#tailfeather binding

[kulapti]

Golden Key tiny book charm, Feb 2024.

All my other tiny book charms except my first one were intended as gifts, and I decided it was about time to make one with words for myself. It includes some of my favorite odds and ends, including some poems, short stories, excerpts from novels. I nicknamed the project The Golden Key after the first story I picked, a fairy tale from the Brothers Grimm collection.

[hythlodaes]

this fire is bound to burn

emile x estinien / 9.4k words spoilers up to the very beginning of endwalker

There’s something to be said for these old habits and the way they find each other again, the shadows of their bodies recognizable in the dark.  Here they come alive, here they unravel the years between them.

It begins in a snow covered clearing. 

Under the moonlight, Emile searches the remains of a campsite with only a story in the back of his mind. Despite the wind screeching through the air, he turns at the sound of someone approaching. Estinien stands, guarded by his armor, his face hidden by his helm, and his words are as harsh and as angry as the cold. 

Emile thinks nothing of him until the Eye awakens, something suddenly alive and tangible between them. 

It takes but a single moment for fate to bind them together.  

—

It begins in Tailfeather, in the Churning Mists, beyond the Gates of Judgment. 

What draws them closer is what pulls them apart: vengeance is a word that would dig their graves. It is a path they both know but one they cannot walk together. In anger, there is understanding. In Estinien’s freedom from Nidhogg, there is still the death of Emile’s father on the Garlean’s hands.  

There is no way forward as they are. 

—

It takes time, it takes distance.

—

In truth, it begins on a ship bound for Sharlayan. 

It begins at the end of it all. 

—

Emile blinks through the muted dark at the bunk above him, eyes roaming along flat color as the ship sways in place. He almost forgot about this—the strange adjustment to the constant motion of residing at sea. It stirs within him as restlessly as the lack of a task to focus on, and he finds that the night passes with little motivation to sleep. 

In the bunk above him, he can tell by the steady in and out of Alphinaud’s breathing that he does not have the same trouble. Nor does G’raha, who sleeps just as soundly on the top bunk across the room. Below him, however, Estinien’s bunk is empty. 

Emile watches the neatly made bed for too long, the feeling in his chest a remnant of their days long before this. It was always the two of them slipping away from camp, the deep blue shadows of Estinien’s face as they talked under the stars turning in the sky. 

He swallows back the memories as he gets up, pulling on a sweater and his cloak. Though dulled by their years apart, it’s still instinct to seek him out, like some part of him knows they’re meant to pass the night together. 

The ship is quiet. Emile moves through the dark in silence until he reaches the upper deck, where the cool sea air rushes towards him and the sound of the ocean rolls beneath the ship in heavy, slow repetitions. He takes in a deep breath, damp and salt lined, and looks for Estinien. 

He finds him at the far edge of the deck, the wind pulling at his shirt and suggesting the strong shape of his shoulders down to the taper of his waist. Moonlight curves over his hair, still loose and blowing in the wind, and his arms rest before him, half leaning over the railing until he turns at the sound of Emile approaching. 

For a moment they simply watch each other. It’s been some time since they’ve stood alone like this. 

Estinien seems to realize it as well, judging by the smile that steals at just the edges of his lips. It doesn’t feel real sometimes that he’s here again, that they’re doing this again. Emile thought it was over after they’d said goodbye in Ishgard all those years ago. Their chance encounter in the east felt like the remnant of a memory, a feeling found and quickly forgotten again. Their reunion in Ishgard felt even more fleeting. 

In Azys Lla, Emile pulled him aside, certain that he’d only have a brief window to speak with him. He’d stumbled over a quiet thank you for saving his life against Elidibus, something he regret not getting to say before. 

But now—

“Couldn’t sleep?” Emile asks as he comes over to stand beside him.

“Nay,” he murmurs. His voice sounds different at this time of night; softer. “I suspect much for the same reason as you.”

Emile smiles. “When’s the last time you were this still?” 

Estinien’s answering smile is just a flicker and then it’s gone. “More recently than you, if Alphinaud’s stories are anything to go by.” 

Emile turns his head towards the horizon. The moonlight casts a film over the water, highlighting each rippled wave that rises from the vast dark. He remembers the same sight on a different ship, one headed east. He remembers those long days of battle after battle, death after death, with years clawing at the space in between. That it ended in a short lived victory, with Zenos’ body rising once again as the Scions fell, until Emile joined them on the First. 

Remember us. 

He takes a breath. 

“They are.”

He can feel Estinien’s gaze slide along his profile, and he waits for the familiar question to follow. It’s never quite a question, never quite a command, but it’s always the same:

“Tell me,” he says. 

Emile meets his gaze. “If Alphinaud has already spoken of it, then I’m sure there is little for me to add.” 

“Still, I would like to hear it from you.”

Something in Emile hesitates—the clearest memories are the sharpest. Sometimes he still feels the sharp pain of light cracking through his body. There are nights where he still speaks to Ardbert in his dreams. As hard as he tries, he cannot forget the words Zenos spoke over him—you and I are one and the same.  

There is more to it than what simply happened, would Estinien want to hear this too?

Yes, he thinks. He remembers spilling story after story before him, each one carrying more weight until he revealed the heart of him. This is something safe. 

“All right,” Emile murmurs, and he picks up the thread shortly after the end of the Dragonsong War. He tells him about Baelsar’s Wall, Ala Mhigo, Kugane. He describes Hien, the Steppe—though they met there later—and Sadu. There were other women: Lyse, M’naago, and Fordola, who saw through him. The memories crawl up his throat, and once they start, they don’t stop.

Estinien listens with his hands loose and open on the railing, his eyes fixed on Emile until he too turns his attention to the horizon, fingers curling into fists. Emile doesn’t like to think of the last few years as unhappy, but it was hard, and he can hear the strain in his voice as he traces his way back to the present. 

The night grows colder, and Estinien shivers once, twice—quickly, as though it’s against his will—before Emile pulls the cloak from his own shoulders and drapes it over his. Estinien glares at him but surprisingly does not protest, and as Emile continues, he watches him clutch it a little firmer around his chest, as Emile often does. 

Emile doesn’t know how long they stay like that, only that his words grow slower as time drags on and the sky pales a little. He’s barely started on their time on the First, but soon the ship will wake in earnest and they’ll lose their chance to sleep entirely. 

“It’s getting late,” he murmurs, and he wonders if Estinien can hear in his voice how little he wants this moment to end. 

Estinien blinks at the horizon as though he’s just now realizing this, but then he nods. “So it is.” 

They descend into the lower decks wordlessly, and Emile watches the line of his shoulders in front of him as they navigate the narrow halls back to their room. At the door, Estinien stops and turns to him. Familiar and unfamiliar. Memory and the present. Emile feels like he should say something, but how do you tell someone you missed them without revealing your heart? 

Estinien’s mouth curves down at one corner. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

Emile knows immediately what he’s referring to—it was the last conversation they had after the Dragonsong War, when Estinien asked if Emile would still seek his vengeance. I have to, he’d said then, and only now does he know how foolish it was. 

“I did,” Emile murmurs. “There was no satisfaction in it.” 

He admits it without shame, because he knows Estinien understands. Where I once craved vengeance, I now crave rest. 

Sure enough, Estinien nods. He removes the cloak from his shoulders and holds it out for Emile to take back, their eyes on each other the entire time. For a moment, neither of them move. There is a question lingering between them, something unspoken but present all the same. Emile feels its weight but cannot translate its meaning. 

They pass a quiet goodnight back and forth before they slip into the room, where the only sound is the steady breathing of G’raha and Alphinaud asleep. Emile settles back into bed, turning his back to the rest of the room. 

He closes his eyes, but as tired as he is, he stays awake for a long time. 

—

Estinien is different. 

Emile has known this since they first met again, since they freed Tiamat and he led them in Paglth’an. It’s something that only grows more certain as the days carry on. Estinien’s small smiles come more easily, his teasing remarks more frequent. The hollows around his eyes still exist but the constant anger in them is gone. Emile watches him interact with the others, and he fits in with the Scions as much as he doesn’t. 

Emile is almost greedy for the easiness of these days. The cold sun tinges Estinien’s cheeks in pink, makes the white of his hair shine. He is just as restless as Emile but he does not complain, he merely busies himself about the ship. More than once Emile spots him chatting with the crew, his gaze focused as they point to the sails above them, to the horizon beyond them, or once with a map between them, plotting out their course. 

The twins are near constant companions to him at first. Alisaie is just as interested in him as her brother, even if she feigns otherwise, and though Estinien feigns his own irritation with them, Emile knows how much he enjoys having them around. 

Most days, however, Estinien disappears for hours at a time. Emile never asks where he goes. 

It is the night that belongs to them. It becomes Emile’s favorite thing, watching the empty space of Estinien’s bunk before retreating to the upper deck to find him. There’s something to be said for these old habits and the way they find each other again, the shadows of their bodies recognizable in the dark. 

Here they come alive, here they unravel the years between them.

Emile finishes telling him about the First, often tripping over his words, retracing his way back and explaining the same things differently. Estinien is patient with him, letting him figure it out as he goes, prompting him with questions where he can. It helps Emile make sense of it in his own mind, the wounds of that time still fresh, still hard to understand. 

And then it turns to Estinien, who tells him about what he’s done during their time apart. Like before, his stories are short but to the point, and he tells him about where his travels have taken him, the world he’s rediscovered in this new life free from the weight of vengeance beating through his blood, the new path he found until it eventually led them back together.

They talk about Orn Khai, Alberic, Aymeric. There are things they share, and things they do not. The conversations change over the passing nights, from things that are deep to things that are lighthearted, and they laugh like a couple of kids instead of two men in their thirties. 

More often than not, Estinien winds up wearing Emile’s cloak. He brought little by means of a change of clothes, and nothing warm enough to comfortably withstand the windchill at night. He never complains but Emile hates to watch him endure the cold, and so each night he pulls off his cloak and drapes it around his shoulders. Estinien, to his credit, rolls his eyes less and less each time it happens.

“Is this the same one from before?” he asks one night, fingering the worn edge of the seam. 

“Aye,” Emile says, his eyes on Estinien’s hands. He wore it night after night in Dravania, using it as a blanket as they slept around the fire or throwing it on as they slipped away from camp together. “My mother wove it for me when I first left Gridania.”

Estinien’s gaze is sharp and immediately on him, and Emile looks up with a raised brow as he moves to take it off. 

“I shouldn’t—” he starts. 

Emile reaches out to stop him with a hand on his shoulder before he can think better of it. He watches Estinien for a moment, a question on his tongue that he will not ask. He clears his throat. “I am happy to share it with you, and I think she’d be rather cross with me if I didn’t.”

A small frown pulls at Estinien’s lips, but he does not shake off the cloak. After a moment, Emile realizes his hand is still on him and pulls away. 

“‘Tis very fine,” Estinien murmurs. 

“Mother is an excellent weaver,” he says, only a little embarrassed at the pride in his voice. “She’s tried to teach me many times, but in my youth I did not have the patience to dress a loom. In truth, I’m not certain that I’d have it now, either.” 

Estinien laughs a short sound. “Do your sisters weave?” 

“Very little,” he answers. “Renee has the skill for it but rarely the time, and Max has even less patience than me. I fear the three of us are quite the disappointment for her.” 

“I’m certain she does not view it so,” he says, voice soft.

“Nay,” Emile relents, but he lets himself remember the wide windows of her studio, the dappled light that spilled through in shades of gold in the afternoon. As a teenager, he spent more time staring out at the trees than actually weaving, but he thinks the repetitive motion of it might be nice, now. “Mayhap I’ll pick it up someday.”

Estinien raises a brow. “Retirement plan?”

He laughs. “Aye, I’ll make sure to weave something for you.”

The conversation rolls on until the night winds down. He doesn’t mind when it’s over, when they retreat down below deck again. He finds himself looking forward to the way they murmur goodnight, the look they share at the door of their room, something that comes closer and closer to understanding what they’re really saying. 

—

The interest in Estinien cannot be helped. It is a long trip, and he’s the newest addition to their team. The Scions give him space for the most part, but as the days stretch on, questions begin to arise. 

The topic of Azure Dragoon comes up one night at dinner. It is one of the rare occasions that all of them sit down at the same time. When they’re together like this, the conversations carry on quickly between topics, overlapping in a way that only makes sense when you’ve known the same people for years. 

Emile frequently loses track, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Emile was Azure Dragoon as well, though,” he hears Alphinaud say, and his attention snaps over to the other end of the table, where Alisaie’s brows turn down as she looks back at him.

“‘Tis easy to forget, with how little you speak of it,” she says.

Estinien sits across from them, and his gaze shifts to him as well. Emile lifts a shoulder. “‘Twas Estinien’s role, truly.”

“Haldrath himself possessed you, and still you give me the credit.” 

Emile smiles. “No one will know that part of it. ‘Twill always be the story of the Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon.” 

But the conversation moves on to Haldrath, to the Eyes, to Lahabrea, to the Ascians. There’s a question in Estinien’s gaze but he doesn’t say anything, disappearing into the background of the conversation as he often does. 

It’s later that night, when they’re alone, that he brings it up again. 

“The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon,” Estinien repeats. It is bitterly cold, and the two of them sit under the cover of one of the masts to block out the wind. Emile’s cloak drapes like a blanket over their legs as they sit shoulder to shoulder, and Emile feels like a child again, hidden away from the world with him. 

“Do not think that I have forgotten myself,” Emile murmurs. “But I do not presume to believe that I will be remembered as anything other than the Warrior of Light.” 

“Does that not bother you?”

Emile shakes his head, letting his gaze travel up the sails, their scale even greater from this angle. He continues further up, casting his eyes among the stars above them. His shoulders drop as he considers the question. “Part of me thought of it as a burden for some time. I’d felt that there was too much expectation on my shoulders, and all that hope felt useless in the face of those I could not save.” 

The weight of Estinien’s gaze no longer feels heavy, but Emile knows when it’s there all the same. 

“Now I often find myself grateful for it,” he continues, eyes still full of stars. “If I am to carry one title, ‘tis an honor for it to be one that lends strength to others.”

“And what about you?” Estinien asks. 

Emile finally looks at him, light ghosts over him, and there’s something melancholic in his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“What lends you strength?”

Emile blinks at him for a long moment. It’s one thing to know that Estinien understands that Emile is just as mortal as everyone else, it’s another to be reminded of it again. Just as they’re talking about the magnitude of his role, Estinien looks right through it and sees him alone on the other side. 

“The Scions, of course,” Emile answers immediately. “My family. The memory of those I’ve lost. You.”

The last one comes quietly. Hesitant. Estinien hears it all the same. 

“Me?”

Emile is grateful for the dark covering over them as he feels his face warm all the way to the tips of his ears. “Aye, well... we’ve had similar paths, have we not? When I think of your strength in overcoming Nidhogg, it gives me hope for my own future. I’ve hardly had a moment to reflect on my freedom from the burden of vengeance, but being here with you reminds me of it every day.” 

Perhaps it’s too much of an admission, but Emile cannot keep it to himself. There are things he’s had to bear alone, things that he would not burden with others, but to tell someone how they’ve helped feels important. Telling this to Estinien feels important. 

Estinien looks away, and Emile watches him openly. It’s the tilt of his mouth, the slight slope of his nose, the way his bangs lower over his eyes as he considers what he said. There isn’t anyone like him, is there? 

“I do not often wish things were different,” Estinien says finally. “I used to, in my youth and in my anger, but there is no point to it. Yet still I find myself wanting more for you than what the world has offered, than what I myself have asked of you, just like all the others.” 

An admission for an admission. Emile can scarcely breathe. 

“‘Twas important, Estinien,” he says. “All of it. Unfair at times, yes, but I do not resent what has been asked of me—especially not from you.” 

Estinien looks down at his hands. “Then full glad am I that I can offer what strength I have in return. ‘Tis no one more fitting to be the Warrior of Light.”

“I should say you made a fine replacement while I was on the First.” 

“Only out of fear of your receptionist,” he says, and he glances at Emile again, who laughs into the emptiness of the night. Estinien’s eyes crinkle at the corners, just the slightest hint of amusement in his expression, and Emile feels that unspoken thing again, that indefinable feeling, but finds that he’s no closer to explaining it. 

He knows, in his heart, what he wants it to be. 

—

It’s always present in the back of his mind. 

Emile has long stopped denying his attraction to Estinien—something he’d felt the moment Estinien first took off his helm in front of him. There’s a certain beauty in the sharp lines of his face, in the angle of his eyes, the soft sheen of his hair. It’s the shape of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the thick line of his thighs. Emile has to stay his wanting hands at the cut of his waist and the curve of his jaw, fingertips itching to brush back his bangs when they fall into his eyes. 

Estinien sees him for who he truly is, he understands him in a way Emile hasn’t felt with anyone before. They can relate about such painful memories and share such stupid laughs, they can talk for hours at a time or sit comfortably in silence. Some foolish part of him feels like they were meant to find each other, but he knows that he’s greedy to want more than he’s been given. 

It only grows in difficulty. 

Their room is below deck. Despite the cool air above, down here it grows humid and stifling. Emile wakes with the sun even when he can’t see it. He wakes to the sight of Estinien asleep in the bunk across from him, the naked line of his scarred shoulders visible above the blanket, his long hair spread loose across the pillow, mouth parted in sleep. In the lifting shadows of the room, he is mesmerizing.

Sometimes Emile thinks about crossing the short distance between them. Early morning slips by slowly, and he lets himself imagine pulling back the covers and crawling in beside him. He wants to know what his body feels like against his, the touch of his skin, the taste of his lips. He wants to know the comfort of Estinien’s affection, know the heat of his desire, he wants to believe that Estinien could feel the same way he does. 

At a certain point, Emile stops looking over at him entirely. 

In his haste to get up one morning, however, he forgets to duck his head under the bunk above him. He collides with it with a solid smack in the silence of the room, and he immediately recoils with a hand to his forehead, wincing against the ache that comes in the aftermath of his shock. 

“Are you all right?” he hears Estinien whisper. Emile’s attention snaps over to him. He’s on his side facing him, barely holding back a grin. 

“Yes—don’t laugh,” Emile whispers back, but he can't help it either. It isn’t the first time he’s forgotten his height in a small space, and the same embarrassment creeps up his neck as he laughs, trying to keep quiet. G’raha isn't in the room—always the first awake—but he can hear Alphinaud stir in the bunk above him. 

Emile is careful in his second attempt to get up, and he can feel Estinien watching him as he stands. They’ve seen each other in just about every state of undress before, but Emile still feels self conscious about his bare chest as he turns to throw on a shirt. 

It shouldn’t be any different, he reminds himself as he pulls a sweater over his head next, but when he glances at Estinien, he has rolled over and his back is to him. 

—

Alisaie is fast, and she hits hard. 

Her and Emile take to sparring on the deck most afternoons, when the sun has reached its zenith and the chill in the air is welcome. They use wooden poles instead of lances, and Emile walks her through posture and position, step after step, strategy—things he learned at her age. 

She is a quick learner, and even happier to be taught by Emile. 

He doesn’t let her win —he knows that she would only be angry with him if he did. Still, he does not use his full strength against her despite the way she pushes him to. She is relentless, always looking for an opening, and tries to create one with force when Emile doesn’t let her in.

More often than not they find themselves with an audience. Scions and strangers alike stop by to watch them spar. Y’shtola merely lingers with an amused expression, Alphinaud is the only one that roots for Emile, and Thancred is the most vocal. He spurs Alisaie on, calling out where Emile’s weak spots are to give her the advantage, laughing when Emile grumbles about how unfair it is. 

Estinien stops by one afternoon. They’re mid-spar, so Emile can only catch glimpses of him in their back and forth. He stands with his arms crossed, expression neutral but intent on them as he watches. Alisaie fights harder in his presence, whether out of something to prove to him or to show off—Emile isn’t sure. 

Either way, his observation weighs differently. The fight continues in silence for some time before he speaks. 

“You should lower your stance,” he says to her, straightforward but not quite a command. 

“Emile taught me just fine, thank you,” she returns, but she does as he says. Emile adjusts, refocusing on her hands, watching her feet as she circles around him, but then—

“Emile stands too tall for a dragoon,” he comments, like it’s nothing. And it is. It’s merely an observation, but it still makes Emile hesitate long enough for Alisaie to land a hit to his shoulder, the blunt end of the wooden pole enough to leave a bruise.

“I do not care to be a proper dragoon, I care about whipping his arse,” she returns with a pointed look at Estinien. 

“A fine job you’re doing at that,” Emile grumbles, rubbing his shoulder before taking ready position again. 

Estinien says little else as they finish their sparring session. There’s no winner, no loser, but Emile is out of breath by the time they wind down. Alisaie looks pleased with herself, a smile pulling at her lips as she hands him the pole. Emile shakes his head and grins back at her, but his gaze turns to Estinien once she leaves. 

“My stance?”

Estinien lifts a shoulder. “You hold yourself differently now.” 

He carries a different weapon, it can’t be helped. Still, a sharp feeling twists his stomach—some part of him knows that what he does isn’t right. Some part of him misses wielding a lance with an ache in his chest that only makes him think of his father. Would he be disappointed in Emile? Is Estinien? 

It’s something he’s wanted to ask ever since they first took to the battlefield again and Estinien wordlessly eyed the scythe on his back. The others do not like it, and as much as he understands why, it is a power he cannot yet yield. 

“I could still keep up with you,” Emile challenges, though maybe it’s too bold of a claim. They haven’t fought each other since that day in Coerthas years ago, with Alberic at Emile’s back, with Nidhogg stirring in the air. Suffice it to say that it didn’t end well for either of them. 

But Estinien watches him a moment, considering, before he holds out his hand for the pole Alisaie wielded. 

“Show me,” he says. 

Emile hesitates as their eyes stay on each other, posing both the question and the answer. Are you sure? He hands it over and the two of them slowly get into position. Both of their bodies know this dance well—Emile strikes first but Estinien meets him there. They test the waters, then they sink in. 

It is a good match. 

It’s the length of their reach, the same strength they use, the effortless glide of their footsteps around each other. They move so similarly that their push and pull comes naturally, and it goes on like this for some time, simply feeling each other in the fight, before Estinien pushes harder. He picks up the pace, bears down with more force, and Emile has to focus to keep up. 

Their lances come to a standstill between them and for a moment, neither of them move. In the late afternoon sun, Emile watches the way Estinien’s chest heaves with exertion, mouth parted and sweat curving down his face, eyes like fire on Emile. Desire flares to life in the span of a pounding heartbeat, and Emile swallows hard.

Focus, you fool.

They continue on, their pace relentless. In time it wears on Emile, and new habits are habits nonetheless. It doesn’t register until a moment too late: he expects the bladed arch of the scythe at the end of his lance, and in its absence he creates an opening that Estinien doesn’t miss. He hits Emile hard enough to unbalance him and send him to the deck, where the hard wood digs into his elbow and knees as he tries to catch himself. 

Estinien is beside him a moment later, eyes roving over him before he asks, “All right?”

“I’m fine,” Emile mumbles. He turns onto his back, sprawling his limbs out as he squints up at Estinien through the waning light. “Ali hit harder, you know.” 

Estinien smirks. “And yet who knocked you on your arse?” 

Estinien lowers his hand and Emile takes it, groaning as he helps him stand upright. 

“Next time,” Emile says, still out of breath.

“We’ll see, Warrior of Light.” 

—

Perhaps Emile’s favorite part of the night is the moment right before it begins, when he traces his way up to the deck and finds Estinien already there, staring out at the water with moonlight painting the edges of him. Something always warms in Emile’s chest at the thought of Estinien waiting for him, this anticipation being something they share. 

Usually Emile has a moment to observe him, to catch a glimpse of him simply as he is, but tonight Estinien scans the deck, already looking for him. 

“Come,” he says when he notices Emile. “I want to show you something.” 

He takes off before Emile can question it, and Emile follows him across the deck, the two of them moving as silent as shadows in the dark. Estinien pauses at one of the main masts, glancing over his shoulder as Emile tilts his head back, looking up at the crows nest that looms far above them. 

Emile laughs. “You cannot be serious.” 

“Come on,” Estinien says, and begins the climb. 

“Will we both fit?” Emile calls after him, but Estinien doesn’t answer. Emile watches the silhouette of him rise into the night, Emile’s cloak fluttering around him, outlined by the stars, and he has no choice but to follow. His hands are uncertain but he picks his way up, eyes straining through the dark. 

There’s something meditative about the climb, the way the cold wind pulls at him, the moonlight surrounding him, and the singular focus before him. Estinien is in the crows nest when Emile reaches it, and he scrambles in beside him, the small space causing them to knock hips then shoulders, shuffling their feet until they can stand comfortably side by side. 

“Why—” Emile begins, but then he glances at the sight beyond Estinien, and he has to turn his head at the scope of the sky fully surrounding them. The sea of stars stretches out from north to south, east to west, countless and shining as one. From this height he can see the dull reflection in the water below them, and sky and ocean merge together, stars above and stars below. Emile lets out a shaky breath, lips pulling into a smile as he looks over at Estinien. 

Estinien glances down at his mouth for one heartstopping moment before meeting his gaze, the slightest amusement apparent in his expression. “What do you think?” 

The night holds him so gently. Starlight reflects in the shine of his eyes, white light soft along the sharp lines of his face, and Emile thinks that he’s starting to memorize him, that even in this half light he’s one of the most familiar things he knows. 

“It’s beautiful,” Emile murmurs, but his eyes stay on Estinien, and in this hushed world far above the sound of the water rolling beneath them, it sounds like a confession. 

It’s the same feeling, isn’t it? It’s always the same, unspoken thing. 

The answer is, Emile thinks, somewhere within his reach. 

—

“Where do you and Estinien go at night?”

Emile stills, cup of tea in hand and halfway to his mouth. It’s Alphinaud who asks, and Emile looks over at him with wide eyes, though the question is posed innocently enough. Beside him, Alisae nearly spits out her own tea, coughing into the back of her hand as she sets her cup down with a small sound. 

The three of them sit huddled around a table strewn with empty plates leftover from breakfast. Alphinaud frowns at his sister’s reaction, but he looks back to Emile, who lifts a shoulder in response. 

“To the upper deck,” he answers. “Have we woken you?” 

Alphinaud shakes his head. “Naught to concern yourself with, I have only noticed your empty bunks on a few occasions and presumed you were together.” 

“Aye,” Emile says. “We both have a habit of staying up too late, we end up talking half the night away.” 

Alphinaud seems to accept this, but Alisae stares at Emile for a long moment, her brows pushed together. Emile is about to question it when she rolls her eyes and says, “Gods above, you’re just as bad as him!”

He blinks at her. “What?” 

“Estinien,” she grumbles. His name sounds almost painful in her mouth. “You’re completely infatuated with each other and then act like it isn’t obvious to everyone around you.” 

If possible, Emile’s eyes widen even further. “What?”

“I’ve had to listen to my brother blather on about him for years without you so much as mentioning him,” she continues, “and then all of a sudden you’re thick as thieves.”

“We’ve always been friends,” he tries. 

“All I’m saying is, the man has two expressions and one is only slightly less murderous than the other. Then he looks at you and I daresay he smiles.” 

“It isn’t like that,” Emile returns, distinctly reminding himself of when his sisters used to tease him about his crush on one of Renee’s friends. Mimi’s in love, they would singsong, until his ears were bright red and he’d snap at them to leave him alone. 

It was childish then, at sixteen. It’s worse now, at thirty three. 

Alisaie turns her attention to her brother. “Please tell Emile he’s being ridiculous.”

Alphinaud glances between them with a furrowed brow before he picks up his cup of tea and takes a sip. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” 

Emile breathes a small laugh while Alisaie tilts her head back and drops her shoulders, huffing out a frustrated breath. “Hopeless.”

—

They grow closer to Sharlayan. 

They consult the maps, they make their plans, it is inevitable that they will reach their destination soon. It has been a long trip, and morale stretches thin between passengers and crew alike, a certain weariness in the air coupled with the boredom of almost two months at sea. 

On one of their last days, a group of musicians gather together on the upper deck and play song after song while the afternoon winds down into the evening. Many gather around, drawing up a seat or standing along the edges of the crowd, others dancing in the space in front of them. 

Emile arrives later, as the sun begins to set. He was eating dinner with Urianger when they first heard the music, and now they follow the sound up to the deck, where they find the rest of the Scions gathered to one side, standing near the railing as the lights flicker among them, the sky behind them fading pink into the night. 

Estinien stands in the back with his arms crossed, but there’s something relaxed about his posture, his expression calm as he watches the crowd. His attention snaps over to Emile as he comes closer, and a knowing smile crosses his lips—always just the hint of it but there, nonetheless. Emile smiles back, drawn like a magnet to him, and then they’re side by side again, watching the musicians as they begin another song, this one rowdier than the last. 

“Do you not dance?” Emile asks, leaning in close so he can hear him. 

Estinien levels him with a glare that is answer enough. 

“Come on, Estinien. Never?” 

His mouth presses together for a moment in that way it does when he’s debating whether or not to say something, and Emile tilts his head a little, widening his eyes. Estinien takes one look at him and sighs. “I haven’t the talent for it.” 

“I’m sure you do, you’re coordinated,” he offers.

He lets it drop though, turning his attention back to those that dance. The lights catch them, making them look like shifting paintings coming to life from the relief of the night. There are couples and groups of friends alike, laughter ebbing over the music. Emile finds himself smiling, tapping his foot along to the beat. 

And then—

“My mother taught me to dance,” Estinien admits, just barely loud enough to be heard over all the noise. 

Emile looks over sharply, but Estinien keeps his gaze on the crowd.

“Ferndale held a festival at the change of each season,” he continues. “My brother and I would fight over who would dance with her.”

Emile clears his throat. “Who won?” 

Estinien smiles, more nostalgic than happy. “She made us take turns. We’d spend entire afternoons in the kitchen learning the steps with her. We did not have an orchestrion...she would sing until her voice grew tired.” 

He still stares fixedly ahead of him. For a moment Emile lets himself imagine Estinien as a child, heart aching in his chest as he thinks about two little boys in a farmhouse kitchen, dancing to the sound of their mother’s voice. He leans over to press their shoulders together. “‘Tis a sweet memory.” 

Estinien looks over at him, staring at Emile for what feels like a long moment. “Aye.” 

“Will you show me the dance?” 

“Nay,” he says quickly, but his mouth loosens into a more genuine smile. “By all means, you should go ahead though.” 

Emile shakes his head. “Only when I’m in my cups.” 

It’s an obvious lie, but at least it gets Estinien to laugh. “I’d like to see that.” 

They lapse back into the music and the crowd. Estinien gets his wish before long, because G’raha comes over and pulls Emile away with him onto the makeshift dance floor, half his size but persistent—not that Emile puts up much of a fight. He isn’t the best dancer but he loves feeling the music within him and letting his body follow its rhythm. Raha pulls him into his arms in a loose version of a waltz, and Emile laughs until his sides ache in his attempt to get Emile to turn under his arm. 

Alisaie joins them before long, her laugh loud over the music as Emile takes her by the hands and twirls her around, lifting her in the air and setting her back down again. 

Song after song passes like that, and Emile is breathless but it’s the most fun he’s had in some time. Every so often his eyes find Estinien, still watching them with his arms crossed as he leans back against the rail of the ship. He smirks at Emile, shaking his head a little, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. Emile smiles back each time, and then he’s lost to the music again. 

—

It’s later that night, when the upper deck is empty, that they dance in silence. 

I hardly remember the steps. 

It matters not.

Emile doesn’t know why Estinien changes his mind, just that he does. They spend a long time fumbling through it, Estinien’s instructions closer to that of the Knights Dragoon as he guides him through the steps. It begins with them facing each other, hands clasped together as they cross side to side, then they turn under the bridge of their arms. They loop around, their arms drawing them closer, then further apart. It is a dance that breathes, meant to be lively, but they take it slow. 

Estinien counts aloud, the rhythm certain though his feet are not, and Emile is amused by the concentration on his face, the determined line of his brow, the way his voice tightens around the constant one, two, three, when they misstep. He takes it too seriously but Emile cannot blame him, cannot tease him or poke fun, for he knows what this means. 

They bring the past back to life, two ghosts from Ferndale on a ship bound for Sharlayan. He’s all but certain that this is the first time Estinien has danced like this since he was in a kitchen with his mother and brother, and he feels honored in a way that lingers like a weight in his chest. Estinien himself said there’s no point in wishing the past could be undone, but for a moment here, like this, Emile’s only wish is that he could change things for him and give him back the family he so brutally lost. 

Estinien’s hands tighten around his as they seem to finally get it right, and they fall into it, each repetition more confident than the one before. Estinien stops counting aloud, and the only sounds in the night are the rolling waves and their footsteps across the deck. 

Emile ducks under their arms again as they turn, but this time Estinien brings one of their joined hands to Emile’s waist, the other held above their heads, faces close as they stand chest to chest. Emile breathes him in above the sea air, and they sway in place, eyes on each other. Emile cannot be sure how long they stay like that, so entirely lost in the moment that time passes like a dream.

Eventually they slow to a stop, and Estinien wavers in the dark, shades of gray, but he’s so close that Emile would only have to tilt his head the slightest to lean in and kiss him. It would be so easy, it would—

It would ruin the threads of their friendship they picked back up these past months. You’re only seeing what you want to see, he tells himself. Still, with the closeness of Estinien in the dark, their fingers still tangled together, it’s hard to avoid the draw. 

Emile makes himself let go, clearing his throat. 

“I think your mother would be proud of you,” he murmurs. 

Estinien swallows thickly, then nods. “Thank you.”

They linger just a moment longer, and then they walk back to their room. Emile watches the line of Estinien’s shoulders in front of him, his thoughts a mess as he tries to make sense of everything that’s happened between them lately. He knows things are different, but he thinks it’s only a matter of them being different. They are not who they were when they first met. 

They stop at the door just as they always do, and Estinien gives Emile his cloak back just as he always does, but then they break routine. Estinien stays where he is, looking down at his hands, and the moment stretches on. Emile stares at the line of his jaw, his hair that falls loose around his shoulders, and feels a warmth stir in his chest. It’s hard to look away. 

“Emile,” he says, his voice like gravel, and it’s then that he tilts his head up to meet his gaze. He doesn’t say anything else, and all they can do is watch each other as the silence continues to fill the space between them and wears at Emile’s heart. I’m trying to understand, he wants to say, always this same feeling again and again, and tonight it sits heavily within him. He clings to it, searching Estinien’s gray eyes dulled by the night, but the answer is still just out of reach. 

Estinien’s shoulders deflate, and the moment passes. Still, a small smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Goodnight.” 

Please. 

Emile nods. “Goodnight.” 

—

Emile keeps to himself the next day. 

He doesn’t say anything to the others, he merely slips away in the morning and finds a place to sit on the deck alone. The cold morning sun falls over him and he tilts his head back to let the weak light coat his face, the bare warmth of it a distraction for just a moment.

But then he leans over the railing of the deck, resting his chin on his crossed arms, and he lays his cheek along the collar of his cloak. It smells like Estinien now, and it fills him with a longing that seeps into his bones, that drives down to the most minuscule part of him with a single truth—

He wants to be his. 

He breathes in, he breathes out. He stares at the clear line of the horizon but there are no answers. They face so much ahead of them in Sharlayan, they have been through too much to get to this point. There’s no room for feelings like this—not with the Final Days looming over them, not with everything hanging in the balance. Now is the time to focus, and that means letting these thoughts about Estinien go. 

Easier said than done, though. He finally decides he’s had enough of his sulking and picks his way back across the ship, where he spots Estinien with Alphinaud and Urianger, the three of them standing together on the far edge of the deck. Emile can see the easy conversation from here, the loose lines of their bodies, the way Alphinaud tips his head back with laughter as he often does whenever he’s around Estinien. 

“Emile,” a voice calls from behind him, and he turns to see Thancred watching him, something careful about his gaze. “All right?”

“Fine,” he says, but his voice sounds thin. Thancred glances beyond him for a moment, returning to Emile with understanding crossing his expression.

“For a self proclaimed loner, he seems to be rather fond of company,” he murmurs. 

It’s that he doesn’t mention Estinien by name, knowing full well what has been occupying Emile’s thoughts, that bodes ill for this conversation. Emile can hear the caution in his own voice, “Only some of the time.” 

“Or, rather fond of your company, I should say.” 

Emile sighs, half tempted to pinch his brow. “You know we’ve been friends for years.” 

Thancred was there in those days when Nidhogg still claimed Estinien, and he saw the effect it had on Emile then. He is observant, and Emile is certain that he’s well aware of Emile’s reluctance to talk about him over the years, even more aware of the way they’re drawn together now that they share a goal again. 

One breath in, another breath out. 

“Far be it for me to meddle in the affairs of others,” Thancred says, “but I think ‘friends’ is a generous term for it.” 

Emile’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t have it in him to deny it. “‘Tis close enough.” 

Thancred raises a brow.

“‘Tis not that simple,” Emile tries again.

“Is it not?” 

Emile wishes it was. He wishes he could take the chance with this, but there’s too much at risk. It’s too much of a complication, and the last thing he’d want to do is to ruin this easy dynamic between them.

He sighs. “Even if I were guaranteed that he felt the same, ‘tis hardly the time for such a thing.” 

Thancred looks back to Estinien, Alphinaud, and Urianger across the deck, and a slow smile steals across his lips. “I daresay we have little choice in when these things happen. Or with whom.” 

Emile follows his gaze to Urianger, who gestures with his hands as he speaks. Emile knows it hasn’t been easy for the two of them, but there’s been something different about both of them since they took that step. Something happier, relaxed, free.

For a moment, the thought makes him pause, and he asks himself a single, What if. When he looks back to Thancred, he shakes his head at him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“I trust you’ll figure it out.” 

—

They’re due to arrive in the morning. 

His head spins with mixed feelings at the thought. Most of all, he’s ready to keep going. This restlessness has been a challenge, being rendered useless when he knows the magnitude of what’s before them, and he’s eager to help in the way he knows best. He’s excited to see the place that his friends have talked about so often—that old adventurer’s spirit is still alive in him, always somewhere underneath the surface.

He can’t let himself dwell on the nerves that pull at the edges of him, the questions that rise without an answer. He is not alone, and though there’s a certain dread in the back of his mind at what they could be facing, they will figure this out together. 

But as much as he looks forward to leaving this ship, it means an end to this—

Emile hands over his cloak as soon as they step out into the night air, and Estinien takes it without a word. They stand shoulder against shoulder to keep warm from the wind. Or at least, that’s what Emile tells himself when he leans his weight against him, it’s what he tells himself when Estinien leans back just as much, sides pressed together against the chill of the night.

It cannot be this easy. 

He looks over at him, at the way he positioned the collar around his neck so he can tuck his face into it, the way the moonlight tugs at his lashes as he blinks out at the horizon, and Emile wishes he could pause time just so he could watch him a little longer, stay with him here, stay with him safe.

They’re quiet. There’s much they could still discuss but they both seem content to enjoy these last moments together in the silence. Emile debates for too long what he could say—Alisaie and Thancred’s voices in the back of his mind—but in the end, he simply gives in to the night.

Before he can overthink it, he tilts his head to rest on Estinien’s shoulder. They sat like this once before, years ago, the night after they killed Nidhogg. There was an understanding between them underneath all that raw emotion, and the comfort of being close helped him more than he would ever admit at the time. Like then, the sharp line of Estinien’s jaw comes down to rest against the top of his head in return.

If this is all we get, then let me stay here.

The night stretches on and Emile commits it to memory: the familiar sound of the wind catching at the sails, the salt air, cold mist from the water, and the thousands and thousands of stars surrounding them. There’s the rise and fall of Estinien’s body beneath him, the even sound of his breathing, the scent of him, the way he stays and stays and stays. 

The night stretches on and it stretches out—it cannot last forever. 

Emile’s eyes blink slowly, and then slower. He knows they need their rest but he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally pulls away he doesn’t go far, just enough so he can meet Estinien’s gaze. He’s equally as intent on him, and Emile’s heart thunders in his chest, stealing at the peace from just a moment earlier. 

Emile smiles at him, grateful for the way Estinien’s lips curve up in response, always only the hint of it but always true. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Emile admits, and he forces himself not to look away. “There were many times I thought of you these past years. Many moments where I wished we could simply talk like we used to. I know our separate paths were right for us both, but I’m glad that it led us here.” 

One shaky breath follows another. 

Estinien’s smile broadens a little before he looks to the horizon. “You still yet surprise me, Warrior of Light.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“After everything, you continue to wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

Emile wills himself not to blush. “It cannot be helped.” 

“Still,” he continues, and his smile fades until it’s completely gone. “I’m not going anywhere just yet.” 

His reassurance is so simple, so solid. Emile feels himself nod, tucking this feeling away in his chest. “We should get some rest; tomorrow promises to be a long day.” 

“Aye,” Estinien says, and they separate fully this time. The cold of the night tugs at Emile as he heads back, and he doesn’t realize that Estinien hasn’t moved until he calls his name again. 

“Emile.”

Emile turns around, and it’s just like last night, isn’t it? They stand across from each other, Estinien’s bangs hang low over his eyes, and for a moment Emile doesn’t think he’ll say anything else, but then—

“I thought of you too.”

The admission is quiet but determined, and Emile swallows hard, letting it wash over him as he stares at Estinien. There’s a resolve in his eyes, something immovable, and Emile takes one step closer to him, then another. Estinien doesn’t waver, not until he has to tilt his head back the smallest amount to look up at him, though his expression betrays nothing. 

Emile winds his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. It’s uncertain at first—they’ve never done this before—but then Estinien wraps his arms around Emile’s middle, his grip tight as his hands bunch the fabric of his sweater and pull him closer. He turns his face into Emile’s shoulder, and Emile can feel his breath at his neck, can swear he feels his heart match his own—beat for heavy beat. 

Emile tightens his own grip around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he savors the warmth of his body, the sense of security that settles in his chest, and he relaxes into the unexpected comfort of it. Nothing else matters as they hold each other close, not the fear of the future or the pain of what’s behind them. Here, they have each other, and they’re safe. 

When they part, there’s something shy about the way Estinien looks at him through the shadow of his bangs, and all Emile can think is, Okay. 

He finally understands.

—

It begins in a snow covered clearing, in Tailfeather, the Churning Mists, and a ship bound for Sharlayan. 

It begins on the Steps of Faith. 

Kill me, Estinien had asked him once. It is the only way.

Emile never even considered it. 

I will not lose you, ran through his mind again and again as he and Alphinaud pried Nidhogg’s Eyes from Estinien’s body, a determination beating through his blood that he’s only felt a few times in his life, giving him a strength he shouldn’t have had left.

He thinks he knew he loved him then, too. 

—

They return to their room as they do every night, but something has changed between them. 

As they stand at the door, Estinien hands Emile his cloak, and they murmur goodnight back and forth in hushed voices. Tonight their glances are fleeting, tonight they do not linger. 

They slip into the muted dark together one last time. 

—

In the morning, she is waiting for him. 

[exclted]

˚ · . @teneguine asked:

"--Just a little further! I promise, you can open your eyes soon enough!"

Owain walks with awkward steps behind his cousin. He had been keeping a tight lid on her birthday gift all day now, dragging her here and there with his hands over her wrists--forcing her to avert her gaze. First it was to the stables, then back to his quarters (he forgot the key), then he wanted to stop for a quick snack and now: stables again. They've arrived, as is evidenced by the smell of horses permeating the air. Owain doesn't let it get to him though.

He walks Lucina around a corner, and finally stops to step to her side. "Alas!" hands return to him, allowing the Exalt free reign with hers, "The promised moment hath arriveth! You may set free your heroic gaze upon the world, but don't say I didn't warn you! The mystic powers that lie ahead are only to be seen by a warrior pure of heart!"

He's bullshitting, as usual. What he really means is that he hopes she'll like it.

"Fates cross and destiny clashes! From the reaches of the nether realms emerges your first and only sidekick," dismissing any notion that he fulfills that role, naturally, "say hello to Pitch-Black Scythe the Incredible!"

And with a flashy display of his hands, Owain reveals none other than a sacred kinshi. Its head stands level with the two of them, though as any bird of its breed would, it stretches its wings at easily double their height. White plumage is decorated with yellow accents: on the tips of its wings, in the spines of its tailfeathers, as a gradient on its crest. It greets the Ylisseans with an unamused coo, evidently miles more docile than Owain. How they even met is a mystery in and of itself, but how they get along is beyond even the depths of human knowledge.

"Using his fortuitous form and swift-striking grace, he becomes be a beacon unto all. Fighters of hope will draw near, scions of purgatory ready to take up arms. On his wings of glory shall ye charge into the fray, ready to banish evil in the name of Dark!"

The bird only brushes his feathers in response, though the sarcastic nature of this actions suggests less that he doesn't understand Owain and more that he does, seeing as how he already pays him no mind.

Moreover, Scythe seems interested in Lucina. He waddles a few steps forward, pressing and inquisitive beak to her chin.

"See how the mighty Scythe already binds himself to your soul! You two will be kindred spirits in no time!"

She knew better than to expect anything normal of Owain. There is never point A to point B with him, but rather point A to M (sometimes even Q) and a moment to touch on every letter in between.

So Lucina doesn't complain for a second as she is pulled along for the ride. His company is a gift enough -- every moment spent with him is priceless now after years of fearing that they may never have a chance to even age together, and a good handful more spent separated. She simply allows herself to enjoy his antics, to be apart of whatever world it is he has built today.

A normal person might grow suspicious about the contents of their gift, being lead to the stables as Lucina so clearly is now, but this is just another little Owain-ism. The location indicates little -- her cousin's creativity knowing not a single bound. To try and predict him is pointless.

Hands release her and they stop before a stall door. Lucina blinks between it and he that had brought her there, brow raised. This is where she would remind him that none of this was necessary, if not for the fact that, well, he never listened.

"I do so hope to be deemed worthy," she replies, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

In a display of extravagance that only her cousin could create in such an environment as this, the stall door is flung open. Lucina's gaze hesitates, lingering on him before glimpsing the surprise for herself.

Only when he says Scythe does she crack, mismatched eyes flitting past him and into the little room. They're greeted almost instantly by another pair, this one obsidian and unmistakably bird-like.

Familiarity plucks on strings of the Exalt's heart as the creature approaches. "Oh."

The bird pokes its beak at her, investigating its new owner as Lucina simply gawks. A hesitant hand comes to smooth the feathers at the crest of its head, eyes returning to Owain.

It's so moving that she can bite her tongue on pointing out that Pitch-Black isn't exactly a name befitting a bird the color of snow.

"I hadn't realized these creatures were... real..." The first and last one she had seen was in a reality that wasn't theirs, and yet. "Thank you, Owain. We will do our best to make you proud."

[casualcatte]

RP Journal: 08/10/2020

Gods, it was good to finally get out and hunt again!  Granted, I was bringing Edgard Beaumont with me that might prove to be a mixed blessing, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He /was/ a Knight Dragoon, after all, surely he’s got some fighting skill and ability to track things.  How else does a dragonslayer slay dragons? Surely they don’t just laze around til one flies by them, that would be silly.

(( Courtesy cut for length.  Also, sorry about the lack of screenshots, this was all during maintenance. ))

I had Edgard meet me out in Yanxia at noon and he arrived precisely on time, he even carried some rope and a quarterstaff, instead of his usual spear. We weren’t out to kill these birds, only subdue them for an artist in Kugane. He wants to paint them, then will release them back into the wilds. Live-capture hunts are always a bit more of a challenge, it would make a fine test to see what Edgard was worth in the field. After all, I have no doubt he can fight, he’s fought dragons, for pity’s sake!  But taking a non-violent means to dealing with a problem? I think it would say volumes about who he is both as a person and a fighter.

I outlined my plan and he declared it sound, so we took ourselves out to the Glittering Basin where it was known for these bi-fangs to roam as their territory. Setting up a lookout point, it was just a matter of sighting the birds and seeing where they went to roost. 

I don’t think I’d been this relaxed in a long time. The day was warm, and Edgard -- while still very much Edgard -- was good company. He listened, followed directions, didn’t try to put me behind him for protection, or treat me like I didn’t know what I was doing. He trusted me and I trusted him.

Gods be good, we needed that trust today. No hunt is ever flawless, there are always unexpected things that happen that you have to adjust to or you either lose your quarry or you get hurt. That’s just the nature of the beast. I absolutely wasn’t expecting these bi-fangs to be a mated pair, much less a mated pair with a clutch of eggs. I think I’ll make it a point to mention that to Tetsuyo when I return to the Bounty Call. Most hunters I know have a great respect for nature, granted, we weren’t killing the pair but it was still taking them away from hatchlings that might otherwise die without them and their protection. 

Anyway, the hunt first. Edgard was probably the most serious I’ve seen him since I’ve known him; he was studious and attentive, asking questions about what to do or what to look for. He seemed genuinely interested in learning, so I did all I could to help him. It was here that he said he trusted me and for a moment I had to wonder why. What good will had I garnered with him to be someone he trusted with his life? I doubt it has anything to do with how skillful I am at evading his spurious advances. 

Knowing what I know now, I found it easier to be, well, at ease around him. To even play and flirt with him, give him a taste of his own medicine. It was fun and we laughed; I’m almost convinced I nearly made him blush a couple of times, but that’s neither here nor there.

The hunt!  Once we sighted the bi-fang pair, Edgard used his dragoon ability to jump us up to the cliff where the birds had made their roost. Naturally, I had to climb on Edgard’s back and he had to make a bunch of insinuations about it. Still he got us up to the roost in short order and that’s when we learned that we were facing two very angry parent bi-fang and their clutch of half a dozen chicks.

Thankfully, the chicks weren’t that grown, so they weren’t much of a threat. I used one of the Darkness arrows to blind the Papa Bird while Edgard kept Mama Bird busy until I could use one of my Net arrows. Edgard got scratched once, but didn’t seem any worse for wear for it. I’ll really have to thank that magitechnician for the arrows, they are the most clever thing I’ve seen in a long time. A pity I don’t remember his name, how will I ever have these made again once I run out?  As it stands, I’m out of the Net arrows after this.

I was just about to use my second Net arrow on Papa when he came flailing at me blindly. That’s also when one of the chicks in the nest decided I was a tasty snack and /bit/ me on the ankle. It was enough to startle me that I dropped the arrow and that split-second distraction won me a wing to the face as Papa Bird sent me flying off the cliff.

I won’t lie and say there wasn’t a moment of panic, because there was, but I’d prepared for this eventuality.  You fight aerial opponents, you’d best be prepared to take a long fall. Another of those magitek arrows deployed a light filament line that was stronger than any rope I’ve ever seen. I fired it into the cliffside and swung to safety, albeit the impact into the cliffside will leave me sore tomorrow. Even as I was dealing with my own plight, I saw Edgard get shoved off the cliffside as well by a headbutt from the Papa Bird. I know I didn’t have much time and that, for the moment, the dragoon seemed to have no way to save himself.

I gathered myself and ran back and forth along the cliff face to build momentum, then I swung out to catch him. Thank every God that he wasn’t wearing anything heavier than leather and chainmail. If he’d have been in drachenmail or full plate, we’d have been doomed. Or at least he would have.  I don’t think I could have held him. We only had moments to rest there, however, as Papa Bird began diving toward us, enraged enough to want to eviscerate us. 

This was the biggest moment of trust in this hunt. Edgard told me to let go of the rope and grab onto him. I knew he was about to /dragoon/ us out of there, but it was still a daunting proposition. Still, in for a penny in for a pound. It was either fall or die to the talons of the angry bi-fang. Falling seemed the least fatal of either option. I let go, still clutching to Edgard’s hand from where I’d caught him, I wrapped my other arm around his neck and squeezed my eyes shut. The way dragoon’s jump makes my stomach turn a flip, but it cleared us of the predatory swoop of the bi-fang and sent it sweeping past us. 

Edgard landed us on the ground and looked to me for a new plan as Papa Bird rounded on us to attack again. I was out of Net arrows by this point and none of the other arrows I had would do the trick. So, I opted to go with an alchemical solution. I pulled a sleeping draught from my pouches and waited. I couldn’t afford to miss. And I waited. 

Behind me, I could hear Edgard yelling my name. Was he worried? Frightened?  No, not Edgard. I stood there, letting the bi-fang get closer and closer, I could see the wicked curve of its talons, eager to rip me to shreds. Closer still.  I could feel the waves of … nerves?...emanating from Edgard. Still, I waited.

At the last possible moment, I threw the sleeping draught right in the beast’s face. It only took a matter of moments for it to clumsily land and fall over in a sleepy stupor. Edgard made his way over, unbidden with the rope to tie it up.

Hmph. He’d outshine me. Hunting has been my life for over twenty years, dragoon. You’re not going to outshine me at my own game.

Banter with him came easily now that I knew there was nothing to it. I teased him, I gave him as good as I got. There were moments I rendered him speechless or left him a stammering fool. I enjoyed every minute of it. Turning the tables on Edgard might become my new favorite pass-time. 

While he finished binding the bi-fang, I tended to the wound on his shoulder. It wasn’t much more than a scrape, but it was best not to leave it to fester. He’d done well, all-in-all, so I couldn’t really discredit his efforts as a hunter. With a bit more seasoning, he could probably hold his own. I told him as much, though he only very begrudgingly accepted the compliment. Under any other circumstance, Edgard would preen and claim it as my undying love for him, but on the matter of his skill as a hunter and his contributions, he wouldn’t.

He was in my world now, I couldn’t tell if the thrill of the hunt sat well with him or not. Gods only know I enjoyed every minute of it.  I even told Edgard he could soak in the hot spring with me, I’m sure he was convinced I’d hit my head somewhere along the line. 

This was a really good way to end his time in Kugane. He goes on to Ishgard the day after tomorrow and said he expects to see me there soon. I’ve some things of my own to wrap up before I leave Kugane, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t threaten to bypass Ishgard altogether and just go straight to Tailfeather because he /expected/ me in Ishgard. 

I tasked him with sending the Mama Bird back to the client via some magical aetheryte-like crystals we’d been given.  Activate them on the birds and they would appear in cages where the client waited with payment, better than trying to haul them back by hand. Once done with that, Edgard planned to go back to Kugane and I headed to Yanxia to hire some locals to tend to the chicks until Mama and Papa come back.

All-in-all, it was a good night and a fun time. Sure, I have a few bumps and bruises, but I can’t name a hunt I’ve gone on and come out completely unscathed.  I either get scratched up by brush and trees, injured by the beast, or /something/.  It’s just part and parcel of the Hunt. It reminds me I’m /alive./

My friendship with Edgard, at least for my own part of it, feels as if a great weight has been taken off me and I don’t feel the need to be so guarded. He has no further motives than just having a moment’s distraction. Like me, he has issues of his own to deal with before he seriously considers anything with anyone, which I’m honestly glad to hear him say. Primarily that he /plans/ to deal with them. I could care less who he sleeps with.

It was a good day, it really was. I needed it after a week of indolence. It felt /so/ good to get back out there and do what I love. And the best part of it is that it’ll have garnered me enough reputation with the Veteran Centurio to get the information I need. 

One step closer... Mentions @therpperson​ for Edgard Beaumont

[31charactersxiv]

The Masterlist

The sum total list of characters I play as. I maintain two accounts for the purposes of RPing multiple characters in a scene/event.

After each character, a brief summary. In the future, I will expand upon these so each has their own page.

My characters are for the most part lore-abiding. None 100% directly contradict canon, but some stretch it (quite) a bit more than others. Note that in the case of the Lee and Wae families, especially, they are eccentric, and despite their claims it is inconclusive whether they’re actually correct or not. What your character believes is not dictated to you.

Account 1:

Trudy Bays: Seeker of the Sun exiled from her tribe because the only thing she was good at was stealing, something she is extremely good at, but did through compulsion only and can’t ‘turn on’ as an ability. Now she’s joined a traveling troupe of stage performers, and wears a cavalcade of clashing, garish colors because she just really likes bright colors.

- Annabel Lee-Wae: Youngest daughter of Amelia Lee-Wae and Gerard Wae (deceased), her rebellious nature has led her to trying to perform acts of charity for others. Her general dumbassery, exacerbated by her cloistered upbringing, has led her to be near-totally incompetent.

- Kagome Voulaizun: Writer for The Crucible, absolute dumbass. Exiled from Ishgard, a place she refuses to state she’s from - indeed, she insists she’s the reincarnation of an ancient Doman hero. At best, she only ever half-knows what she’s talking about. Will condescendingly explain to a Doman why they’re wrong about their own country’s history rather than accept she might be wrong.

- Amelia Lee-Wae: Mother to Annabel, Ebony, and Tara. Sister to Lulu. Widow of Gerard Wae. Outcast from the Lee family of Ul’dah for her refusal of an arranged marriage in favor of marrying a self-made “new money” rich man, Amelia was once a terrifyingly powerful black mage known as The Crimson Witch. 

Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for everyone else, in her old age and in grieving her deceased husband she has grown increasingly detached from reality and her crackpot theories about the nature of magic and Ul’dahn history culminated in her quietly being confined to the Wae Manor, save for rare (supervised) travels outside. The final straw was when she insisted that the Ul line is illegitimate due to the “fact” that Lalafell are descended from Mhachi mammets and therefore not people.

- Lulu Lee-Williams: Crime lord from Ul’dah, moved to Thavnair to escape the Lee family’s insistence she marry a man. Instead married a Thavnairian noblewoman, using the strength of this connection, her own magical prowess and raw determination to forge a half-cult, half-criminal empire. 

Her followers are chosen from the poorest and most vulnerable, and she manipulates and indoctrinates them until she’s satisfied their loyalty is unshakable. Any who fail she eradicates and uses for her own magical ends. She has intentionally created a structure which cannot stand past her own death, and has curried all the power and influence she has for the ultimate goal of destroying the Lee family. 

Their crime of casting her out will see them destroyed, once and for all, and Lulu will see to it that her darling nieces Ebony and Tara inherit what’s left of the Lees. Cunning, dangerous, a witch through and through, Lulu is not to be trifled with.

-

Lacina Lune: A Viera once kidnapped by Garlemald and turned into an experimental brainwashed assassin, Lacina has since been cut loose after a bout of mental instability had her deemed too much a risk to carry on. Instead of executing her, she was dumped into Eorzea to, the Garleans presumed, wreak as much havoc as possible. 

Instead, she has fallen to delusion. Unable to accept that she failed her final mission, she instead believes her target has faked his death and gone into hiding. She pursues him relentlessly, a phantom she can never catch, while making plans for the future she cannot hope to fulfill without accepting the reality she fundamentally and categorically denies. Fascinated by music and obsessed with perfection, she does her best to function in the world but finds doing so increasingly difficult.

-

Coulement Williquette: Dravanian hunter, hailing from Tailfeather, Coulement is a simple man. Stifled by cities and only at home when on the hunt, he is a dedicated and capable monster hunter. Coulement is good-natured, kind of an idiot, and strives to be something of a hero, but his severe difficulties understanding Spoken have been his primary inhibitor. Coulement is presently engaged in hunting a legendary creature with his girlfriend (?) Alya, a far more cerebral hunter who is a perfect counterpart to him

-

Jaraku Drake: A bard with a long and storied past, Jaraku is ultimately a man defined by his passions and talents. His overwhelming love for and devotion to his wife Issabel Drake, whose last name he adopted, drive every action he takes and every move he makes.

Zwynmaga Doesmagasyn: Bastard son of the dread pirate Doesmaga, Zwynmaga has carried the burden of his birth his entire life. Rather than lash out at the world which so cruelly compared him to his father before he could even walk, Zwynmaga has instead devoted himself to proving all his detractors wrong. Where he is expected to be cruel, he delivers kindness. Where he is expected to be defiant, he offers fealty. 

He is a firm Lominsan patriot and member of the Maelstrom, and his achievements (despite his relatively young age) are already impressive to behold. From his flagship the Reconciliation, he has brought more than one renegade pirate to justice, and been a thorn in the side of Garlean shipping time and again. Every last member of his crew are absolutely devoted to him, and he runs his ship with a level of professionalism far more in line with a proper military than anything which could be confused with a pirate ship.

Zwynmaga is childhood friends with his navigator Swyggsyg, and his first mate Hyltbryda.

-

Ryoko Kasai: (In)famous yakuza operating out of Kugane, head of the Kasai-gumi, and fire-obsessed engineer. Kasai is something of an enigma to most - her history shrouded in mystery. All that is clear is that she burst onto the scene with a vengeance some six years past, and has since then carved out a comfortable niche for the Kasai-gumi. Keeping her organization small, highly-capable and devoted, Kasai looks ever-outward for opportunities to expand, and spread her fire across the realm.

-

Chiaki Ishimoto: A creature most commonly termed a “vampire”, a term she takes offense to yet offers no satisfying alternative to, Chiaki is a ranking member of a Hingan secret society which exists to defend Hingashi from threats supernatural. Chiaki herself is specialized in the treating with and binding of creatures which cause trouble in and around Kugane. An exceedingly dangerous opponent in a fight with centuries of experience behind her, Chiaki had until quite recently grown complacent. Only after being shown she is not infallible has she begun focusing on self-betterment.

Chiaki despises Eorzea and has no interest in ever returning if she can possibly help it, and views Kugane as her own private treasure. One she defends with her life.

- Rydia Misuto: Survivor of the burning of Monzen, Rydia has been severely traumatized by the stark contrast between living with her kindhearted mother and watching the very same mother be violently killed in the attack. Near-broken by her single-minded lust for power and revenge, Rydia has done everything she is able to apply her unique tenacity towards her ultimate goal: Becoming strong enough to make sure, once and for all, that the Garleans never return to Doma.

Rydia is loosely inspired by the character Rydia from Final Fantasy IV.

Asagao Shiragiko: Hingan samurai who denounced the corrupt government of Hingashi but, rather than fight it directly, has instead resolved to spread knowledge and teaching to as many as she can, and thus empower the peasantry towards a peaceful revolution. Her lack of visible progress despite over a decade of work is starting to wear thin on her.

Asagao is exceptionally capable as a samurai, but certainly not the best alive.

Account 2:

Tabatha Tombclutch: Tabatha, or “Tabby”, rarely ever gives her last name to others. Instead, she self-styles herself the infamous “Tombclutch”, a grave robber and tomb explorer with zero respect for any of the historical ground she treads beyond stealing the most appealing items there. She does not fence any of her acquisitions, and gains nothing from them but the rush of success. Instead, she squirrels them away - so that her wealthy parents remain unaware of what their daughter’s been doing those nights she spends off on her own.

Tabby uses her cover as an archaeologist to find the best places to rob, and has absolute certainty in herself due to a unique power she has cultivated, through the aid of a tutor whose motives are far from benevolent. Casting aside the thaumaturgical lessons her parents sent her to, Tabby has instead delved into the magic of ‘luck’. The upside is it allows her to sharpen her senses to a supernatural degree, and gives her a sense for danger far more honed than most, as well as allowing her to manipulate minor aspects of fate around her (such as dice rolling or card games.) 

The downsides to this power are that it can be unreliable, and that the use of it casts a bright aetherial beacon around herself, one which is extremely easy to detect. She is unaware of this fact. In combat, she prefers to run away and fights only to escape. She “justifies” her actions to herself by refusing to kill Spoken, and will go out of her way to risk her own life to save a pursuer if they would otherwise die as a result of her own actions. To some scant few, this has ingratiated the “Tombclutch” as a hero of sorts. But in Nald’Thal-worshiping Ul’dah, robbing the dead cannot be forgiven.

Gaelle Troyes: Former Ishgardian knight, now exiled, Gaelle has devoted her life to being a living, walking mockery of everything Ishgard believes. By taking her superb skills in reading others and applying it to “fortune-telling”, Gaelle manipulates those she gives “readings” to towards ends which remain unclear to most.

Ultimately, she wants to mock the gods, spread chaos, and better the lives of people she finds worth it along the way.

Gaelle has sworn an oath of pacifism she will die before she breaks, a direct spit in the eye to the country that tried to make her into a weapon. Despite her act, no reading of hers should be taken as in-setting being an actual divine message, though what those she hoodwinks believes is of course up to them.

Kyou Hurekakuko: Hingan tattoo artist from Bukyo, Kyou is the inheritor to a school of tattooists which trace their lineage back generations... Or so she thinks. In reality, despite her impressive skill, her mentor decided it best she be pushed to start her own business, as she is too abrasive to become the face of his. Kyou is presently ‘exiled’ to Kugane by the Bukyo Yakuza for assisting Kasai, and her overwhelming egotism earns her few friends.

Still, it can’t be denied that when she knows someone enough to ‘peer into their soul’, she can swiftly identify the perfect tattoo to represent them as a person, and ‘empower’ them. If they were to allow her to use her magic-infused inks, that is.

That’s only if she can be bothered to care, of course.

-

Clyde Arrowny: Known as “Shadow”, he is a shinobi in dedicated service to Cardelica Tachibana, and tolerates no threats or slights against his master. A stark contrast to the cheery and optimistic girl, Shadow is noteworthy for being acutely stoic and grim. He uses a variety of glamours to move about Kugane and keep tabs on individuals of note who may either be of aid or a threat to his master, and responds accordingly.

An exceptionally-powerful shinobi, Shadow has been said to be the equal to a hundred men on the battlefield. The reality of this has never been tested.

Shadow is explicitly inspired by the character of the same name from Final Fantasy VI.

-

Gerrith Gaffgarion: An ex-Ala Mhigan national, Gerrith is an absolute monster of a man who revels in violence and killing. A Dark Knight whose powers grew twisted and far more malevolent than his mentor could allow, Gerrith slew his own mentor to ensure his own skills would be all the more valuable.

A villain through-and-through, he has spent decades as one of the more feared mercenaries operating across Thanalan and La Noscea. Despite charging exorbitant fees for his services, Gerrith has zero actual desire to amass wealth, and exclusively uses it to either pay his lone ‘partner’, create self-sustaining cash flow, and facilitate the continuation of his grim work through bribery and other such means. Gerrith has a well-reputation for leaving no survivors wherever he is hired to attack.

Gerrith Gaffgarion is loosely inspired by Goffard Gaffgarion from Final Fantasy Tactics. 

- Gui Charlemalde: A Gridanian adventurer, Gui was adopted by Duskwights as an infant, and has since grown to be one of the most kindhearted people in all the Black Shroud. Electing to inherit his father’s mantle as an adventurer, so that his elder brother would not feel guilt over following his dreams of being a carpenter, Gui has spent every day of his adult life with a very plain mission:

Do all the good he can.

Choosing to focus on smaller threats and problems than most, Gui firmly believes the role of an adventurer is to help those who otherwise would not be helped. No job is too small, no task is beneath him, so long as it is to help those in dire need.

In recent times, Gui has grown painfully aware that he has been cursed from birth to carry a voidsent in his blood which he is increasingly at odds with. His overwhelming positivity and commitment to his own good-naturedness have kept the voidsent mostly at bay, so far. But for how long can such a thing last?

-

Tange Shishido: Aged Doman samurai, severely injured in years past, Tange seeks to train all she can in her art so as to prepare another generation of samurai to defend Doma. The older he gets, the more her injuries hold her back, but in her day she was unquestionably one of the most powerful samurai in the realm.

Tange’s acceptance of ijin as students, contingent on their swearing an oath to defend Doma if ever the country needs them, has made her unpopular with many, but she has a long history of eschewing tradition wherever she feels it stifling her.

-

Ebony Wae: Eldest (by minutes) twin sister of Tara Wae, eldest sister to Annabel Lee-Wae, and oldest not-disowned child of Amelia and Gerard Wae, Ebony is a driven businesswoman with tyrannical tendencies. Devoted to an unorthodox cult of Nald’Thal espoused by her family, Ebony secretly thinks of herself as the incarnation of Nald. With a careful eye to the family businesses, and an insatiable appetite for expansion, the only things holding Ebony back are her insistence on fair treatment of employees, and the handful of distractions she often allows to get in her way.

Most notably among these are her love of combat and the thrill of the hunt, and her preoccupation with making sure Tara is able to find a husband of high enough quality to be worth continuing the family line with.

Ebony cherishes her Aunt Lulu, and is exceedingly protective of her little sister Annabel. Trained in the ways of the Dark Knight by a tutor who regretted the contract almost immediately, Ebony is prone to violence and destruction as her preferred solution to any problems or threats which arise, so long as she remains within the confines of her obsession with obeying the letter of the law.

Ebony and her sisters have a variety of beliefs which are foreign to the common resident of Thanalan, chiefly that hoarding money is a sin against Nald because the exchange of currency is how Nald expresses Himself. Between this and many other ideological anomalies, her radical and unusual beliefs have led her to accidentally be one of the more beneficial people in Thanalan to the region’s well-being.

-

Kogyoku Yuzuka: Yakuza, member of the Kasai-gumi, absorbed into the organization during first wave of expansion through Kugane. Kogyoku is a skilled fighter and loyal member of the organization. She is often paired with her best friend Ken, a Roegadyn who towers over her. The two make an effective duo - Ken’s brazenness tempered by Kogyoku’s cool-headed rationality.

-

Adroit Aegolius: Going by a pseudonym designed to innately test the knowledge of everyone he meets, Aegolius is a Sharlayan researcher come to Eorzea to learn more about Blue Magic. One of the younger children of a large Sharlayan family, Aegolius has used his family’s sway - with his eldest brother’s support - to allow himself the freedom to fully explore the potential of this new field of magic, contingent on having something to show it was worth the funding upon his return.

Aegolius is a smooth-talker who seeks out opportunities to enjoy life while he’s still young, but at the same time yearns for the days in decades to come when it is him who is the aged, wise wizard passing knowledge and judgment down to those beneath him.

- 

Hyltbryda Eyrieynwyn: First mate to Zwynmaga Doesmagasyn, Hyltbryda is a rough-and-tumble Roegadyn who’s far more playful and competitive than her more reserved captain. Hyltbryda frequently challenges those she likes to competitions of physical strength and endurance, and has beaten more than a few people swimming back and forth along the docks of Aleport. She uses a spear in combat, a tradition she has kept onto after defeating a haughty Ishgardian in a fight with one.

Hyltbryda is often the source of minor pranks on the crew, and enjoys messing with those she likes in good-natured ways. Hyltbryda is dating Lee Whims.

-

Kavatch Beamsplitter: A Nagxian monk who emphasizes strength over all else, the “Beamsplitter” is noted for his single-minded devotion to bettering the world through what he sees as the only possible way to do so:

Tempering those who can weather his stern outlook, and breaking those who cannot.

Kavatch is brutal and forward-focused, always striving towards a place where he has enough strength to shape the world to his whims. To change the face of Hydaelyn to match his ideal: a world where the strongest rule and protect the weak, and anyone can rise to the top through self-betterment. Where positions of power must be fought for to be maintained, and the infirm or incompetent are ousted in short order by those wiser and more capable below them.

Kavatch has disdain for those who fight using entirely mechanical means, such as firearms. In his eyes, the truest expression of perfection is the ability to fight with one’s own body and spirit, eschewing all other ‘distractions’.

Kavatch set out on a journey, recently, telling the students of his school that those most experienced among them should build up the rest, and that he would teach them more when they were able to find and defeat him - not a moment before.

[glitch-demon]

Saving Grace

Level Two, Part Two

@whore-of-socks

Ok. Not too creepy. 

The marketplace is bright and half-bustling, half-meandering. There is a dragonic couple selling chocolate nearest the entrance, their tails entwined as they bellow “Mellow Sweets, READY FOR TREATS?”. Your low health bar grumbles at you for food, but something about this stall doesn’t seem right to you. It does not help how terrifying they appear. You decide to waddle over and Investigate both their questionable chocolate, and any info they can give on what the h*** is going on in this game. The dragonic lady pleasantly trills at you and her gentlemen smiles warmly down on you. Grace notices their  darker scales, and mumbles to herself something about them being from a Nightmare Realm.

“What can we do for you, sweet child? We have a fine selection of chocolate from all over our world; jepsi, edelwood, petalwood, dark, white, you name it! Oh, but if you for some reason can’t have chocolate, we have candy sticks that are just as scrumptious!” They spoke together, each taking every other word without missing a beat. Well practised, in harmony, as if they’d done it a million times. And they probably have! You look behind them. The candy sticks seem to be actual sticks. Oh ho ho ho.

“Hi, can I have a dark chocolate and a petalwood stick, both for the road? Oh, and I love your wing piece Mrs. Mellow!” Grace asks pleasantly, laying the sugar on thick. Huh. You don’t get any option to dig for info before she says that. Oh well. Mrs. Mellow hides into her husband’s chest, “Oh, stop.” He hands Grace what she ordered. The list checks off itself at the same time you unlock an achievement: Never Judge A Book By Its Cover! They both sweetly wish you farewell as you shuffle off into the market ‘street’ again. 

“What nice Nightmares. I want them to adopt me.” Grace says to herself, sighing wistfully.

The next closest stall has a very small, very cute duck. Not as small as Deku, but is a dwarf compared to Grace who is about 4’7”. You do not expect the following:

“What do ye want, ye fugly pixie? Can’t ye see am run’n a respectable business here, selling my hunts? Yer scare’n away mine customers!” He says in a heavy, rough country accent. Grace glances up to his stall sign, Gregory’s Predator Produce, looks behind him at the various animal parts, spots a pair of rams horns, and says, “I can punt your sorry tailfeathers all the way back to the human world, Gregory.”

“Oh pa lease. Get out if yer not going to buy somethin’.” 

Grace grins her baby fangs at him. The next thing he knows, he has a sword against his ringable duck throat.

“I’ll take your ram horns. Free.”

“O-f course, anythin’ for the lady! Hehe. No need for a duck feast tonight. Hehe.” She lowers her sword a smidge, to let him scurry back to get the horns. He plops them on the wooden counter. Grace sheethes her sword to put the horns in the bag. She takes him by the vest collar, leans in close.

“And you don’t have any customers because you can’t even tell the difference between a flore and a pixie, Gregory.” She pecks him on the bill before shoving him and walking away calmly.

You look around. There is a girl approaching you, a witch? You try to get away from her. But somehow the Game Knows. It slows Grace down, the girl gets faster, practically floating off the ground with her face covered. Another cutscene fast approaching, you get to the other side of the market before she catches you. F***, you pressed the key to throw a barrel!  

Grace turns around and smiles at her, “Hi Mia! What’s up!”

Her face is no longer shrouded by the huge witch hat. The first thing you notice is her bright, void eyes. She steps closer, and you see tiny multicolored galaxies stuck in a technicolor beat. It distracts you from her sewn-shut mouth until she starts signing “Hi, bitch.”

Grace squeals and pulls her into a crushing hug. 

When the two girls seperated, after much giggling and suffocating, Mia asks why Grace was here by herself. 

“Well, I’m not really alone now.”

“That’s not what I mean Grace. Why are you out with no adult watching your every move? Did you sneaky sneak out?”

“You’re half right. I’ve actually run away and become an apprentice since now I can legally make my own decisions.” She bowed her head to show off her soft, dark petals peaking out gently from her warrior styled hair. Mia oo’d. 

“So what are you studying? And do you have a good place to stay?”

“Uhh. Uh. I’m studying to take care of magical creatures in the woods, and I guess how to use their magic for stuff? Yeah. Um, this is actually my first day so I don’t have a place yet. My master sent me to shop for new clothes for me and to get it- sorry, uh HIM stuff too.” Grace started to sweat as Mia squinted her suspicion at her. She idly wondered if the Wood Beast cared if she referred to it as a he.

“You can stay at my place for a year, you know. It’s not like you didn’t practically live there for most of your life. You can even sleep in my old room.” Mia offered. Grace noticed that a group of customers were starting to flood past them and took Mia’s wrist to get them out of the way. They watched the swarm of other faefolk march and flit past from a dark corridor between two stone buildings. The deeper into the market, the bigger and sturdier the building merchants sold from. You notice Mia’s face glows neon, stitches bright and smiling wider than her mouth. Her hands have a heart pattern in a line, neon purple lining where her phalanges would be under her fabric-y skin, allowing you to see in the dark what she’s saying.

“I can’t. I don’t want my aunt to harass you. She means well, but you know how she gets when she’s told no. And besides, the last time I was over there my dad was still here. I don’t want to wake up to your favorite Sleeping Poppet and cry because I remember my dad saying she was the ugliest thing he ever saw.”

“She’s not that ugly!”

“Listen, Mia. I love you, but her face could make a Nightmare cry.”

“Stop bullying my daughter, bitch. She works perfectly fine, who cares what she looks like when you’re sleeping soundly all night?”

“Yeah, that’s why you face her away from you before you sleep.” Grace rasps between terribly hidden laughs. Mia salutes her with a certain ‘sign’. The last ropes of Grace’s self control fray, and both girls lean on each other as they belly bellow. 

When they settle in a tender silence, Mia leans over to Grace’s wall of the small alley to touch their sides together, to line up from the sides of their feet to the tips of their shoulders. Grace thinks that they fit together not quite perfect, but perfectly right. 

“Are you sure?”

“About what?” Grace murmured back.

“About what we were talking about.”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

The silence resumed. They breathe out of synch, the noises of merchants haggling with their good neighbors wash over them. It was nice. Quiet.

“You said earlier you moved out. Did you get the apprenticeship you wanted?” Grace asked gently.

Mia hmm’d, looking up at the mid day sky in thought, before slowly responding, “Not exactly what I wanted, but I think it’s what I needed. Six moons of Mr. and Mrs. Mellow has taught me many things about candy, but it’s also taught me how to talk to people; with kindness. I believe that may be better than what any professional wizard could teach me.”

Grace hmm’d back, “Oh. But you always were kind to people.”

“If they were kind first. But I mean, even to people who hurt too much for their words to not spill over with hurt.”

“You mean rude ba*****s.”

“...yes.”

“I never could do that. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe you should.” 

“Yeah...” Grace sighs.

“Bitch.” Mia signs, stepping away. She takes a pendant from under her shirt and then off from around her neck. It is a cork bottle with a clasp, and she uncorks it to down the mysterious liquid before corking and re-clasping it to the black leather cord. “I’ve been gone too long. I have to zoom. Good luck with your new master, the year will fly by I promise! Juuust don’t bite his head off.”

“Don’t worry, we’re already passed that phase. Probably. Love you!” Grace says somehow through her chuckling.

“Love you too!” Mia mumble-calls through her binds as she gracefully floats from wall to wall, bouncing to get higher as the potion starts to activate. She is gone like a cat across rooftops, back to the start.

You step out into the sun, Grace’s Determination Bar grows. She is ready to get home early. 

[a-memory-of]

Madoc Parnell had a light smirk playing over his features. He remained facing her, something hidden behind his back. "That time o' year again, luv," he grinned.

Arshtat Ejinn had curled against his side, taking her usual spot next to him by the fire after the bar closed for the night. "Yes... so it is," she laughed, looking down at her lap and fidgeting with her fingers. "I-It's hard to believe it has been two whole winters..."

Madoc gave her a fond nudge, a rumbling hum of agreement following. "Aye, time flies, an' all that. But 'fore we get too sentimental, I've got somethin' for you." His grin was warm, and he pulled out what he was hiding behind his back. It was a thin box about as long as his hand, wrapped in dark red paper--of course.

Arshtat blinked up at him, then down to the package. Her cheeks were warm, and she bit down around a smile, "A-Ah, of course... I've something for you, too." Taking the box eagerly, she set it in her lap a moment before reaching behind her where she had hidden a large red envelope and offered it to him. "S-Should I open first...?"

Madoc quirked a brow at the envelope, instantly curious. He smirked and took it, turning it this way and that, his dark eyes alight. He then nodded. "Aye--you first."

She nodded again, carefully tearing the paper open. The sound drew Khuu from his hiding spot behind the couch, peeking out at the crinkling paper.

Madoc flashed Khuu a grin, but his attention remained on Arshtat. As she opened it, a lovely earthen-brown leather case was slowly revealed. Should she open it, she would find a sheathed knife within. It was not overly ornate, but the hilt was wrapped in purple and red bindings. The sheath was made of leather and had a wave etched along the sides.

Arshtat opened the case after setting the torn paper aside, Khuu instantly looking more interested in it. She quieted once she saw what it was, smiling. "It's... thank you," she finally said, drawing it up and testing it in her hand. The last person to give her a knife had been her brother. She looked up to Madoc, eyes bright, "Thank you so much..." It earned him a kiss to his cheek.

He grinned warmly. "There's somethin' nice 'bout havin' a part of me with you, to protect yourself with." He pondered on this a moment, then hummed. "Blade's made of dragon bone--harder than most metals, an' keeps sharp."

The little xaela settled back against his side, still smiling, "It... means much. Though I rarely have to worry, I know you look after me." She sheathed it back in its case, fingers tracing the leather-carved wave. As she did, a paw snuck up and stole the paper.

Madoc let out a rumbling chuckle as Khuu escaped with his new toy. What a mighty hunter. "'Course, and you with me," he softly replied, "Happy Starlight, luv. Now--" He wiggled the envelope in his hand. "My turn, aye?"

She started to fidget again, ever worried as she was. The knife was beautiful and perfect, and she could only hope her own gift was well-received. "I... had to ask Miss Vienne for some help, I wanted to make sure it w-was correct, since I..." she trailed off, though with most of her gift being written, it was understood what she meant. She did glance off to watch Khuu bat the ball of paper across the room, some tension easing in her.

Inside the sealed envelope were two pieces of parchment. The first was a post for a hunt, describing a great wyvern lingering in Dravania and calling for an exceptionally skilled huntsman. The other, a welcoming invitation to a Tailfeather lodge.

Madoc skimmed through the papers, dark eyes pouring over each word. His brows rose, and an eager grin tugged at his lips. "You know me too well..." He looked to her, and he leaned to wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kiss her forehead. "It's perfect, luv! Really. Been lookin' for a reason to go out an' hunt a big beast--and I've seen few as grand as this."

Arshtat glanced down at the papers, hoping it was all what she had wanted it to be as he read. But as he pulled her close, all the worry faded away and she smiled again. "I m-made sure to ask for um...a big one. They said...most have stopped trying to kill it."

He beamed, setting the papers beside him to give her a full-on warm hug. "Good," his gruff tone grinned. "That means it's all mine."

She moved easily up into his arms, and claiming the familiar spot on his lap. "H-Happy Starlight... thank you, again, for the knife... you are too kind to me," she wrapped her own arms around his middle.

Madoc grew all the more comfortable, cuddling against her. He chuckled faintly. "Nay, you deserve far more kindness, I think--but I'm doin' my best. Meetin' you two years ago has been one o' the best things to happen to me."

Arshtat smiled, feeling his low, rumbling laughter echo against her horn. "I have never been unhappy, not with you... I am forever g-grateful you were in the m-market that day. I love you, very much." Khuu, well-practiced in the art of ruining moods, seemed done with his paper distraction. And he crawled up the back of the couch, attempting to get in on this cuddle. Arshtat could only laugh.

[h-yelho]

Rp Hooks

Interested in Rping with H’alabali in game but aren’t quite sure where or what would be a good time to step in? Here’s some opportunities of where she’s been and currently located and what’s happened so far in them. Please note that the order is a bit fumbled so it’s not exactly a timeline, and that every vague mention of characters, apart from those with actual names, are open to be filled.  Important Locations: 

Wineport / Raincatcher Gully/Camp Bronze Lake - Where H’alabali was born and raised. 

Older Adventurer’s who had gone into Binding Coil of Bahamut and managed to make it out. Not win necessarily but survived. .

Any H-tribe Family in the area of Eastern La Noscea

People that know and enjoy fine wine or wine tasting

Ninja/Rogues since their class quests takes them out to Rain Catcher gully

Imperials that work at Castrum Occidens

Ul’dah  Amajina & Sons Mineral Concern (Miner’s Guild)

She was hired by 2 people in Limsa Lominsa the morning after she’d runaway from home. They took the ferry back to Vesper Bay and headed to Ul’dah from there. 

She was completely new to Ul’dah and the city layout and how it worked. Requiring a map and getting lost constantly. How she wasn’t shanked in a dark alley she stumbled into is a mystery.

She was a greenhorn as they came to working as a Miner but slowly learned the ropes.

Wandered off after a Miqo’te she met called Osha’to who gave her some advice on how to deal with her problematic home life she seemed hesitant to return to. He mentioned Aldenard, a place she had little clue as to where it was or what all was there.  (Possibly was sent by the guild to scope out any new minerals that may be worth getting a hold of and got side-tracked like no other.)

Ishgard 

Became Employed by House Fortemps under Master Emmanellian as a personal retainer. 

Anyone who works for or is involved with House Fortemps.  

Saint Endalim’s Scholasticate - Was sent there to learn after hours of Ishgardian culture and ways while helping with gathering the books that would need reviewed since the end of the Dragonsong War. 

Dragoons - they’re the city hero’s that give all the girls humming bird heartbeats. She’s got a school girl crush on the lofty idols. 

Elezen or Hyur fencing teacher - (aka RDM) This guys a bit of an ass and likes to send her out on wild goose chases just to see  if she can handle herself. A lesson by doing.  

Any one who’s got a character stationed in Ishgard or the surrounding area. 

Tailfeather

The hunters, aka big brothers and sisters who pick, tease and haze the living daylights out of her. 

She survived the hazing by the hunters btw. 

Fell on her head and got attacked by Feather Flies resulting in her getting severely sick and being taken to Ishgard for better medicine, treatment, and recovery. (this was how she became employed by house Fortemps as they foot her medical bill)

More locations COMING SOON

asdf

[violetren]

How do you imagine the Declan Harp´s wife? how was her before to die? Tell me how do you imagine her phisically and how would be her character? I think if we could get a flashback of her would be great.

A flashback of his wife, and their kid, and Harps life before everything became hell for him would be so awesome, and probably heartbreaking. I’d love to see something like that.

As for how I imagine her... I haven’t put much thought into it before. I guess I imagine her as capable but gentle? I don’t really imagine Declan being into a woman who didn’t have the confidence or the skill to take care of things herself, so she’d have to have a strong personality. But I also think that back when he was working under Benton he would have been attracted/curious about someone who could be strong without being ruthless. Someone who didn’t think violence and domination of an enemy was the answer to lifes problems.

She’d be the kind of person who could be kind and gentle with everyone when things were peaceful. Someone who could make friends easily, and set people at ease by being warm and steady. But also someone who when things weren’t so peaceful could use that “don’t fuck with me” tone. Like if someone was having an argument near by and she told them without even raising her voice to stop it, or to go sort their shit out where they wouldn’t disturb everyone else, the people arguing would do as they were fucking told, because she’d have that aura of control around her. I imagine she’d also have a skill that could match or balance out Declan’s own, perhaps even surpass him in some area. Say if they went hunting together; he’d be good at taking down prey once they found it, but she was always better at figuring out the best place to find their chosen prey on any given day. Or he’d be really good at skinning the prey to make furs and leathers, but she was much better at turning those furs and leathers into actual things, like clothing or sheathes and bindings for weapons. They’d have been a team.

As for how I imagine she’d look physically. I went looking for a face claim and found this.

This is Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers and there was just something in the angle of her jaw and the shape of her chin that reminded me of a side profile shot I’d seen of Jessica Matten (Sokanon)which made her seem like a good choice. They are supposed to be sisters after all so having features that remind people of one another could work out well. That said...

This is Julia Jones, and there’s something in her stare, the set of her brow, and the way she’s holding the jaw gives me a simillar vibe to Sokanon that could make her pass as Matten’s sister in the show just because they’d be able to do the kind of matching behaviours that people raised together in the same environment are prone to have.

[kulapti]

Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

[asernolonger]

Dreamscape Drabble #2: A Dragoon’s Revenge

(Mun note: Underneath the read more, there is gore, body horror, and blood about. You have been forewarned!)

Still, she was trapped in this bizarre place. And still, she was reliving her memories. Her training had flashed by, as had her ascension through the ranks. Her first few kills as a proper dragoon had also been fleeting, as had the manifestation of what she now knew to be the Echo... but then, that memory came up. When she first met him.

A handsome, playful, kind, truly-noble man. A fellow dragoon, who was only a few years more experienced than her. A fellow lowborn, who only had the good fortune of being employed in the service of a High House before he could end up like Selenie. He was the calm to her raging storm. He didn’t care about the fact she couldn’t read, and he accepted her for who she was. If anything, he was happy to take her reports and write them down for her. 

His name was Ser Rapheal Alexandre. And, for the first time in her life, Selenie knew love. They fought together, they shared meals together, and yes, they’d even slept together a few times. He was the perfect type of man for Selenie.

But it was not meant to be, for the fates were never truly kind, as she would soon discover.

The mission had started off fine. Fend off any threats to a transport of supplies from Tailfeather to Falcon’s Nest. Mere child’s play for the likes of the skilled dragoons. Or so they thought.

The heretics weren’t a problem. Neither were the biasts that soon followed. But then, he descended. A direct son of Nidhogg. Ancient, powerful, and far worse than anything they had fought before. A vicious, bloodthirsty, massive dragon by the name of Yilbegan. Midnight scales shielded his body. Crimson eyes shone with magic and rage as he began assaulting the carriage. And when it became obvious that he wouldn’t be so easily fended off, Rapheal made a decision. A decision that shattered Selenie. 

Being superior in rank to her, he ordered her to follow the transport and get it Falcon’s Nest while he stalled the monster of a dragon. She could do nothing but watch in horror as Yilbegan tossed Rapheal skywards, ripping off both of his arms as if they were fragile cloth. And, if that wasn’t enough, he then slammed the maimed dragoon back into the ground, and ripped him to shreds. Then, he devoured the valiant dragoon. And she watched it all. 

She was utterly heartbroken. And now, thoroughly enraged. But she knew his name, and knew his looks. It was time to become the absolute pinnacle of a dragoon, and to use what she now knew was the Echo to track him down and make him pay. And that’s exactly what she did. 

She honed and honed and honed until she was just shy of being on the level of the proper Azure Dragoon. She also personally raided lairs and hideouts to hunt her prey. The visions, though painful whenever they came, guided her further, until she found the son of Nidhogg, prowling for more victims in Dravania all on his lonesome. 

Before, she had been too weak, and forced to complete a mission assigned by the Holy See. But now, she was much stronger, and had no such ball and chain around her ankle.  And he was alone, and she knew he was cocky enough to think he could take her alone. She would kill him, and avenge her beloved.

Feeling more rage than ever before, she leapt from her high perch, spear bared, and impaled Yilbegan in his side, slashing towards his tail. After he roared in agony, he jerked, forcing her off. But the wound was deep enough to make him slow down. And she used that to her advantage-she leapt onto his back, and drove her spear into the base of his neck, leaning into it to force him to the ground, before pulling it out, preparing to clip at least one of his wings. He threw her off again, but this time, he managed a tail swipe, knocking her into a nearby cliff. He then charged at her, grazing her side with a swipe of his claws. She hissed at the pain, but used the closeness to grab around his neck, and swing back onto his back. With a savage, bloodthirsty cry, she dug her spear into the base of his right wing, and ripped through it, severing the appendage. She then reprised on his left wing, and the pain and blood loss was enough to make him fall to his side. She then leapt off his back, came frontward, and snarled at him.

“Time for you to have your heart ripped to pieces, you fucking monster!” 

For the final blow, she slammed her spear into the side of his chest, and ripped it wide open. There was no way he would survive this, and that was enough for her. He would die in agony and misery, just as Rapheal had. She turned to leave, but instead of cries of agony or simply silence, she heard a dark chuckle rumble from the dying dragon.

“Ah, I see... thou wast his beloved... ironic, is it not? Vengeance drives thee, as it does for mine sire... and while thou hath certainly mortally wounded me.... you shall not escape intact!” 

She barely had time to turn back to him before she felt his front claws suddenly seize her in a surprising grip for something on the verge of bleeding to death. He snapped the joints of her helmet, causing it to fall to the ground, and then, he did something Selenie would have never dreamed of.

He forced her face, with mouth open, into his bleeding chest. 

Before she could even react, his blood had begun to make its way down her throat. He laughed.

“Know the sins of thy ancestors, daughter of Ishgard, and be made to repent!” 

She struggled and squirmed, before managing to sever one of his forelegs enough to allow her to escape, though at the cost of her spear breaking apart and becoming embedded in the soon-to-be corpse. She coughed and sputtered, but it was too late for her. Some of Yilbegan’s blood must have made its way down her throat without her realizing it, despite her attempts to spit it out. 

She doubled over in searing agony. Her armor was quickly going from just right to uncomfortably tight as the pain made her grit her teeth and screw her eyes shut. And even unable to see it, she could feel what was happening to her. 

Intense, painful pressure under her nails that built until it ruptured. The warmth of blood trickling down from where the rupture had happened. The tips of her gauntlets had clearly been forced off, and an incessant itching sensation began from her hands. It crawled up her arms, only seeming to avoid her inner and outer elbow, lessening a bit at the shoulders, before making its way over her chest, and down her stomach. The sensation continued down her legs, avoiding the inside of her knees and lessening a bit over the front, with the same happening to her ankles. And then, she once again felt the intense pressure under her toenails, but it was worse, as the greaves were far less easy to shatter.

She screamed as the pressure built, before finally, she heard her greaves snap and shatter, falling from her legs and feet. Her eyes shot open, and Fury fucking preserve, it was far too bright, what was wrong with her eyes, it wasn’t this bright before-but then, pressure built behind her heel, and then, the same rupturing as her hands, followed by that same trickling warmth of her own blood trailing from the points of rupture. 

The worst was yet to come, she would soon discover. The itching made its way towards her back, and there were no words, vulgar or saintly, that could describe the insane, boundless pain that came across her upper back. Something was tearing loose from her back, pressing against her armor, and, eventually, the leather straps binding it gave way. She felt a chill as something wet spread itself from her back, but she barely had time to process that before a similar pressure built at the base of her spine. However, this time, given that her armor had already fallen to the ground, it happened far quicker. And she could feel it... lashing, twitching, damp with what she could only assume to be her own blood...

And then, agony in her skull. Simultaneously, she felt that same tearing on both sides of her head, just above her pointed ears. That sickening warmth dripped onto the tops of her ears, and she felt pain in her mouth. She ended up spitting and spitting...

By the Fury, those were her own teeth! She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, feeling sharp fangs instead of teeth. The horror dawned on her as she looked at her exposed nails... or what were now talons. Midnight blue talons. 

Her eyes began to water. She knew now what was on her back, what was lashing about at the base of her spine, and what had torn loose from the sides of her head. In the end, he had won.

She was a monster. A sin against nature. An abomination that could never return home. It was all too much.

Combined with the exhaustion that came with such a brutal, forced transformation, she collapsed on her stomach, and succumbed to the darkness of sleep’s embrace.

[lloire14]

Acrostic

I could not shake my thoughts from the previous night. Try as I might, I could not shake the feeling that I’d done something I regretted. To distract myself, I set out to the Saucer. There was a triple triad tournament going on. The record keeper seemed surprised to see me. Said she’d worried that I had died. I didn’t manage to win, but I did well enough to earn a reward and a few card.

Distracting as it was, I still worried in the back of my mind. The only thing I could think of to get my mind back on track was to train. I travelled to Tailfeather and sought out the beasts there to try my axe against again. Why there I wonder? I’d already tried my axe against these beasts. Still, something drew me to the place. I stayed for a day before I found it no longer distracting enough and I returned home.

Once I returned to the city-states, I made my way to the Goblet and to Joundi’s estate to check on Umi. No one was there. I felt foolish. She was a capable woman who did not need me trying to watch over her, still, I worried. I decided to see if she was at the Blades manor.

Not thinking anything of it, I travelled through Ul’dah. Passing one of the many alleyways, I heard a woman cry out. Fool that I am, I didn’t even think that it could be a trick. I just rushed into the alley and tried to save her. I arrived just in time and was lucky that it was not a trap. I was less lucky that’d I’d not been armed. The man pulled a knife, the girl managing to get away with her dignity intact. He stabbed me. I left him in the alley with a smashed in face. I left him alive. It was more than I wanted to do. Now I truly needed to get to the manor and my surgery kit. Luckily, aether flows easily for me and I found myself nearly on their doorsteps a few ticks later.

Trudging up to the manor, I came upon Miette. The young Elezen woman I’d meet alongside professor Jigumundo. I tried to move past her and not give her cause for worry, but apparently my wound was worse than I thought. She spotted it near instantly and insisted that I let her heal it. It was an unusual experience. Calling her own fae seemed to cause her pain. What’s more, the tiny creature refused to help her cast. She tried to heal the wound, but without the fae’s assistance, she began to lose confidence. I tried to comfort her, help her and the fae connect and heal the wound. It’s not every day one gets a chance to talk another through healing them while holding their guts in. After a bit of encouragement, the two of them managed to stop the bleeding. Miette fell weak though and the faerie vanished. I tried to help encourage the lass, but I don’t know that it did much good.

With the wound healed I thanked Miette and asked if she’d seen Umi around the manor. Once she confirmed that she had not, I suppose I grew concerned. I thought back to the last time I’d seen her. Asking her to leave and watching her teleport away. I couldn’t shake the feeling of worry and after hastily bidding Miette farewell, I rushed back to the last place I’d seen Umi after a quick stop at my place to grab my staff. It’d been quite some time since we’d last worked together. I made my way to the exact spot I’d last seen her, and after taking a good deal of time to prepare, I worked to trace her aetherial signature. She had not gone home as I’d thought. Instead she’d teleported to Coerthas.

After travelling to West Coerthas, I searched for her, trailing her signature the best I could. Eventually I found her huddled in a cave and nearly drained of aether. I threw my coat around her and found out that she’d been out there in the blizzard for over two days. Why didn’t I listen to that voice in the back of my mind.

Not wanting to bring her back to the house where Soren was hosting Destiney or Joundi’s home where I could not be sure he would return, I took her to my apartment. There, I helped her by the fire and tried to keep her warm before setting about making soup. I also gave her the carving I’d whittled for her. A small nutkin. I want her to be able to see where her hands. I want to help her learn to see in ways others can’t. Mayhaps then she’ll forsake her ‘sight’ and I will be able to hold on to her longer

The fight we had next had been somewhat expected. I tried to talk to her about what ails her. I tried to offer a solution. She did not see it that way. I offer to try and find a way to bind our anima so that she could draw from me as well. It would double the time she had left, if not more. She refused. We yelled. Finally, she explained that it was something she just could not ask of me. Knowing that I did not have a way to do it yet, I finally dropped the issue. Instead, I did something I swore I would never do again. I gave myself to Umi as –her- knight. I wonder still why I chose that moment to do so? Why her? Mayhaps I already know the answer. I care for her. I know it could be more on my end. However, she is safe. She holds others in her heart, and she is dying. What can I possibly do to hurt her by declaring myself her knight? I will protect her. That will be enough for me.

Things never go as expected. One moment we are shouting at one another, the next I’m helping her to a bath and then brushing out her tail after we eat. What is this life we lead? She did not want to be alone in a strange place, so I stayed at her side. Laying down close enough to be in reach. How sad am I? Finding comfort in having her close when I should be the one trying to bring her comfort instead. Before we slept, a question was asked. If the things that kept us apart were not there, could something have been. Only the Twelve know for sure, but I think it could have. Luckily, these things I think exist only here and in my mind. Soren would have a field day reading this. ‘Luckily’ he’s too good a guy to ever steal this to get inside my head, much as he’d deny it.

Once morning came and I made sure that she was fit to travel, we made our way back to Joundi’s. He was there, looking as though he’d half fallen apart with her absence. I was reminded of Soren’s description of what happened during my capture. She explained to the man what happened and I felt very much as though I were standing where I should not be.

First impressions are a difficult thing to deal with. I can’t imagine I made a great one on Joundi. He offered a drink in thanks for helping Umi. I thought it rude to decline. We three went downstairs and had a drink and spoke some. He is a former Garlean. As luck would have it, I met him now rather than then. They also told me of Stanzie, though not necessarily on purpose. One thing became clear as we spoke. No matter how much we may agree on Umi, the two of us do not see eye to eye on Garleans or fighting them. After some time, and a bit of whiskey, I took my leave. I could tell that Joundi cares for Umi. I told her as much. I only worry he might have seen that I do as well.

After leaving Joundi’s, I returned to my apartment. The night had been taxing, Soren was busy, and so, on a whim I sent a message to Helene. I did not want to drink alone. She came by and we sat and talked. I showed her my most recent injury, she showed me hers. It was good to be in the company of a friend who is like-minded. Realizing at last that I could call her friend and mean it, not comrade or shield mate, but friend, I spoke honestly with her. She asked me the same question that had been asked the night before. If the things stopping me from being with Umi were gone, would I? How can I even consider those things though? Part of what keeps me drawn back is I still love the first woman I gave my heart to. We just cannot be together again. I can’t do that to her again. She still loves Ellion, mayhaps Joundi. Those things don’t vanish. Still, if I were to answer truthfully, the answer was yes. Soren and Kessy came by later in the eve, sparing Helene my own questions about her wants for the future. Kagato had best treat her well if they become something. This Lion will not suffer to see harm to his friend’s heart. Soren seemed a bit off. I couldn’t place it. Kessy for her part was the usual charming woman I’ve come to expect, with just enough mischief to keep Soren’s attention. Here’s hoping for their sake it does not wane. In the end, I called the evening short and made my way to bed. Between being stabbed, healed, rescuing Umi from the snow, and fighting with mine own heart, I needed the rest.

Leaving my training for a later time, I simply relaxed at the apartment for most of the day. Umi had mentioned a friend bringing her by the manor at some point, so I headed there to meet the person. When I arrived no one was there so I found a dark and quiet corner and posted up to wait. I suppose I dozed off before the next thing I knew, Umi was there fussing with a Hyur man and Joundi was speaking from the opposite wall.

Like a snake charmer her friend seemed, but one with several bites on his hand. Alistair was his name I believe. He had somehow talked Umi into a maid’s outfit and was passing out flyers. Joundi was not amused at all by the man, and while I tried to be polite at first, I did end up agreeing with Joundi on a few things. Alistair was looking for amateur writers for his publication. After talking with him for a while, I decided I would submit something. I really should work on that.

Isn’t it funny how the most innocent of things can make you feel a fool? Alistair made a remark about Umi. Joundi took issue with it and called him out. Alistair realized he was in the same room as her partner and asked about it. Umi replied that Joundi was her partner in matters of love, I her partner in crime. What fool am I to want for something I cannot have. I shook it off quickly though. It helped that they soon after left, Joundi following near immediately.

Never one to sit idle, but not wanting to risk another injury just yet, I decided to go hunting. I spent a day up in West Coerthas again. Bow in hand, I decided that I’d spent enough time letting my aim worsen just because my eye had been so badly hurt. It took most of the day, but in the end I think I found what I need to compensate for the loss in vision. I brought down a handsome steinbock and took it back to the manor after dressing it. Umi had asked that we hunt and bring back food. So I did.

Leaving again the next day, I travelled to the Shroud, going to my favorite place in the world, and I sat on that bridge and fished. All day. Just as boring as everyone would tell you. I loved it. It’s relaxing and helps calm the raging storm inside me. Sometimes a Lion just wants to lounge. I took the whole day and spent it alone with my thoughts, fishing.

Overall, I should have been at peace enough not to react the way I did when I returned to the Blade’s manor. I’d stopped at the apartment and gathered my armor and axe, then made my way to the manor to see if there was work. Just outside I came across a scene I had not expected. The professor and a Miqo’te woman I did not know were standing in the yard, and Miette lay on the ground in front of Jigumundo. I nearly pulled my axe on him. Thank the Twelve for fishing. They managed to assure me that it was not as bad as it seemed. The professor cast a sleep spell on Miette and I carried her inside to the woman’s, Tisharu, room. They explained that Miette had lost control and were simply trying to keep her from hurting herself or anyone else. Tisharu managed to dress her wounds and the three of us spoke for a time. I am glad that Jigumundo seems a patient and logical fellow. We were able to speak on differing sides without too much trouble. When Miette woke, Tisharu ran to her. Is it me, or is there perhaps something more there? Lovers mayhaps? Either way, Miette began to sob and I felt the urge to leave.

Vaguely trying to find an escape, I joked with Jigumundo about my inability to comfort in times like these. Just then though, Umi called for me over my personal frequency. She needed help. I tried to leave without saying much, but the professor saw right through me, asking that I say hello to Umi for him. My axe was sitting in the room with Miette and Tisharu, so I decided to leave without it rather than interrupt their talk.

Everything is so confusing. I managed to make my way to where she was atop Skan. When we arrived he took it upon himself to chase after the local wildlife that might give us trouble and I went to Umi’s side. She’s hurt herself in a fall and just needed someone close at hand so she could heal the wound. I offered to stay with her and we spoke some as she set about healing herself. I found that she and Joundi have been fighting. I heard that he wished to keep her closed off from the world, just the opposite of what I would have her do. She asked me questions and like a fool I mistook her motives. She asked if I wanted children. I explained why I did not. She asked me if I could see myself with someone ever again. I told her I could, but only because I’d promised her I would try. Then she asked what I sought in a lover. I worried that she meant to look for someone for me. I worried that telling her might drive her further from me. I did so anyways. I told her that I sought someone like her. A lioness who would share in the hunt with me. Respect my own strength, but also no fear their own. A woman and a warrior. It seems my tastes have changed some, but how could they not. I could not fall for someone like I had before. Not again. She asked me if I would forgive her if she acted on selfishness. I answered her. She kissed me. I hate how I feel. I wanted it. I wanted to grab her and kiss her back. How can I feel that way? What is wrong with me? She played it off as some reward for rescuing her, but when I argued about Joundi, she grew upset. She decided to leave, and I tried to escort her home. She refused and warned me that if I tried, she might be tempted to kiss me again. Does she know what she’s doing to me? I thought myself clever and pulled on my helm. She proved herself a match for me, and ordered me to remove it, kissing me again, and leaving me standing awestruck. By the Twelve, I don’t want to. But I think I am.

[casualcatte]

[Character] Aultena Sephimiri

She demanded to be heard, so here she is...

Basic Statistics

Full Name:  Aultena Sephimiri Nickname:  ‘Tena or Tena Age: 25 Date of Birth:  22nd Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon  (June 22nd) Species: Miqo’te, Keeper of the Moon Gender: Female Hometown:  Tailfeather, Dravanian Forelands, Eorzea Occupation: Hunter / Survivalist

This is a VERY long character worksheet.  So, consider yourself warned it’s a long read ahead!

Abilities

If they had an element, what would it be?  Aultena is best represented by Wind because of how free spirited she is.  She goes where the wind takes her. Can they use it? Aultena has no magical ability whatsover. Hand-to-Hand capability: Aultena is an excellent ranged fighter, but not so much in close quarters. She can defend herself, if pressed, but she’d rather pick off her targets from afar. When did they start learning? She has been learning the way of the bow since she could walk. Who taught them? Her mother, for her early years. Sillesti, her guardian, in later years. Weapons training:  Longbow and shortbow, dagger for close quarters self-defense. Physical strength:  Aultena is light and wiry, athletic and dextrous, but not so physically strong. Speed:  Fairly speedy. She relies on it and her dexterity to keep her out of most trouble.

Family

Maternal & Paternal Family Connection: Aultena’s extended family are also Keeper of the Moon miqo’te.  Her relationship with them is fairly non-existent on either side. Parents/Guardian: Aultena’s had a good, loving relationship with her parents who encouraged her to be independent and strong-willed. She was closest to her mother, but still had a good relationship with her father.  They were killed on a Clan Hunt when she was twelve. After that, she was cared for by a friend of the family, a Wildwood Elezen by name of Sillesti Abriel. Her relationship with Sillesti was also fairly good, though they did tend to butt heads on occasion. Birth order:  Aultena is the only child of her parents. (That she is aware of. There may be the possibility of other siblings -- for RP opportunities!) What is the character's family life like?  Growing up with her parents, Aultena was raised with a disciplined hand, but also with a lot of freedom for her to develop on her own. Miqo’te tribal traditions were explained to her, but not impressed upon her. It didn’t seem that important living out in Tailfeather among such varied people. Growing up with Sillesti, Aultena knew even more freedom, since Sillesti only disciplined her when she did something really wrong. What does their family love most about them? Her determination. Once Aultena puts her mind to something, she always tries to see it through to the end.  It’s part of what makes her an excellent huntress, she doesn’t let go of her quarry easily. Hate? Aultena has a temper, inherited from her mother. It causes her to butt heads with both her mother and Sillesti a lot, sometimes over inconsequential things. What would their family be described like by another person? From the outside, Aultena’s life with her parents seemed pretty idyllic; she got along with her parents and travelled with them often save on the more dangerous hunts they undertook. With Sillesti, it was much the same since they all lived close-by in Tailfeather; seeing her around Sillesti was nothing new. Have they ever had any pets?  Not yet. Maybe at a later date?

Relationships

Are they a virgin?  Nope! How did they lose it?  She had a literal roll in the hay in a chocobo barn with a handsome adventuring hyur, Tristane, that stayed in Tailfeather for a while. Have they ever cheated on a partner?  No. Given Aultena’s general lifestyle, her temper, and her wanderlust she’s never really been that committed to a partner.  It takes a lot for Aultena to invest that much in someone, so it takes a while and she has to build a lot of trust.  Trust she wouldn’t betray so easily. Who was their first crush?  Aultena doesn’t really crush on people. She has to be pretty emotionally invested in someone to find them attractive. First love? Her first love was that aforementioned hyur, Tristane Alexander. He was an adventurer, however, and met his end fighting a bandersnatch alpha on one of their many hunts. Aultena does NOT like to talk about this much. Are they in any kind of romantic relationship? Aultena is currently not in any sort of relationship at present.  Who is your character’s closest friend? Her current closest friend is probably her guardian, Sillesti. They get along well and he respects her space and independence while simultaneously providing a willing ear and advice when she needs it.

Favorites

Favorite foods: Miqo’bobs, of course! Least favorite food:  Anything with fish.  Living so far from the sea, she never really acquired a taste for it. Favorite colors:  Blues, she finds it soothing. Music: She loves listening to acoustic guitar. It’s what she grew up with, listening to her father play as a child. She inherited his guitar when he left it behind during that ill-fated Hunt and has learned to play it since. Literature: Sheet music?  Aultena isn’t much of a reader.  She CAN read, but rarely for entertainment. Smell: The forest after a good rain. Feeling: The softness of chocobo hatchlings. Season: Autumn. Place: Tailfeather, home, of course! Possession this character values most: Her most valued possession is her father’s guitar, since it’s really the last connection she has to them. It’s attached to many good memories sitting around the campfire as they hunted, listening to her father play it.

Physical Characteristics

Height: 5’6” Weight: 120 Body build: Wiry Athletic Eye Color:  Gold Hair:  Navy with lighter blue highlights, typically drawn back in a braid. Scent:  She smells mostly of pine. Very rarely any sort of artificial perfume, since it would be a dead-giveaway to her quarry on hunts. Voice:  See: Lenore Zann -- particularly as Aisha Clan-Clan. Health: Fairly good!  Her active lifestyle as a huntress keeps her physically fit.  She does have an allergy to cats, though.   Style:  Relaxed and easy to move in. She’s not all that fond of frilly dresses and binding undergarments like corsets.  (How do people even move in this?!) How do they walk? Aultena is very light-stepped, given how carefully she has to move on a hunt. Unconsciously graceful, but also kind of slouchy when she’s relaxed / not hunting. What are their Nervous Tics: Aultena’s ears are very expressive. When she’s nervous or afraid, her ears will tilt backward. The farther the tilt, the more severe the emotion. Usual Body Posture: When on the hunt, generally stiff and vigilant.  Not hunting, relaxed and slouchy.

Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes

Did they go to school?  Not really. She learned to read and write in her teen years from Sillesti who was taught in Ishgard. How smart are they?  Aultena is smart when it comes to survival and being afield.  She’s not really very book-smart or knowledgable about history or Eorzea at-large.   Character's short-term goals in life: Aultena wants to see the world beyond Tailfeather, especially after hearing about it from Tristane, who was fairly well-travelled. Character's long-term goals in life: To become a good enough hunter to kill the beast that killed her parents. How does your Character see themselves? Aultena sees herself as a bit of a nuisance to Sillesti, though she adores him like a father for everything he’s done for her. Among other people, she often sees herself as a clunky backwater heathen. How self-confident is your character? While hunting, Aultena is supremely confident and in charge of herself. In any other arena, she can be uncertain, easily frustrated, and reclusive. What makes their self-confidence waver?  Her lack of knowledge. She’s not as worldly as some folk, so she sometimes feels dumb when listening to them talk about the wider world. What would embarrass your character the most? Missing a shot on a hunt. How does your character feel about love?  It always ends. Nothing lasts. Enjoy it while you have it, but don’t rely on it for anything. About crime? Criminals ruin everything for everyone. Politics? She doesn’t follow politics, so she’d just stare and not understand. People of a different sexuality? Your body, your business. Different nationality/race? She’s fine with most races, though she has little love for Gnath. How does your character show affection/love? Spending time with them, staying in one place near them. Her free time and her freedom are key to who Aultena is, so when she’s willing to give that up for someone says volumes. She also likes giving them hand-made gifts or bringing them things back from her hunts.  How does your character handle grief?  She will usually go off somewhere by herself to cry where no one is watching. She doesn’t like talking about it, but will accept comfort / distraction when it’s offered. What are they like when they cry? She’s a burst crier. She’ll weep loudly and hard for a few minutes, recover, then cry again until she exhausts herself. What can make them cry?  Loss, primarily. The loss of her parents, then later losing Tristane makes her very sensitive to losing people.  Anger, she tends to cry when she gets really and truly angry. How does your character handle physical pain? Having been injured a number of times in her life on the hunt, Aultena deals with physical pain and injury fairly well. Emotional pain? Emotional pain, however, is not something she deals with well. Like a wounded, she’ll either lash out or retreat to where she feels the most comfortable / safe. Is your character typically a leader or a follower? She is fairly independent, so she’s a leader more than a follower.  If it’s a situation she’s unfamiliar with, though, she has no issues with following someone else. Are they 'big picture' or 'little details'?  Little details matter in a hunter’s life. What kind of energy level does your character typically display? On the hunt, she’s fairly high, but controlled and focused energy.  Intent.  Anywhere else, though, she seems sort of lazily vigilant -- you know, like a cat. Describe their sense of humor:  Her sense of humor can be a bit dry.  But if she’s feels comfortable enough with someone, she can be a bit of a mischievous prankster.  Something she used to torment Sillesti with a lot. Hobbies:  Whittling / Woodcarving, playing music (esp. guitar, includes singing), cooking, leatherworking, collecting hunting trophies. Talents:  Singing, playing music, hunting. Extremely unskilled at:  Formal dancing, sewing, makeup / hairstyling If any, what musical instruments can they play?  Lute, guitar, and harp, primarily.  Pan flute.

Emotional Characteristics

How does character relate to others?  Aultena can be bluntly opinionated at times, calling things like she sees them. It can rub others the wrong way.  She tries to be understanding, but really emotional people make her uncomfortable. How does the character deal with anger? She stalks off and shoots things. With sadness? She runs off on her own or to where she feels safest to cry. With conflict? It depends on the situation. For emotional conflict, she’ll stalk off to puzzle things out for herself. Physical conflict, she’ll fight like a demon. Mental conflict, she’ll just shut down and withdraw. With change?  With as much as her parents came and went and with so many varied people and adventurers that came through Tailfeather, Aultena is relatively good with change. She likes to experience new and different things. With loss?  Given her life experiences, Aultena does not cope with loss well. What does your character want out of life? Besides to avenge her parents against the beast that killed them… I doubt she knows at this point. What would your character like to change in his/her life? Aultena would have her parents and Tristane back. She doesn’t regret much else. What motivates your character? The people she cares about.  Hunger.  Money.  Hunters live to sell their kills or to eat off the meat those kills provide.   What frightens your character?  Losing people she cares about.  Dragons.  Bandersnatches.  Are they afraid of the Dark? No, she’s spent too many nights in the wild, listening to the forest-song to be afraid of the dark. Death? Aultena is very afraid of death.  Her parents weren’t that old when they were killed.  Neither was Tristane. In the back of her mind, she wonders if she’s doomed to die an early death, too. What makes your character happy? New and different experiences.  Good food.  Fine booze.  Excellent company.  A successful hunt.  Camping under the stars.   Is your character judgmental of others?  Not really.  Like with animals, Aultena gauges things by how they act toward her and she responds accordingly. Is your character generous or stingy? A bit of both, to be honest. She’s stingy among strangers, but generous to those she cares about and her neighbors. Is your character generally polite or rude?  She can be a bit of both here, too, depending on how she’s treated or received. Optimistic or Pessimistic? She’s generally a realist. Introvert or Extrovert?  Something of an introvert until she gets comfortable. Daredevil or Cautious?  Cautious.  Hunters don’t live long by being reckless. Logical or Emotional?  Both, depending on the situation.  Hunting?  Logical.  Socially? Emotional. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?  Methodical and neat. Being able to know exactly where anything is at any given moment so she can go on the hunt is key for her. Would they rather be working or relaxing?  She likes both.  She loves the thrill of the hunt and to travel, but there’s little else better than relaxing after a successful day. How do they feel about animals?  Given her experiences as a hunter, Aultena has more respect for animals than she does people.

Spiritual Characteristics

Do they consider themselves religious?  She prays to them to keep her safe during the hunt, but she’s not devout by any means. What God(s)/Goddess(s) do they believe in?  As a Keeper of the Moon, she learned of Menphina from her mother. She has some small regard for Oschon, as the God of Wanderers.

Bonus: Theme Song Sunset by Daria Semikina

[sootcloak]

Either Way, I Get Paid

~1000 words. Heads up this one gets relatively graphic. Content warning for descriptions of violence.

January Prompt: Reaper - A person or machine which harvests a crop.

@seaswolchallenge

    More than anything else, his back hurt. Not stinging, unbearable pain, sure. But it hurt. For hours, he had been on his knees. Hands held behind his back by loosely-tied rope. It wouldn’t be hard to slip free - but all told there were five people in the guild building and two of them had their eyes glued on him.

    So, he kept his head and eyes down. Didn’t want to end up like the elezen teller, who tried stopping them and got his head bashed into his desk so hard the wood splintered. Could hear the blood from his head dripping onto the stone floor below. Occasionally, he could hear him breathing. If he wanted to get him the help he’d need, cooperation was key.

    Steadying his own breathing, he focussed on the sounds of the wind outside. It was blowing, gently and steadily. Always did near Tailfeather. White noise. Keeps him grounded. He can see the trees bend outside, through the window. Listening to the wind under the other people’s voices, loud and boisterous as they may be, was steadying the jitters in his hands. Could hear it jostle the door, even through the table and dresser pushed up against it.

    “Hey, long-ears.” One of the voices makes him jerk in his bindings, head springing up. He matches the gaze of one of the pirates, a tall woman with deep, blue-green skin and broad shoulders. Her face is covered in a tied rag, same as the rest of them.

    “Ask him what the code is-” Another, a stocky and round miqo’te man, pipes up from where he’s sitting behind the counter. He’s attempting to get a jimmy into the lock mechanism of the gil safe. The sound of the file on the tumblers grinds at his ears.

    “-I’m gettin’ to that, dumbass.” Broad-shoulders responds. She jerks her head back to look down at him.

    “What’s the fucking code?” She asks.

    “Wouldn’t know-” He says, truthfully.

    “It wasn’t on the giraffe.” A monstrously huge roegadyn man says, turning from the unconscious teller to broad-shoulders. His face looks like it’s gone through a shredder or meatgrinder, heavy scars running across it in even stretches. “Gotta be on him. Let’s just-” His voice is heavy and slow, like a machine chewing dirt.

    “No, no, no.” The round one says from the safe. “Not letting you get our bounty even higher once this is done - we get the gil, we get out, we forget this ever happened. No way you add another body to this.”

    “Hrmph.” Meatgrinder just turns back to the teller, lifting his bloodied face up off the counter and checking his neck for a necklace. He drops his head with a meaty ‘plap’, and then grabs firm hold on one of the unconscious man’s ears. He pulls. A piece of flesh and something shiny rips free. Light from the window catching on an earring with an old, fake gemstone in it.

    “So if you didn’t know the code, but you work here anyways, what did you fuckin do? Mop the floor?” Broad-shoulders asks, inching closer to him. “Or maybe you did favors for the management to keep you on? A good cabin-boy, and all that?” He can’t see her jaw or mouth, but the smirk is there. He can feel it. She darts forward, snatching one of his long, furred ears in one hand and pulling him up off his knees by just an inch or so.

    He bites his lip until it bleeds, trapping the scream of pain in his chest. He can still hear the wind, whipping up to a howl outside.

    “What’s the fucking code?!” She shouts in his ear, making his vision swim with pain and disorientation. Before he has a chance to respond, something hard strikes him in the gut, sending him rolling across the floor. He coughs, air refusing to fill his emptied lungs. Broad-shoulders walks over towards him, rearing back for another kick.

    “I told you not to fuck with him!” Whining, high-pitched. With the headache coming on, some distant part of him laments how listening to his captors is going to grate on him.

    “Should just kill ‘em both and rip the safe. No witnesses.” Meatgrinder’s voice is like gravel in his skull.

    “We’re not killing them!”

    “I bet he knows, and I’m gonna get it out of him regardless of what you two loam-skulls say.” She snarls above him, turning to face her comrades.

    “Nah, fuck you. This wasn’t our deal, and I’m-”

    “You sit down.”

    The voices are loud, and they start to yell over one another. They’re all standing, getting close together. Through bleary, teared eyes, he sees Meatgrinder move to hop the counter towards the round one. His foot goes up on the wood. Glass shatters. The wind outside roars briefly, a muffled crack filling the room.

    The wall, the Miqo’te’s face cloth, his eyes, and his greying hair, are painted a deep scarlet. An awful smell seeps into the air. Meatgrinder, his chest bearing a cavity the size of someone’s arm, falls forward without making another sound.

    Broad-shoulders starts to make for the wall, away from the windows. She makes it a few steps, and then something takes her knees out from under her. Blood, her blood, splatters across his tear-soaked face and jacket. The roar of the wind is loud enough to make his ears ring, like thunder under water. She hits the ground on her back.

    Adrenaline pumping, the world’s gone silent and he can’t hear her screams. Can see them, though, from the way her face stretches and the way she grips at her leg. Can see the blood soaking her pantleg.

    The round, stocky brigand breaks out of his stupor and throws both hands up, dropping the pick and his tools. They must have made a ruckus when they hit the ground. He could feel them clatter from where he’s lying. 

    A shadow falls over them, a small figure landing on the windowsill. A single, long braid flows with the wind, a brimmed cap held snugly over her head. The wind courses through the room, near-silently making everything rustle and move. In the dark of her shadow cast by the setting sun, he can see her eyes. Shining, as though there were a light behind them, in emerald-tone hues.

    Resting on her shoulders by a strap is a rifle, it’s ported barrel still smoking.

    She drops from the window onto the ground, light as a breeze.

    “Patch them up.” She says. The way she speaks is soft and clear as a mountain stream, has the same deathly chill, too. The miqo’te begins to speak, but she tosses a bag down by broad-shoulders.

    “Patch them up, or he’ll die and get added to your sentence,” She nods at the teller, “and she’ll die and be on your conscience.” Her head nods to the side, towards the unconscious roegadyn woman. Without a sound as she moves, her gaze returns to the last standing pirate and she pulls the rifle from it’s strap. It finds its place against her shoulder like a glove fitted to her, despite its heft.

    “I don’t care. I get paid either way.” She says with an air of finality.

[kulapti]

Gawain & the Green Knight bookbinding, Nov 2023. Typesetting by @mourningmountainsbindery

Materials: textblock is acid-free printer paper, PVA glue, cotton thread coated in beeswax, and cover is acid-free board, Italian bookcloth (3 colors), metallic green foil backed with scrap paper, and chiyogami paper endpapers.

[kulapti]

Bookbinding (2 copies) of Palimpsest by @azzandra, June 2024.

Typesetting by @admiraltypress! She helped brainstorm the cover design with me and we came up with the grey and green color scheme and bamboo image to reference the two main characters (YQY and SJ/SQQ). I chose to use the typesetter's title page design ("Palimpsest" in a box) and add the author's name in red as a reference to Chinese ink paintings with the bright red artist's chop signature. It's fun when the cover turns out exactly how I pictured it. :D

Materials: Scrapbooking paper, Verona bookcloth, acrylic paint, black ink, archival PVA glue, Chiyogami endpapers, text laser printed on archival paper, and cotton thread & beeswax. One copy was mailed to the typesetter and one copy was mailed to the author.