his throat. "Ah, but I suppose men have done more desperate things." He lifted his medical kit. "How are you feeling? Lightheadedness abated?”

“A strength enhancement,” Jarexx snapped, glaring at Jericho. He was unable to keep his mouth shut after such an insinuation. “You’ve seen how fast I can move when I have to, yes? My memory? The fact that I can take a gun blast right by my ear without flinching or losing my hearing? You think I came by those things naturally?” Of those three, only the ear enhancement was one that he was completely sure of, given that he had done that one to himself. Even so, he was almost certain the other two had been things done to him. In his rush to defend himself, the inquiry about his condition went largely unnoticed.

Jericho raised a palm in a peace offering, "Of course, of course." He was not bothering to cover his amusement, however. His bedside manner always left his patients feeling rather neglected but he never failed to get a straight answer when he wanted one. "And your head?" He repeated.

Jarexx continued to glare for several more moments, as though to emphasize his point, but he did finally answer the question. “I’m not exactly in a hurry to stand up again,” he said dryly. His gaze shifted from Jericho to look around his small apartment. “Ugh, what a mess.” Blood had splattered on the floor over by the alchemy furnace and the dropped bottle, and he spotted a few bloody hand prints, including a few on Sunstone. Not to mention the blood-soaked towel on the floor next to him. He noted to his disgust that some had even made it onto the rug.

As Jericho removed the freshly reddened gloves from his hands he joined Jarexx in a gaze around the room. "You should tend to it before those stains become an eyesore. If you're hale enough, I shall leave you to do so as I'm still quite exhausted from picking up after your last relationship with chaos."

Jarexx returned his scowl to Jericho. “That was organized chaos,” he said almost accusingly. “And I had hoped that it would be left alone unless I didn’t come back. And yes, I can clean it myself.” He would have to clean himself first, or he’d just make it worse. Gods, he must look like a horror show. He really hoped he could get the blood out of his jacket. He liked this jacket, and gods knew he wouldn’t be able to get another one. He got to his feet, still grumbling under his breath, and stumbled a bit once fully upright. He put a hand to his head. “Gah, too much blood,” he muttered. As he did, he noted with disgust that he’d left yet more bloody hand prints on the floor when he pushed himself to his feet.

Jericho's smirk softened. The way the two exchanged verbal blows one wouldn't even think that he'd have come running like he did. Clearly the lalafell was feeling more himself, however, even if he did have a little bit extra on the top. The half-elezen shook his head in surrender and put his hand on the door to leave, "Perhaps I can beg you to take it easy, or at least indulge in a glass of juice after I depart." His doctor's orders never got very far with this one but he tried anyway. He raised his hand in a humble farewell.

Jarexx grunted something non-committal, and his eyes drifted over to the booze stash on the table by the door. Probably the closest thing to juice that he had, but Twelve knew he could use a fucking drink. Definitely not what Jericho had intended, however. “Sure, whatever,” he muttered, still holding his head, then looked up one more time at the taller man. “And uh… thanks.” Remarkably, it only sounded slightly begrudging.