taediuswrites

[taediuswrites]

A commission done for a friend of their Pathfinder 2e character, Sebastian.

--

Case No.: 72153-0002

Date: Pharast 21, 4722 AR

Reporting Officer: Officer Loertan Smyth

Prepared By: T. Lightfoot

Description of Accident/Issue:

Criminal activity was reported by a citizen who wished to remain anonymous at 11:27 AM, 21 Pharast. A ‘pop-up stall’ had been constructed at the opening of the Grand Bazaar approx. 15 meters from The Resplendent Rose within Absalom’s Grand Bazaar. The stand consisted of a single proprietor, identified post-arrest as Sebastian Cortinea, 18 y/o human male. The stand had no title; Cortinea was noted as calling passersby for ‘discount art lessons’. Participants interviewed on-site gave consensus that this was not out of the ordinary, as The Resplendent Rose is noted to be a place of beauty and expression.

Cortinea asked patrons to sit on a chair on stage and pose. Lessons approx. 30 minutes per session followed, in which Cortinea explained rudimentary artistic practices, such as simple shape-drawing, copying a model’s appearance onto canvas, etc. Each model was compensated with a sketch of his own creation.

The anonymous citizen reported that they had misplaced a gold-plated clockwork device, purchased earlier the same day at The Clockwork Caravan. This citizen stated that they had the device before attending Cortinea’s stall, but noticed its absence approx. 10 minutes following their departure. They were one of the models of Cortinea’s stall.

Guards were dispatched to the site of the stall. At the time of their arrival, Cortinea was finishing a session. When approached, he began to deny allegations of theft. The dispatched guards state that they were distracted by a sudden clamor; when they turned to face Cortinea again, he had begun to run down the street.

Actions Taken:

Pursuit of the suspect began at 11:42 AM. Suspect utilized magical abilities to attempt to dissuade pursuit, such as creating small flames, telekinetically hurling projectiles at pursuing guards, and creating magical sounds of objects falling, breaking, etc. Suspect’s dexterity and apparent knowledge of hidden paths provided for a difficult chase; suspect was apprehended in an alleyway in the Coins District at 12:01 PM.

Suspect was handcuffed. The suspect was accompanied by a familiar, who was detained within a familiar satchel. Suspect and familiar were brought to a local guard outpost at 12:12 PM. All items and personal effects were confiscated, including a golden clockwork device matching the description of the anonymous citizen’s, a small purse containing 15 gp, 12 sp, 32 cp, a length of wood identified as a broken wand, and two silver bracelets.

Report Summary:

Suspect was adequately detained and brought in for questioning. However, an oversight on the part of the interviewing officer resulted in the suspect escaping custody, reclaiming his items, and fleeing the scene. A bounty of 1 gp for information leading to the suspect’s arrest was placed, increased to 5 gp for the suspect’s capture.

Transcribed below is an interview with suspect Sebastian Cortinea, who was apprehended shortly following the incident.

--

Sebastian Cortinea: You could’ve been a bit less rough, you know. Don’t you have any idea how much handcuffs chafe?

Officer Loertan Smyth: Those who do not cooperate with the law are brought in as necessary.

Cortinea: Yeah, well, I don’t recall drawing being illegal.

Smyth: That isn’t the point and you know it. Now: name?

Cortinea: [sigh] Sebastian Cortinea. 

Smyth: Age?

Cortinea: Too young for you.

Smyth: Be serious, Mr. Cortinea.

Cortinea: Jeez, no fun at all. 18.

Smyth: Residence?

Cortinea: Hopefully not here!

Smyth: Mr. Cortinea.

Cortinea: Is this what you always have to do? Take down such boring details? Come on, where’s the drama? I keep hearing about the guards of Absalom being these cool, badass figures. [Suspect raised hands, waving them in front of himself.] Where’s the pizzaz?

Smyth: Whatever rumors you’ve heard are of no consequence here. Now, please focus so we can get this over with. Do you understand precisely what it is you’ve done wrong?

Cortinea: [Suspect slumped back in his seat, right arm over the back of the chair.] No, honestly. It’s the Grand Bazaar. Aren’t people supposed to be able to make coin there? Besides, bringing a little art to the world isn’t bad, now is it?

Smyth: You were oper-

Cortinea: Ah-ah, lemme finish. Art, helping people learn to draw. Near a shop whose owner follows Shelyn, of all gods. I mean, c’mon! Doesn’t that sound right?

Smyth: [visibly irritated] Mr. Cortinea, you were running this stand without permission or permit. On top of this, you had stolen various personal belongings, denied allegations, fled the scene of a crime, and assaulted officers. You stand to be in jail for quite a long time.

Cortinea: Dunno what you’re talking about. I’m sitting right now.

Smyth: If you are not going to cooperate, I will call in my fellows and they’ll bring you to prison right now. Is that what you want?

Cortinea: Admittedly, no, but you’re not exactly giving me a lot of time to explain myself right now. Don’t I get the right to a fair trial? And to say my side of things, too! C’mon, man.

Smyth: [sigh] Very well. Then what exactly was the purpose of this ‘art stand’?

Cortinea: I just told you. I’m trying to spread the good word of art! Well- the good picture- you know what I mean. I was even compensating people! Who doesn’t want a nice portrait of themselves to hang up on their wall? People pay way more than I would’ve charged, and I gave it to them for free!

Smyth: And the items that had gone missing from the same people you drew?

Cortinea: Hey, it’s not my fault if people drop their things. Getting down from a stage can cause a little bouncing, y’know? People drop stuff. Besiiiides, holding onto their things is a favor. Someone might’ve actually stolen them if they just found ‘em on the ground!

Smyth: You will forgive the courts if they don’t believe you, I imagine.

Cortinea: Oh, I don’t think I’m gonna be talking to the courts at all. Yoink!

Smyth: Wh- hey!

[Suspect ran towards the door at this time, taking his leshy companion with him. The leshy was holding Officer Smyth’s keyring, and it was used to unlock the door. Pursuit began/]

[taediuswrites]

Annie.

A personal piece of my Vampire: the Masquerade character Vincent Moore and his Touchstone, Annie.

--

The whistle of a kettle near to boiling over fills the cramped air of the RV. A hand is raised, swiping it off of the heat and granting blessed silence once more.

Vince never quite understood tea. Even in his most lively of times, he could never stand the taste of it- ‘s’basically hot bitter water’, he had been known to say.  Of course, none of that mattered now. A distinct lack of life made the consuming of any form of liquid pointless. No matter the taste, if he liked it or not? Right back out the maw the moment it’s swallowed down. 

Fuckin’ vamps, man. Of all the shitty things, can’t even take a nip. Ugh.

The kettle is set down on the tiny countertop that made up his RV’s kitchenette, and a drawer is swung open to rummage. From it, a small tin- well-worn and more than a bit beaten out of shape- is produced. A teabag is brought out from it, placed in a mug, and the boiling water is poured atop it. Back onto the stove with the kettle, and he moves towards the couch not two steps away to slump down into it.

Why was he, one of the Kindred, of the eternal undead, making tea, of all things? There was only one reason, of course. His eyes slowly raised to the other end of the RV, where his meager sleeping quarters sat. It was not him that was using that bed (and he rarely used it anyway, outside of the fact that it was perfectly blocked from the sun). No, it was another.

Annie.

Traveling through the darkness was the only way that one like him could go about daily activities. Everyone knew that when the sun fell, the most dangerous and depraved activities began, and no sensible person would go out of their way to walk around when the moon and stars are out. He was not, by any stretch of the word, ‘sensible’, which made it only natural even before his Embrace. But more apt to the reason he had prowled last night was in search of another person bereft of their senses… despite his better efforts. 

Those who were under the thrall of drug use could not exactly trade in their preferred wares in broad daylight, and it was most common that he could find their dens after-hours. Annie was predictable- when she was in a bad place, she could be found in one of three places. Under the bridge by a little river; in a shed skirting the edge of the abandoned factory district and the town itself; or in a small shed that served as a ramshackle crack den. It did not take him long to find her, for the first option was the correct one.

Finding her alone, unconscious against the stones and perilously close to the river, is what nearly set him to find the ones responsible. But no- he had to restrain himself. Bloodshed would not solve it.

That time. It happens again, we got another fuckin’ issue.

Vince rises from the chair again, once more stepping to the kitchenette. His footfalls are heavy, only just barely not firm enough to rock the vehicle. God, but it all pissed him off. The cabinet doors are flung open as he grinds his teeth, metal creaking, wood splintering. No one ever treated folk like her right. Yeah, she slipped- so what? Don’t mean she’s supposed to be left on the fuckin’ rocks. Get her some damn help, not throw her to the fuckin’ wolves. Another tin is taken out, slammed down on the counter-

His head snaps to the side just in time to hear a surprised gasp from the bedroom.

Shit.

Vince shuts his eyes, and a deep breath is pulled in. Rouse the Blood. Hearken to Humanity. Call upon the Blush of Life. Color begins to return to his cheeks, after so very, very long of unnatural paleness. The veneer of a heartbeat pounds in his chest. God help him, but that’s uncomfy these days. The mug and the tin are picked up, and he carries himself swiftly to the door.

“Ann?” he calls out, voice quiet and calm. “S’all good- it’s Vin. You’re in the RV- y’decent?”

Silence hangs like a heavy curtain for a moment. The brief shuffling of sheets is what he hears first. After that, a quiet voice. “... yeah.”

The door is pushed open with his shoulder, and it takes but a step to bring him to the side of the bed. It was effectively a closet within the RV itself; sun-blocking black curtains hang over the singular window, with the bed itself bearing similar colors. Annie herself was wrapped up in the darkened sheets, both hands raised to her face. Thin hands rub at dark-ringed eyes of green. Long blonde hair remains ratty from a lack of chance to shower, to say nothing of the situation she had been in not an hour or two prior. Exhaustion is writ across her visage, displayed as clear as the state of borderline-emaciation she held. A woman of eighteen, and she looked like she was already a foot into the grave.

God, if that wasn’t familiar. Vince draws in slow, gradual breaths; he forces his expression into a soft smile, offering both tea and cookies over. No words are shared just yet- he waits for her to accept them, which she does after a short moment of staring.

“... m’sorry.”

His head shakes from side to side. A calloused finger rises to sweep some of her hair from her face, tucking it behind an ear. “What happened, huh? How’d the bit at the station go?”

Both of her shaky hands curl around the mug, raising it to her lips to take a long draught. His eyes focus on her as a shudder rolls through her body. “They turned me down. Said I didn’t have what it took. It- it got to me, Vin.”

“Dumbasses and liars, the lot of ‘em, but…” A singular bark of a laugh comes free from his lips, and he sits down on the bedside proper. I told you, y’can just come here. You don’t gotta- y’know.” No gestures or gesticulations are made. He knew. So did she.

“I know, I know, but-”

“Nah, no buts.” The back of one of his knuckles ever-so-gently tap-taps to the side of her head, causing Annie’s face to scrunch up in a pout. “We’re tryin’ t’get you off that shit, alright? These jackwagons like t’test, and we can’t have that failin’ ya. You’re better than that, Ann.”

Annie slumps back against the sheets, a long exhale flaring her nostrils out. Eyes flick off to the side, towards the window, and silence reigns again as she sits. One hand removes itself from the mug, and she takes one of the tea biscuits , raising it to quivering lips. “... yeah. I’ll- yeah.”

“That’s m’girl.” Her hair is tousled with a flick of his hand, and he rises back up to standing. “Drink up, get some more rest. I’ll drop y’off soon, alright? We’ll get you a shower, too- gotta look presentable.”

As Annie curls back up into the sheets, her eyes roll. But the ghost of a smile takes to her lips, and she turns away to nestle in. Vince exits with another wide step, door softly shutting behind him.

… and a hand runs down his face.

Fuck. Gotta get her better. Find her something nicer. For her sake. And, just a bit, for his own too.

[taediuswrites]

#FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 1 - Foster

Ever since the orphanage in Rolanberry Fields opened, Anhe had been a frequent visitor to the children there. For those who knew her, it was like she was drawn to aid those in need like a fly was drawn to honey; the moment she learned of the plight of the downtrodden, she was there to offer comfort, solace, and material needs. Ishgard’s orphanage was no exception. The bitter cold never bothered her, yet the suffering of the people of that northern nation was well-known to her.

This day, she came with multiple intentions. Large packages, wrapped in loose paper, floated around her as she walked down the snow-dusted streets of the Firmament. In these were blankets that were sewn by her own hand- thick ones of wool, to protect against the oncoming colder seasons. Weaving was something she put to great- almost gratuitous- use in providing for others, and if there was any group that could use clothing and blankets, it was an orphanage. Her other intention depended greatly on the health of one of those there…

Something she would discover quickly, surely. The door to the orphanage is opened; the bell above the door jangles as she enters, packages settling down on the floor inside.

“Miss Dulain, a pleasure as always.” The words come from the midlander man at the front desk, one of the former Temple Knights who ran the place. A warm smile settles on his rough-hewn features, and a calloused finger points towards the packages. “What’ve you got there?”

“Something for the children, of course,” she says in reply, upper half dipping in a polite half-bow. “The summer’s soon to be done, and you’d know better than I how the winters can be. While I’ve heard that the Ironworks is making strides…”

The man finishes her sentence, though not before giving a helpless shrug. “It’s a long process.” hands flick outwards in a dismissive gesture, and he leans forward on the counter. “Truth me told, if you asked me to look at all those contraptions, I wouldn’t know my arse from my elbow, so blankets and warm clothes are always good. Though, you here for your little apprentice, too?” A brow lifts as this question is posed.

A laugh pours free from Anhe’s lips, and a hand settles on her hip. “I suppose that’s not incorrect, is it…? Yes, if you could. We’re due for a lesson.”

He nods, then pushes back up from the desk. His body turns, and a hand rises to his mouth to cup around the side. A deep breath is drawn in, and he-

– Is cut off before he can call out. “I’m here.” A timid, feminine voice says this as its owner rounds the corner. A teenaged Elezen, fair of skin, whose bright eyes stood in sharp contrast to her anxious posture. Blonde hair was bound in a loose braid, and a tunic and simple slops kept her warm in the weather. 

“Hello, Jeanne,” Anhe says, her voice quiet. A hand is outstretched for the girl. “Are you ready for your next lesson? We can begin whenever you are.”

It takes a moment for the girl to muster herself; a slow breath is drawn in, gradually released. Her steps carry her forward, and in time, she places her hand in Anhe’s own. “Yes, miss Dulain.”

———————————————————————————————————–

“Now, remember what I taught you. Breathe deeply, and focus.”

The two sat on the dusty earth of Thanalan, legs crossed beneath them. Such a place was a boon for the channelling of earthen magic, and Anhe knew that was Jeanne’s speciality. She had seen how the girl had made the stone rise with a focusing of her aether, and cultivating that talent into magic of her own would surely get her far.

“Right…” Jeanne closes her eyes. Her hands settle on her lap, and brows knit. Her breaths come slow and deep, held for a second before rushing out of her nose.

Anhe nods as she sees this. “Good. Block out all but the sound of my voice, and the feeling of the earth beneath you. There is magic in everything. The earth is the source of all- feel it pulse beneath you, and draw on that power.”

The aether in the area shifts. Jeanne settled into a trance- Anhe had seen, and done the same to know the sighs- but the reaction of the aether around them came quicker than she expected. The stones beneath them shift; pebbles rattle and roll; and small stones begin to rise from the ground.

“There you go! Now, hold that. Do you feel the energy around you, now? Keep your focus, and keep them aloft.”

There is no verbal response from her, only the twitching of a brow. The stones lift up a bit higher, as more rise to join them- but the more that come, the harder the girl’s breaths come. The focus was taking a toll on her, and it began to show.

“That’s it! A moment longer…” Anhe leans forward, watching her, watching the rocks, keeping a close eye on their motions and progress. She was a fledgling yet, but there was talent. Getting her to control it…

Once more, Jeanne pulls in a deep breath. Her body trembles, and her hands quaver-

“And- release.”

Her breath rushes from her lungs, and the stones hit the ground hard. Her upper half slumps forward, one hand on her lap and the other wiping sweat from her brow.

Anhe, by contrast, was composed enough to reach a hand over and aid her in standing. “Very good, Jeanne. You’ve come far in a short time- lifting stones from the earth with your magic might not seem like a great feat, but it’s an important first step.

Jeanne accepts the hand, slowly rising up to her feet. “Thank you… “ Her own hands reach down to dust off her tunic, but she looks over at Anhe after a moment. “…Miss Dulain? Can I ask you a question?”

A brow lifts, but she nods to the girl. “Of course. What is it, dear?”

The question does not come immediately. Jeanne’s thin hands are wrung before her, and her attention turns down to the floor. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a time, but eventually gives a sigh. “You’re… very kind to me. Why?”

That brings Anhe to blink once, twice. “Why? Why wouldn’t I be?” One of her hands settles on Jeanne’s shoulder, squeezing in gingerly.

Her response seems to baffle Jeanne as much as the original question did to Anhe. Her head tilts up, bright eyes meeting bright eyes. “Um… well. I never knew my parents, like I’ve told you. No one’s ever been so nice to me like this. You teach me magic, you’ve made me food, you’ve offered to let me come to your academy… I just don’t understand… why.”

Anhe’s expression softens. Slowly, she lowers herself down to a squat, to get on eye-level with the girl. Her other hand settles on her other shoulder, and she speaks softly. “Jeanne. Everybody deserves the chance to live their very best life. You’ve not had that chance to begin with- neither have those who live in the orphanage. In the beginning, I had a rough life too. I was poor, and didn’t have anything.”

Twice does the girl blink. “You? Really? But you don’t seem like it. Erm- no offense…”

“Ha! None taken, dear. I know I don’t. To most, I strike the very image of a successful woman- and for good reason. I worked hard to get where I am, but I wouldn’t have been able to do so if others weren’t there for me. I come to places like the orphanage with gifts and supplies because I firmly believe you all should have the chance for something better… and if I had the capability to take you all in, I would. Unfortunately, I don’t, and I know you have a talent that can be used for the good of everyone. So, I’m offering as much as I can to get you to a place where you can be comfortable and confident.”

Silence strikes Jeanne for a moment. Though she still met Anhe’s eyes, her own expression was wide in surprise. The very concept had never struck her- that one would want to see her succeed, past the necessity of caring for someone who had lost something to them. Stunned silence puts a pause over their conversation for a time… until she finally manages to squeak out a few words. “Can… can I consider you my…” A pause, to gulp hard. “My… foster mother?”

The warmth that floods Anhe is nearly palpable. Long had she borne the appearance of a mother- the soft form, the loving personality, the care shown for others- but it was another thing entirely to actually have someone, in truth, consider her one. Yet, her response does not come with delay. Quite the opposite: she speaks immediately, arms pulling around the elezen to pull her into a warm hug.

“Of course, Jeanne. I’d be honored.”

[taediuswrites]

Deific Complications.

[A story about my tiefling in a Pathfinder campaign, Curse of the Crimson Throne.]

--

Strasza did not sleep well last night.

Now, she never was a particularly deep sleeper. There were plenty of reasons for her to be able to get up and go from a dead sleep in an instant. Even among more welcoming communities like Korvosa- or, as welcoming as it used to be, at any rate- tieflings did not have a particularly good reputation. A tiefling that was a mercenary, even less so. In Old Korvosa, where she used to live, one would be wise to sleep with one eye open, and have a blade near to hand. This was to say nothing of the nightmares, the dreams of chains and agony… and all that she had seen in recent times. Soldiers, monsters, plague, sickness, aberrations, death, undeath and the… everything that was Castle Scarwall.

That castle would not leave her mind for a long, long time. If ever.

An exertion sees her sitting up on her bed, a hand rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her other tugs the sheets off one of her horns, letting it flutter down to the bed. It was still early, she had no doubt; morning calls had not gone out, and there was no bustling of revolutionaries to prepare for whatever hells Queen Ileosa and her minions had for them. Despite everything that Strasza and her companions went through, the citizens of the city had been through something potentially worse. It was one thing to face death in the eye, but another to be under the thumb of a tyrant. 

If there was any time to try to get some answers, it was now.

She dresses quickly, donning a simple set of clothing. She would stand out, no matter what, but with no one awake, maybe she could get where she was going quickly. There was no fear of an attack in the small hours of the morning, not with the spell that hung over this place, and- if she was right, anyway- there was no need to get ready to leave yet. With any luck, her party would have at least another day to rest, considering the wounds suffered in Scarwall. Long strides carry her down the halls, passing by other rooms; burning orange eyes flick from side to side, spying them.

The first one she passed was Nimue’s. The inquisitor… Strasza had slung more than enough barbs her way for her actions, but even more, for her faith. What did an ‘inquisitor’ even do? Surely she was not the epitome of them- if that was all that heretics had to fear, heresy would be far more prevalent. Even so, something itches in the back of her mind. She had… conviction. Belief. It definitely could not spring from herself alone, and she always bore that symbol of hers, calling down magic from above.

Strasza’s lips quirk, and she turns away, head passing down the hall- only to catch the sight of gold rounding the corner. Gold- that must be Fuso. Fuso. His very existence was baffling to her. A man who existed purely to take the fall for someone else- someone who died, came back, and remembered almost nothing. By his explanation, anyway. Whether or not this was the true status of his soul was up for debate. What was objectively true was the fact that he did die… and came back.

--

Memories flash as she walks. Castle Scarwall, not a turn of the sun ago. They stood on the top floor of the castle, and all had come to calm. The undead had fallen; together, alongside their temporary companion, the hero Valzu, they struck down the phantoms binding the castle, and the curse was lifted. The soul of the one who was trapped there stood before them, their soul-flesh torn apart and reconstituted. Until they ceased speaking, and from the nothing came another figure. The one they had seen before. Blond hair, armor ringed with orange light. That heavenly messenger of the goddess of the dead.

She really wished they had a better fitting name for him than ‘Dave’, but an adage about roses and other names passes by the edge of her mind.

“You have done a great deed for my Mistress this day,” he had said to them, “and Her favour is with you. Perhaps she might even crack a smile.”

A flash. But a few moments after that- a small package is sent from his fingers, towards their inquisitor. “Ah, and before I forget. Let her know we’ll be coming for her soon.”

--

The memories fade.

She had kept walking, and found herself rounding a corner. The room before her was where she had intended to go. Her head turns, glancing about. No one here? ...Good. A bracing breath fills her lungs. One hand lifts, sharp-nailed fingers curling into a loose fist. For a moment, it hovers by the door’s frame; her other hand balls up as well, muscles tensing. Damn it, Strasza. We’re not going to get answers if you back out now. Eyes squeeze shut- that breath is released in a rush. C’mon. Let’s- let’s do this.

Her hand moves forward-

“Don’t be so shy, child,” an old woman’s voice calls.

Brows shoot up in surprise. Did she know? Was she being too obvious? Was this some kind of- Her head shakes, hands untensing; one rises up to card through her shock of silvery hair. Focus, Strasza. Focus. Shoulders droop, then her posture lifts, and around the corner she goes. 

The shrine to the gods in this underground hideaway was a simple thing. A couple rows of dilapidated pews and loose wooden chairs sat facing a makeshift altar, which was on a slight raised dais. Atop the stone structure, statues of the gods worshipped in Korvosa sat. Depictions of Abadar, Sarenrae and Shelyn take precedence, with another of Desna a bit off to the side. If there were signs of Asmodeus or any others who aligned themselves with evil, they were not obvious from this angle. At this time, there was but one other person in the ‘chapel’... and it was exactly who Strasza was looking for. In the front row, holding something on her lap, was Keppira d'Bear, the high priest of Pharasma.

“You needn’t skulk around, you know,” the old woman hums out, turning her gaze up towards the tiefling. A wry little smirk rests on her lips, wizened features displaying mirth that belied her age. “Come, sit.”

Strasza’s hand slides down off her head, around one horn, to rub at the back of her neck. Embarrassment was not a common expression for her, but it showed here. A quiet, breathy chuckle ekes out; her tail flicks nervously behind her. “Erm- right. Right.” Long strides carry her across the way, between the pews, and to the high bishop’s side. She sets herself down next to her, a couple feet between them. 

“Much weighs on your mind, child.” One hand lifts from her lap, to gesture towards Strasza. “It shows on your face. Do not be afraid; you are safe here.” 

At first, Strasza’s burning eyes flit away. Her arms settle on her legs, and her posture slumps forward, hardly fitting for someone in as close to a holy place as they could get. Or perhaps, considering her heritage, it was entirely fitting. Who could say? No doubt some would have commentary. But her attention does go to the aged woman after a silent second; it is here that she notes what else the bishop is holding. Within her other hand, she held a statue. Unlike the ones on the altar, it was not a depiction of the god themselves. Rather, it was a symbol that could be more easily transported, perhaps affixed to the belt. A spiraling comet, made of a glimmering metal.

It was when she saw this that her breath caught in her throat. Despite herself, her muscles stiffen, and her back straightens, just a bit. Anxiety flits across her visage before she quashes it, forces it back within. Not nearly quick enough to escape D’bear’s eyes, however, for she meets Strasza’s gaze with her own. It was kind, warm- knowing.

Was she going to regret this? ...Perhaps.

Heaving out a breath, Strasza pushes herself to calm once more. Sharpened teeth chew briefly at the inside of her cheek… before she finally focuses, and utters out a few words.

“...Tell me…” 

A pause hangs in the air as Strasza’s brow knits.

Keppira D’bear lifts a brow, a sophic smile tugging up the edges of her lips.

“...Tell me about Pharasma.”

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWRITE2020 Prompt 19: Where the Heart Is

A stick pushes upon a smoldering log, reigniting the embers that burnt within it. A quiet grunt rumbles from a man’s throat. Leathers creak as a figure sits down upon a stone, and a long rush of breath escapes lips. In an isolated corner of the Azim Steppe, a warrior sat- that warrior, Kete.

It had been long enough since he had the chance to relax, and finding this spot took all the longer. Harried by vengeful beasts after a long day’s hunt, he had to spend quite some time dodging around the plains to get to this little corner. Persistence eventually paid off- for the moment, he had peace, and now, he could take a moment to let the stress flow from him.

Sharp teeth bear down into the organ in his hand. A dead heart, torn free from the chest of a baras- and for Kete, a pleasant little snack. As they pierce into the tough flesh, blood sprays from the incisions; crimson splatters upon his face, runs down his fingers. His head yanks, and muscle is torn apart, drawn into his mouth. Slowly, he chews, eyes turning up towards the sky. A calm evening after a hunt was a fine thing for him; rarely did he have moments of peace, whether self-inflicted or owing to the chaotic maelstrom that was his life. But on a time like this, under the starry sky over the Azim Steppe, a fire crackling nearby, and nothing to disturb him, he truly felt at home.

Suddenly, he pauses. Chewing ceases, and his head perks up. Twice does he blink, before his brow furrows. Now that he thought about it, what did that saying mean? Eyes migrate downwards towards the leaking flesh in his palm, the heart he was snacking upon. ‘Home is where the heart is’. It was a phrase he heard quite a few times from Eorzeans (usually, Eorzeans with a specific settlement or household, and ones that were content in their lives). He is a Xaela; nomadic tendencies are in the nature of his people. Never mind the fact that he rarely kept times of peace, and was often run out of ‘civilization’. 

Where the heart is…

A heart was in his hand, and he felt at ease in the open field. Did that count? Lips purse for a moment-

But then he shrugs. Down he bites onto the heart again, the tangy taste of blood running over his tongue. Whatever. He never bothered to understand people anyway. Much easier to do this. Besides, he might get more hearts this way.

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWRITE2020 PROMPT 22: Argy-Bargy

Featuring @paradymeshift , because I refuse to acknowledge his Britishisms.

“That’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”

Anhe folds one arm over her chest, brow furrowed. The other was lifted to her right ear, index tapping at a small, light-blue pearl that hangs from a bangle. A linkpearl, those now-common means of long distance communication in Eorzea and beyond. She had many of these, for many reasons; today’s reason? An argument, with an Ul’dahn businessman. One of Anhe’s least favourite kinds.

Unintelligible words come in response. As they come through, Anhe takes to pacing, heels clicking on the marble floors of the kitchen. All too often, she took her business conversations to Aetherbound Institute, the research institute she ran; something about the place helped to straighten her thoughts and put her in a mindset better suited for business. Unfortunately, some were not inclined to listen, and this man was one of them. “No, you don’t get that much of a share. Did you forget what we spoke of the other day?”

More words; more grumbling. Anhe’s eyes roll, and she turns to lean upon a pillar. It is at this moment that another sound fills her ears: the sound of footsteps ascending stairs. Over she glances to the steps nearby, to spy the culprit: what she sees first is a shock of finely-maintained red hair. Enough to tip her off immediately.

It was Paradyme Capellago. One of the other members of the Institute’s Board of Directors, and a fast friend besides. As he finishes climbing the steps, the midlander man lifts a hand in greeting. “‘Lo there, Anhe.”

Her head lifts, hand covering the linkpearl for a moment- just long enough to whisper back to him. “Hello, Paradyme.” Back to the pearl immediately, her annoyance resumed in full force. “And I TOLD you, we’re not having a deal unless there’s at least a portion of proceeds donated to charity. That’s the price you pay for my services!”

One of Paradyme’s brows lift as he reaches over for the tea kettle, a cup plucked up from the other side. Purple eyes watch her, for he hardly needed to pay attention to the process of pouring tea at this point (the benefit of practice).

Words, unintelligible to all but the Headmistress, ring out from the pearl connection. Whatever they were, they did not sit well with Anhe, for her head lolls back, mouth opening as if to groan. No sound is released, but the mimed action is clear enough; her eyes even roll back in annoyance, before she snaps right back to the conversation. “No- no, no, NO. We’ve been over this more than once-” More sounds cut in. Anhe’s foot taps in annoyance.

“Having a little argy-bargy there, Anhe?” Paradyme mutters, cup lifted to his lips to sip.

That stops Anhe in her tracks. Though the other voice keeps on spewing arguments, the Headmistress’s body halts its tapping and agitated motions. Gradually, her head rights its position; bright blue eyes move slowly to look at him, pure confusion writ on her visage.

“...What?” The redhead blinks twice.

A slender hand covers her ear and linkpearl both again. “Paradyme. What have I told you about making up words?” 

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWRITE2020 Prompt 10: Avail

Or; A study in how my magic-aligned characters never get a moment of peace, ever.

Ah, peace and quiet. Wasn’t this just lovely?

A smile takes to Aedremor’s lips. In his age, as an archmage and experienced soul both, there were few things he enjoyed better than the saccharine sound of nothing at all. No students running amok, causing havoc; no disrupted spells or malfunctioning runes; no people being absolute dolts and giving him headaches. Such bliss. 

Of course, the fact that his magics let him make a space between space certainly helped. In a place like this, he could avail himself of the simpler comforts. His study, dim in lighting save for the burning fire in the hearth, was filled to the brim with books- books that he had read over and over again. It was so full of those shelves of tomes that...there was no physical exit. Teleportation magics were the only way to get in and out, and not having a particular location for most to attune themselves to made it all the easier.

Reaching to the side, a bottle is taken up. Ah, an ancient vintage. Perfect. Wine from a time long-gone, lost even to memory...or, rather, the memory of most. Not him, of course, nor the world. The ruins yet existed. But he remembered, nonetheless. He was of the few who were able to remember. And he could definitely remember the taste of this wine! A flick of a finger sees the cork eject itself from the neck of the bottle, and he lifts a glass to pour out a full cup. Leaning back into his chair, a content sigh issues forth, and he brings the glass to his lips-

“Knock knock!” a female voice calls out.

Immediately, the contentment on Aedremor’s face falls. The glass is paused halfway to his lips, a single gentle wave of deep-red wine lapping against his lips. Eyes fall half-lidded; shoulders faintly slump. “Should’ve known better than to think that I’d have a moment of peace,” he mutters into the glass, before placing it down with a sigh.

In the same motion, his other hand lifts, twirling at the wrist in both beckoning and dismissal. A casual flicking-off, as if to brush the source of the voice away. “Yes, avail yourself of my comforts, why don’t you, Aoife?” comes his voice again, louder this time. Sarcasm drips like poison from an assassin’s blade- though a huff of a laugh follows after.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Across the study, the woman moves; graceful steps, self-confidence in every stride, carry her to the second chair before the fire, and she settles herself down in a smooth motion. One leg folds over the other as black, raven-feather-adorned robes are smoothed down; her hands fold on her lap following this. “What, no glass set out for me? Really, Aedremor, quite rude of you.”

“You know where the glasses are,” he quips back in return, straightening himself to sip properly at his wine. “But tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your most radiant company, hm?” His smirk rises again, hand flicked out to her.

This prompts a quiet chuckle from the other mage, her own head shaking from side to side. “Such an improper host. But, if you insist-” Forward she leans, head tilting just a fraction of an ilm to one side. “About that matter we discussed some days ago…”

[taediuswrites]

Pathfinder Profile: Strasza

A character for a Curse of the Crimson Throne campaign I'll be playing in.

Name: Strasza

Age: 33

Race: Tiefling

Gender: Female

Occupation/Job: Fighter

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Body shape: tall, broad, muscular, strong.

Hair style/colour: Long, silver

Skin colour: Deep blue

Eye colour: Bright, burning orange

Outfit: Hide and leather armour. Somewhat ragged, but not overly so. Protective and padded where it counts.

Accessories: N/A

Weapons/Tools: Shadow Weapons (usually a battleaxe)

Personality: Cheerful, upbeat, easy to anger, quick to forgive and forget, malicious when provoked

Quirks: gets impatient easily, hates to remain in one place for too long, usually wears some form of covering (cloak, etc) and bandages over her arms

Likes: combats, drinking, carousing, general rabble-rousing

Dislikes: Order, civil law, being made to stay in one place for too long

Backstory

Tieflings. Strange humanoids, born of the union between mortal races and the denizens of the hells. Their spawning comes from reasons as multitudinous and varied as their appearances. Some seek power, to mate with demons and create a being of great strength; others desire the perverse pleasures of those deep-dwelling outsiders; others make pacts for personal reasons, and the coupling happens as a result of the bond.

Some, however, are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thus it was for Strasza’s mother, kidnapped and bound by cultists as they attempted to summon a Kyton- demons who flagellate and replace portions of their bodies to gain greater strength. The one they brought about was known as an ‘Evangelist’- chain devils. And though she escaped and survived, she bore a child of mixed blood.

Hiding in the outskirts of Korvosa, she raised the child with love and care regardless, determined to make a positive influence on both her child and the world. Though Strasza grew up to be a wild, free-wheeling woman, she was content, for she overcame even the worst of the prejudices thrown at her by those who crept too near to their home. 

Strasza saw her father but once: when the kyton tracked her and her mother down, in order to claim the child (not even in her teens at the time) and transform her as per their kind’s perverse mutilations. Her mother was slain in the process of defending her, and Strasza took many wounds from the whips and chains that her sire bore- but in his haughtiness, she took an opening, and rammed a silver knife (stolen by the girl not long ago, but accepted as a gift nonetheless) through where his heart should be with vicious force. It is unknown if the evangelist recovered from the wound...but he has not sought his wayward daughter since.

Alone now, Strasza continued to keep to the outskirts of town, eking out a living as a petty thief (never caught, owing to her inky-blue skin allowing her to meld into the darkness) and later, a mercenary. She still loved the city she grew up in, for in Korvosa, one could do anything...if they were clever, strong, or quick enough. It suited her very well. 

In her line of work as a mercenary, Strasza was assigned to provide an escort. Her charge: an elven woman named Ilaeda. A waywatcher who had broken her arm in a conflict close to the outskirts of Korvosa, and went into the city for treatment rather than walk all the way to the woods. Rather than be perturbed and off put by the scars that ran across Strasza’s form, she praised them as trophies of a successful battle- perhaps a strange outlook for an elf, who are prized for their beauty, not their disfigurements. Strasza, surprised and intrigued by this, made arrangements to see her again. And again. And again. In time, the two fell in love, and Strasza offered Ilaeda her mother’s ring as a sign of devotion.

All would have been well and good from this point, had Strasza not been called one day to identify a body. Ilaeda lie dead in a Korvosan alleyway, surrounded by no less than a dozen corpses of thugs. Each was felled by a single arrow. She was killed by a cowardly stab in the back. The running theory was that she was ambushed and to be robbed, but defended herself until one managed to sneak up behind her in the chaos of battle. Most disturbingly (to Strasza), Strasza’s mother’s ring was missing. Following leads, she traced it to a pawn shop, who bought it from one Gaedran Lamm, a well-known criminal mastermind. All alone and lamenting that she could not afford to buy the ring at the moment (and failed to intimidate the pawn shop owner into giving it to her), a vow was sworn: hunt down Lamm and make him pay...in coin and blood alike.

Art by https://twitter.com/puppypresidents?s=09

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWRITE2020 Prompt 1: Crux

Two hands slam heavily down upon the sturdy debater’s desk, and a voice rings out, defiant. “The crux of your argument falls apart the moment you realize the scale of our predicament!”

Amaltheia lowers her head to a hand, a heavy sigh issued forth. Fingers adjust the placement of her mask on her face, eyes flicking up to her debate opponent behind it. Why did these people never listen to simple reason? This was a hall for debate, not excuse-flinging. “And you fail to understand the point behind my suggestion. If you’ll stop disrupting the respectful silence of this debate hall for a moment?”

The other Amaurotine slowly lowers himself back into his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Very well. But your case is doing little to convince me.”

“That’s lovely, dear, but it’s not my intent to convince you alone.” Taking in a deep breath, her attention is re-focused upon the other debater, arms once more folded across her chest, as well. With how baggy these robes were, it became hard to tell where cloth ended and limb began, at this point. “We are all well aware of the dangers of these days. It is undeniable that our world is beginning to fray. But for every maelstrom, there is a center: the eye of the storm, and where the initial injury began. It is my belief that we can pinpoint this, one way or another, and find a means of mending it.”

“To find this is to dive past the most dangerous parts of the malformed beasts that have rampaged across the star,” the man counters, a hand lifting to gesture to her. “Countless lives would be lost in the attempt, and there is no guarantee that it will even be found.”

“Countless lives will be lost by the Convocation’s ‘resolution’,” she shoots back, finger lifting to gesture to the exit to the debate hall. “And though the nature of Creation means that magic is bolstered by the sacrifice of life, half of the population of our world- for something we do not know will even work?”

A sharp nod is sent to Amaltheia. “They are the wisest and most powerful of us. If their minds together have found it as a solution to our troubles, what other path could match it?”

“One that, perhaps, could unravel the source of this…” Her hand gyrates at the wrist. “Corruption. While the Convocation directs peacekeeping efforts to keeping our minds and magics contained, and beasts in the immediate area defeated, scouting parties- or creations, which would not involve direct loss of life- could search to understand the reasoning behind this, and potentially bring back information to solve it. I have taken the liberty of crafting an example of such a beast-hunter and scout, which shall soon rest in the hands of the offices.”

Though the mask prevented most signs of emotion, the way the man’s hands curl into his robes and his posture stiffens implies annoyance. “And if this takes too long? Our world could be destroyed in its entirety before your ‘hunters’ even bring back anything of use.”

Amaltheia shakes her head, hand returning to her abdomen. “The creation of many such scouts, should my concept be approved, would lead to more parties, and more potential of success. Besides, if the Convocation can muster the power to protect us through their initial plan, it is a reasonable assumption that they can devote lesser efforts to the slaying of beasts and calming of the populace, is it not?”

Her opponent goes silent for a moment. His head turns, glancing to the exit of the room; a foot taps against the fine stone floor impatiently. A moment passes in silence- then with a sigh, he stands. “I simply do not agree with your solution, and shall withdraw our argument, for you cannot be convinced.” Away he walks, long strides bearing him across the halls and outside the door.

An action that makes her push up suddenly from her seat, groaning in annoyance. “Forget this. I’m going to the Convocation.” And out she goes, as well, robes fluttering behind her.

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWrite2020 Prompt 5: Matter of Fact

“Looking at it now, you wouldn’t think Ala Mhigo could ever have been this busy.”

Brown tufted ears flick up, swivelling to the right. A’rihnn’s head follows suit, turning to look over to the source of the voice. Perched as he was atop one of the tall stone buildings of Ala Mhigo, he had not expected many to find him. Even less so, the woman he actually hoped would be there. His hand lifts to flick in a lazy salute, swiping off his brow, while a grin takes to his lips. “Your folk’re doing good work, Lyse.”

The blonde flashes him a thumbs-up, approaching with long strides. Lyse Hext was a difficult woman to pin down, A’rihnn had found. Even in the earlier days, when she remained a Scion instead of one of the council-leaders of a country, she rarely kept herself in one place, choosing instead to move about with Papalymo. These two were the first of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn that A’rihnn met in his travels- and though two now numbered one, and that one could not be by the sides of her companions now, it was still good to see her. “Not as much as I hoped, but not even we can just bounce back immediately, right?”

A single nod is offered in response, and A’rihnn beckons down to her. A silent invitation to sit at his side, for the fleeting moments that she could, and look out over the city. “Not everyone’s got the spirit. I’m gonna be honest, here-”

Lyse lifts a brow.

“--I know, dangerous thing, that.” Both hands lift defensively, though his tone is joking.

That makes her laugh, settling down on a knee.

His grin comes back. “I’m surprised they’re able to at all. Twenty years under the Garleans- that broke a lot of spirits. You saw it, probably better than the rest of us. Says something about the kind of work you’re putting in.”

Lyse returns this with a quiet ‘pssh’, a hand flicking out to playfully punch the miqo’te on the shoulder. “C’mon. It’s not just me, you know that. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t’ve been able to even start to get this far if it weren’t for everyone else! Can’t thank you, the Scions, the Warriors of Light- hells, everyone, enough.”

“Actually, you can.” A’rihnn cuts her off with the lift of a single finger- an outstretched index that wags just a bit before her. Brows flick up, wiggling a bit.

This brings Lyse to pause. One can almost see the inner workings of her brain, flicking through possibilities. Bright blues dart from side to side; her brow furrows, lips purse, then draw into a thin line; she is silent, though her mouth moves to silently mutter possibilities. Just as she lifts her chin, opens her lips to give a proper answer-

He places that finger to them, expression shifting softer, warmer, simpler. “Take a load off for a bit. You work hard, we all know you do, and you’ve got people to rely on...but no one can go forever. As the others just drilled into my head over there.” His other hand lifts to flick a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to...nothing.

Realization dawns on the Ala Mhigan, all at once. Her face goes on a journey- surprise, confusion, understanding, mirth, in the span of a few seconds. The culmination of that expression adventure? Her laughing, and shifting once more- this time, to sit properly on the dusty ground, heedless of how it might much up her fine, bold-red garments. “You? Telling me to relax? Things’ve changed, haven’t they, ~Worldstrider~?”

A snort leaves A��rihnn’s lips, and his hand falls down to lightly return the favour from prior: a swat to the upper arm. “You don’t know the half of it. Matter of fact, we haven’t had the time to tell you what went on, did we…?”

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVWrite2020 Prompt 8: Clamor

These bitches out of order.

Yeet.

--

It was not often that Anhe Dulain had a quiet night. Duties upon duties demanded her attention, to say nothing of the fact that her linkpearls oft buzzed throughout the day. One moment may be a question on a commission, some impatient client wanting their expensive clothing crafted in half the time she stated. Another, a student, asking a question on aetherial theory...or getting themselves into some form of trouble as a result of doing before asking. Sometimes, people just wished to talk (and while she was glad to oblige, even a woman like her could not talk at all times, which was saying something, considering her propensity towards rambling). Indeed, most of her days were filled with noise and controlled chaos, and a semblance of quiet was rare, indeed.

Tonight, she sought to change that, if only for an evening. With a content sigh, the mage slips into her bathtub, warm waters caressing her form. She chose a different form of bath, today: a tea bath. Tea was, of course, one of her favourite drinks, in practically every form, but an acquaintance taught her the rejuvenating benefits of adding green tea to one’s bath water. A muscle relaxant, while she got to rest in a warm tub? That, she knew, was something she needed; the moment she settles in, a content breath leaves her.

Over she reaches to the edge of the bath. A flicker of magic, a swell of controlled air, lifts two objects from the side of the bath. A bottle, full of dark red liquid, condensation dripping from its edges, and a tall glass. Wine! Few things went better with a warm bath than cold wine- another gift of knowledge from an associate. She was not a heavy drinker, but anyone who said she did not deserve a drop or two did not truly know her burdens. Lo and behold: there was no one to argue. Funny how these things worked out.

With a smile and a flick of her finger, the bottle is uncorked, tipped gently to fill the glass. Nice and full (a drop or two falling in the water was not going to kill her, after all), before it floats back to the bathside. The glass lowers into her hand, cradled in slender fingers. Once more, she sighs in relief, and the glass is lifted to her lips-

CRASH!

From a distance, muffled behind walls, a woman’s voice yells. Her wife’s voice. ‘Fuck-shitting son of a whoreson-’

Then, another. A shriek, that of a child disturbed from a pleasant sleep. First, a cry of surprise; then, the prolonged wailing of need for attention, a headache, gods know what else.

A third voice joins the cacophony. More masculine in tone, their third partner. ‘--Another mug?!’

The woman’s voice returns. ‘Listen, it ain’t like m’tryin’ t’break ‘em-’

The crying intensifies, higher in pitch.

And slowly, Anhe’s eyes fall half-lidded. The wine glass is lowered back down to the bath’s edge, and both hands lift to rub at her temples. Gods help her, she loved them all, but sometimes… Up she lifts from the bath’s waters, flicking a towel off its hook. Might as well join the clamor.

[taediuswrites]

Steiner von Schwarz

A little piece I did for one of my D&D characters, within a homebrew universe.

--

“Keep quiet. Our prey lies in the woods beyond.”

A large hand, holding a dagger, gestures forward. Steiner von Schwarz, Huntmaster, had come with boon companions to the hunt once more: a particular dangerous job, for some unknown beast...or beasts. “We must proceed with caution. We do not know what has caused the deaths of travellers- only that it comes swiftly, and leaves little but blood behind. Understood?”

Two nods come in response. A bowman and a rifle-bearer, a Huum and another Cronf, had come with him this day; while they held the flank, he would engage this foe in direct combat. His sword and dagger- truly, a shortsword in any smaller being’s hands-  had seen him true through many a hunt, and in melee, no beast was his match. Still, with an unknown enemy, it was risky, but what was the hunt without risk?

Quiet steps tread through the underbrush. It was silent- far too silent for any true hunter’s liking. A shudder of anticipation rolls through Steiner as they go. Their foe was near. He knew it. A clearing soon parts the path, and forward do they go, step by careful step.

Crack. A branch is broken underfoot.

A rush of wind- then a scream. Steiner whips around with broadsword brandished- a moment too late. The bowman falls forward, his death throes coming strangled; to the ground he goes, an unceremonious heap, bleeding profusely from his back. A claw mark tore through leathers like a knife through paper; skin and muscle were shredded just as simply. But the assailant? Gone.

“Damn it!” he grumbles out, eyes focusing once more. The trajectory of the swipe meant it would have dashed to the left- forward charge towards the nearby bushes, a war cry bellowing from his lungs. If anything, he could spook it out of hiding- 

And he succeeds. But not in the way he hoped, for the bushes part in a blur of blood-red. High above him does a figure go, pouncing through the air; Steiner follows it with eyes wide, just in time to watch the hulking figure land upon his fellow. He had not the time to raise his gun, to let the black powder sound its rapport. A Cronf was no simple meal for most beings, but the rifleman had no time to even scream, for massive fangs ran through head and shoulder with nary a pause. Decapitated in an instant- his lifeblood sprays and splatters as the remains of his body fall limp to the ground.

His foe was clear. The beast they came to hunt- and gods help them, it was bigger than expected. A long beast, some unholy mixture of lizard and big cat; its frame was muscled, coated head to toe in deep red scales, and no less than three times his size, but the strength of its legs and position of its frame belied its swiftness. Massive fangs protruded from its maw, dripping with saliva and gore both; as golden eyes narrow on Steiner, a growl rumbles into the air. A sickening crunch sees the end of that hunter’s head, bone and brain matter splitting, swallowed down. 

Down Steiner crouches, sword and dagger prepared. No fear. No fear. Avenge them! His face twists, a maelstrom of emotions washing over him at once: grief, anger, bewilderment, hatred. Blades are brandished- yet he is provided not a second to move, for the beast crouches. Down, ready- and it pounces, flying towards him. Jagged claws are extended, maw agape, teeth bearing in--

--

And with a gasp, Steiner sits upright. A hand flies to his chest, pounding at the expanse above his wildly-beating heart. Open are his eyes, wide as saucers, and his breaths come rapid. He glances around- left, right, up, down- 

All is at peace. His newly found comrades rest well in their bedrolls, save for one, who rolls over in their place in the corner of his vision. Did she hear? he cannot help but silently wonder, yet a lack of calling out or visible concern leads to an assumption of ‘no’. His breathing regulates, slowing to a manageable pace; a deep breath is drawn in, exhaled in a rush. These friends- if he could call them such, in truth, for he had just met them- were fine. 

For now.

No- no such thoughts. His head shakes, and a hand runs through deep brown locks. Shifting in his place, the massive Cronf turns to lay down once more. And beneath his breath, he mutters: 

“Well...we cannot have that, can we?”

[taediuswrites]

FFXIVwrite2020 Prompt #3: Muster

Rays of sunlight fell gently through the bathroom window, casting soft illumination across the floor. Pale hands glided through raven-black tresses, to smooth down pesky strands. A deep breath of faintly-misty air from a recent shower is taken in, and slowly released. It was an absolutely beautiful morning…

...And Anhe was the only person in the house awake to see it.

Long strides carry the matronly mage out of the bathroom, and to the corner that marked her bedroom. Her hand curls into a gentle fist, and three-fold knocks are placed against the wall that she peeks around. “Rastirah! Wake up, love. It’s already mid-morning!”

This call nets her little in way of response. From beneath a bundle of blankets, grumbling is heard; they rock about for a half-moment before going still once more.

A roll of the eyes is given. This was about normal- even though Rastirah was a Keeper, she had to be adjusted to morning by now. It was nigh-on impossible to believe that she could not be- after all, most of the events of her day happened during the morning and early afternoon, between the library, her bursts of energy, baking, and so on. “Up, up!” Hands are clapped sharply together, two sounds ringing through the air. 

“Noooooo…” A sheet shifts; a pillow is batted off the bedside.

“Come now. Muster your strength, or you’re not getting breakfast.” 

No response.

Hm. That usually worked. Shoulders lift in a shrug; there was breakfast to make, even if Rastirah was not going to get up until it was long since cold. Around Anhe turns, making her way down the short hall to the main room of the basement. What would it be today? Pancakes? Fresh fruit? The market had a nice bounty today, it would make sense. There was little harm in combining the two, though, or adding some chocolate- nothing got Rastirah up and going like sweets and-

Just as she reaches the door, hand upon the knob, Anhe stops. Perking up, she casts a glance over her shoulder. Inspiration! If telling her to get up would not work… Slowly, she opens the door. One step through, then another. She turns, starting to shut it, but a moment before she does, her voice calls out once more.

“I’m only wearing panties~!”

The door clicks shut.

WHUMP. The sound of a blanket-covered body- and a cavalcade of swearing- comes muted behind the wall.

The statement was, of course, a fib. Anhe was wearing a shirt and shorts on top of her underthings. But she giggles to herself, nonetheless, heading quickly up the stairs. If Rastirah got up earlier, maybe she would have seen what Anhe claimed- but at least she’d be there for breakfast!

[taediuswrites]

Writing Commissions - OPEN

Hello, all!

As listed on the top of this blog, this is the writing archive/commission blog for @taedius / @lance-of-fury . I’m going to be moving commissions here, for ease of keeping everything together- and they’re open now!

Check out my commission page for more details.

Examples of my writing can be found HERE.

Want to support, but don’t want a commissiob? Donate to my ko-fi here.

I also have a paypal.me for the very generous.

Slots are not limited!

You can contact me on tumblr IM, or on Discord at taedius#9120.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

[taediuswrites]

A Matter of Agreements

A writing commission for a friend. Their directions: a story between a vampire lawyer and a fae teacher, with all other details to be left to my discretion. 

I liked this, a lot.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1500

Want to commission me? Check out my commission page here!

--

“von Reiter! Baby! Hey, can you help me out with something?”

As a voice is heard behind the closed wooden door, upon which was emblazoned ‘Edvard von Reiter, Attorney at Law’, the sole inhabitant of the office glances up from his papers. The moonlight shone in through a window, yet only a candlelight illuminated the office otherwise. Papers sat piled high upon a mahogany desk, and vials of reddish-ink were lined up next to quills- a veritable high-speed signing station. Glasses are shifted up the man’s nose through a sharp-nailed finger pressing to the bridge; his other hand reaches up to sweep ebon-black hair atop his head, down to brush his dark tailcoat into place. By the puzzled look on the sharply-dressed man’s face, whoever was beyond the door was an unexpected visitor this evening.  “Enter. How may I assist-”

No time to finish that sentence. In a blur of colour, a figure throws wide the door, dashes in, and slams it behind them. The bell that sat atop the frame jangles wildly, ringing out discordant notes, until some moments pass and silence comes again. In that same time, the figure dashes towards the chair, hovering behind it. 

Immediately, the man’s eyes half-lid, and his brow falls again. Lovely. A fae.

“You know, for a vampire’s office, this place is positively clean!” A voice more high-pitched than it sounded behind the door rings out from the winged little creature. Blue skin was offset by verdant adornments, vines and leaves coiling around a lithe form. A shock of purplish, leaf-like hair sat atop their head, and pointed ears seem to perk as the figure took in their surroundings. “You’d think there’d be dust and papers scattered about, a bloodstain, maybe, but this is-”

A sharp clear of the throat cuts the fae off, the attorney folding his hands upon his desk. “Do you have a case for me, or not?” von Reiter replies. “I am a very busy man.”

“Right! Right. The name’s Elvina.” The fae pauses to bend their upper body forward in what might be construed as a bow. “So, you know all about the rules and laws and all that un-fun stuff, right?”

Von Reiter dips his head in response. “That is, indeed, my line of work. Explain to me the situation, and we shall proceed from there.” A piece of paper is fwipped from a stack; a quill dips into blood-red ink, and his chin lifts to encourage the other to speak.

“Excellent!” Diminutive hands clap together once, a surprisingly bell-like sound echoing out. “So! I was...eh- summoned by a mortal, right? Wizard, lovely chap, nice and amicable. Wanted their children to learn aaaaaall about the magic that runs through the worlds!”

“An understandable choice.” Notes are scribbled in shorthand, von Reiter’s eyes not leaving the fae. “And an intriguing choice of professor- but, continue.”

“Why, thank you! See, I knew you would understand. A-hem- but there’s a little...snag. Tiny one! Really, almost insignificant-” Here, an index and thumb come dangerously close together. “I noticed that one of the kids- lovable little scamp, but not the best at his homework, not by far, let me tell you!- wasn’t doing so well! So, I may have- may, mind you!- invited him to come home with me for some...extra lessons!”

The scratching of quill to paper suddenly stops. Perking up, von Reiter redoubles his focus on Elvina, eyelids coming close in a narrow squint.

“...And I left a little...gift behind!” Elvina smiles, bright, yet nervous.

“...You what.”

Finally, the fae comes to the desk proper. They rise over the chair, arms folded over their chest as blue-hued fingertips drum in anxiety. However, they did not sit in the chair before von Reiter’s desk; rather, they ‘sat’ in mid-air, hovering gently above it through the fluttering of glitter-spewing wings. “And maybe the wizard was a little bothered by it. Maybe. Really, I don’t see what the big deal is.” This comment comes with a roll of too-bright eyes. “The child was failing in their lessons, so it’s only right that, as their teacher, I take them for personal tutoring.”

A hand runs down the lawyer’s face. Had his skin not already have achieved its ghastly pallor a hundred years ago- or about that, since after a while, one simply stops counting- he would have paled considerably. He had a feeling where this was going, and thoughts roil like a tempest through his mind. Such flagrant disrespect for the rules of this realm! Such gross mishandling of a delicate situation! And yet, the realization hits that he should not be surprised in the least by this, considering this would-be client’s peoples’ predisposition towards trickery.

That did not mean, of course, that he could not be disappointed.

With a heavy sigh, von Reiter shifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he regards the fae. “Allow me to get this straight. You are a-”

“Teacher, yes,” Elvine cuts in. “Magical theory, history of the Wilds, so on and so forth. Go on.”

A blank stare precedes von Reiter continuing. “...And you were instructing human-”

“Children. A wizard’s children, specifically, thank you!”

“...to which one of them was failing in their lessons.”

“Really, you’d think a magical child would be better at understanding magical history.” Elvine’s hand lifts to roll at the wrist, as if to summon understanding.

Lips peel back, revealing sharp canines, as von Reiter sucks in a strained breath. “And as such, to help one of them…’better understand’...

“I knew you’d get i-”

Both hands suddenly rise, and slam down upon his desk. “You kidnapped the child!?”

That got the fae startled; arms and legs flail, and they tumble from their place in the air to the chair below them. The sudden action sends a shower of glitterdust across the room (something that, no doubt, would make the vampire’s forehead vein bulge in annoyance if his blood yet flowed). “I- I didn’t kidnap them!” they shout back, arms lifted in a defensive posture. “I simply- intended to expose them to the fae side of things! It’s hands-on teaching!”

“Hands-on?! You spirited the child away and replaced them with a changeling!”

“It’s what we do!” 

That brings a scoff, and for von Reiter to stand, one hand outstretched over the desk. “Show me the contract?”

“I-” Blinkblink. The silence is palpable as Elvina looks back towards him, head slowly canting off to one side in confusion. “The, ah… the contract?”

His stare bores back, levelled directly on the fae’s eyes. “The contract. Between you and this wizard. The deal to instruct their children. You did bring a copy of it, yes?”

Once more, the fae blinks, unevenly this time. Pointed ears begin to droop, slowly but surely. “Ah...heheh. The...contract, right!” Their hands slip from their arms, beginning to pat down at the pockets of their ‘clothes’. “Yes, well- I- I mean, I may not have a copy here, precisely…”

Von Reiter waits in silence.

“And- you know, us fae- we really deal more in pacts than contracts! All that paper- truly, it’s a waste of the trees! We hate to damage the, ah- the trees, and...ah...”

“You do not have one, do you?” he says back, the words affixed firmly between a statement of doubt and a question in hope that maybe he would be wrong this time. 

Gradually, Elvina’s smile creeps upwards, while the rest of her body shrinks back in awkward timidness. “...Not...exactly…”

Reaching behind him, von Reiter sweeps his tailcoat down. His cravat is adjusted- the cloth came undone, just a touch, in his outburst- then with gradual, purposeful motions, he sits back onto his chair. “And you thought to seal this pact with no formal proceedings, so that you might do as you pleased with your ‘lessons’. Am I on the mark?”

Elvina’s face contorts in a grimace. They cringe back, consigned to their fate slumped in the leather chair. “...Yes. You know, you’re quite sharp. I see I’ve come to the right man…!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” von Reiter responds, already moving another slip of paper from the myriad stacks. Once more, his quill is dipped, and he begins to write in long, fluid strokes. His attention has finally shifted away from the fae to focus on this task in particular. 

“Right. So...will you help me out?”

The vampire’s eyes shut. Slowly, he draws in a deep breath. An unnecessary gesture, of course, as he did not truly need to breathe, but yet, there was something to be said about showmanship when it came to the fae. Whether he could see it or not, Elvina did, indeed, cringe back once more- until he releases that selfsame breath, and opens his eyes again. “Do get comfortable, Elvina,” he eventually responds, drawing an ‘X’ and a sharp underline at the bottom of the page. “This is going to be a very long night.”

[taediuswrites]

the road yet calls.

“…What am I even doing here?”

Gilded eyes are cast over the expanse of dry land, the arid landscape which made up Thanalan. In the distance shone the Jewel of the Desert- Ul’dah, the dual-faced palace of wealth and poverty, glory and despair. It was never one of A’rihnn’s favoured destinations, by far, but those in his profession oft found its clarion call impossible to resist. For it was often that adventurers like him made their start- and more met their end.

For him, it was neither of these places, but rather, another marker on the map. 

A marker he found himself visiting less and less often of late, of course, for his journeys called him far and wide. Part of him wondered- was it a whim that called him back? Fanciful desire, the same that set his feet tromping one after another on the road? Or was it something deeper, darker- a hope that a familiar sight might kindle some spark deep within his breast? It certainly felt that the spark had faded these days, for not even the grandest sights inspired the return of emotion.

How long had it been? How many years had he spent on the road, travelling,  doing good- doing ill, doing whatever came to his mind? Far more than he cared to count, this was certain. By no means was the miqo’te an old man, for mid-thirties was far from elderly. An ear twitches as a gust blows past him; the hair on his tail bristles as dust washes over his form. Damnable dust storms, comes a thought, rolling from the back of his mind. Such a pain to get the sand out- gets everywhere. A huff from his nostrils, before his mind turns back to his musings. What was it? Time, years- right. 

Today, it was bloodsport that he participated in. A weekly gathering of innumerable warriors, who seek to knock one another about in pursuit of training, gil, and otherwise. For all it had been since he went to this place, it was longer still that he took part within the Grindstone. 

And though he went without hesitation, saw some familiar faces, an assumption was proven accurate. In his mind, he won not a single bout. A’rihnn the Worldstrider, one who had felled countless enemies, struck down mighty beasts, fought across realms uncountable- could not stand against a single upbeat fistfighter.

Were he a man of shame, it would have crashed over him like a wave. But no, it was not shame that came today- it was confusion. Of all the things that he could not handle…it was this.

Though he saw familiar faces, no friends were in sight. As it oft was, as it became again- those close to him had drifted away from him, and he from them. What else did he expect? A vagrant was not one to keep frequent company; it only made sense that he would fade from minds.

A deep breath of the dry air is drawn in, and…

“…Nothing for it.” None could hear him speak, but he did anyway. Perhaps it was for his own state of mind- something had to give, with time.

At least there was one thing he could hear, regardless of location.

The road yet called.

[taediuswrites]

Writing Commissions - OPEN

Hello, all!

As listed on the top of this blog, this is the writing archive/commission blog for @taedius / @lance-of-fury . I’m going to be moving commissions here, for ease of keeping everything together- and they’re open now!

Check out my commission page for more details.

Examples of my writing can be found HERE.

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Slots are not limited!

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Looking forward to hearing from you!