burningpaths-ffxiv

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

snap

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

“You don’t deserve to be in my thoughts anymore.”

— dickscratch

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

“Do I miss you, or do I miss who I was with you?”

— Unknown

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2022 // Prompt #29 Fuse

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Trigger Warning - This prompt includes depictions of very suggestive & sexual themes.

The touch along his skin was gentle, making the area under the pads of rough fingers twitch. They had been gentle for an uncomfortable amount of time that he had been stamping down for too long. The rising tension pulled the corners of his mouth down and his chin finally dragged across the sheet where it had been resting. Turning his head, one blonde ear rose up from his head and mismatched sunset colors glared over his bared shoulder at the culprit behind him.

“Stop that.” The mutter was bitter, hips shying away from the gently massaging touch.

“Oh? Wassat now?” The curious counter question of his bed companion, blue-eyed gaze tilting from around the sun-warmed curve of his hip. The petting palms slid over bare thighs, tongue tracing the curve where his thigh met his backside. “You’s were moanin’ real nice jus’ a few moments ago. Jus’ go on an’ get back into it, dovey. I’ll distract ya ‘gain. Jus’ catchin’ my breath.”

“Your mouth is fine,” His tanned legs squirmed, knees shifting restlessly against the roughly-spun bedspread. Both sets of toes curled tightly and then uncurled with a small hiss. “It… It is your hands that are the problem.”

“Eh? M’hands? Thought you’s liked what they’s were doin’ t’ya?” The coy response replied, teeth grazing the back of his thigh.

“Wha- hhhh- Já, þar-” Shear’s skin prickled at the feeling of chin hair and teeth, drawing a breath in elated anticipation…

But instead a kiss was pressed to his asscheek instead. “Wassat just now~?”

On second thought, maybe his mouth was a problem. Grunting his annoyance, Shear jerked himself out of the hold and slung his leg up and over the man’s head. Rolling to his back, the viera propped himself up on his elbows with a frown. The ball of one foot raised and pressed firmly to the elezen’s bare chest, shoving at it while the man barked with laughter.

“Thought I was clear-” Both of the elezen’s hands raised to cup his calf, raising his leg. Shear’s voice cut off, blinking as his foot was raised. Did the elezen change his mind- no. He was pressing a kiss to the bottom of his foot.

Recoiling with a quiet snarl, Shear jerked his leg out of the loose hold.

The tanned elezen gave another laugh. “A’ight a’ight! I’s heard ya. Was jus’ a mistake princess~. I’s forgot, no kissin’, right? Ain’t m’fault you’s got a cute ass... An’ leg. Can I’s put m’face back in th’ former or are ya gonna keep poutin’?” The elezen’s mouth grew into a taunting grin and Shear’s nose twitched with his rising irritation. Lip curling, both ears flattened as his gaze narrowed and he shook his head.

“Nei, think we are done.” Shear scooted away and off the edge of the bed while the elezen hurried forward to scoop an arm around him.

“Oi oi. Don’ be goin’ jus’ yet, dovey. I’s meant it, I’s sorry for breakin’ ya silly rule. S’jus’ a idle habit, ey? C’mon back-” Cajoling him, the elezen’s tanned arms were warm and firm as they hugged him to get him to stay. An apologetic sharp nip to the curve of his shoulder nearly convinced him. But that prickling in his chest was heavy with tension and anger.

He pressed his palm to the face along his shoulder and he gave it not an unkind shove away from him.

Only nearly.

“Nei, I am going. It is not silly to me. Was simple request. You have broken request, so you do not get to finish.” He pulled himself out of the hold as it loosened. The elezen gave an annoyed sigh, blue eyes rolling as he settled back onto the bed.

“Well what th’ fuck’m I supposed t’do with this full mast you’s leavin’ me with, then~?” The elezen tried a tease that fell as flat as Shear’s ears were angled. The viera ducked to retrieve his pants, shoving both legs in before pulling them sharply up around his hip.

“Do not care. Jerk off or find someone else; you are smart enough I think to figure out what to do with it. The room is paid for night.” Shear pulled his previously hastily discarded shirt over his head before grabbing one boot and tugging it on.

The other boot followed quickly while the elezen gave another exasperated sigh from the bed, raking his hands through his dark hair. “You’s really fuckin’ leavin’ over some stupid kiss on ya ass?”

Shear’s brows knit while he snatched his jacket from the chair he’d slung it over. His bag was tucked in the seat of the chair and he grabbed the strap, pulling it over his head. “Told you it started with your hands. Said no gentle. Were gentle with hands. Said no to kissing. Was kissed twice. Said no to soft. Both things, and massaging, are soft.”

“I’s heard ya, I’s was jus’ bein’ coy, y’know? You’s a real fuckin’ buzzkill with the most infuriatin’ly short fuse I’s ever met. I’s can’t believe ya-”

“Then listen next time. You have big ears. What are they for, if not for listening?” Shear dug into the bag a moment, slinging the smaller coin purse from inside a pocket of it at the bed. It hit the elezen’s chest first before sliding off to the pillowtop with a quiet flump and a clink of the coins inside.

“Oi.” The elezen looked down at the coinpurse, stunned. “Wassis, then? I’s ain’t you’s fuckin’ whore-”

“Bless.” Shear bid him goodbye, yanking open the heavy wooden door of the inn room. Stepping through it and slamming it shut behind him, the bang cut off the indignant yelling of the elezen still on the bed. The man gave an annoyed extended yell after him from inside that was barely audible as the viera stomped down the hall.

Why did talented mouths always have to start kissing him?

Visibly irritable and annoyed, Shear entered the inn's main room and moved through the sparsely populated room quickly. The innkeeper behind the bar seemed surprised to see him exiting, opening her mouth as though to call after him. He shot her a silencing look that she seemed unconcerned to receive but took the hint, her mouth shutting on whatever she’d been about to call.

Leaving the warmth of the inn into the frigid air encouraged him to pull his jacket on properly. He set off across the courtyard towards the road, bare fingers pulling his gloves out from the front pouch of his bag and tugging them on while he griped under his breath in his mother-tongue, “Stupid… Annoying… So aggravating…”

Nothing stoked his ire quite so quickly than fondness. When those he accepted into his bed got handsy and doting and gentle.

He ignored the aching tugging in his chest that wanted to return to that inn room. To disappear the grief and loneliness into those strong arms.

The elezen’s lips had been soft. A bit chapped from the cold, perhaps, but-

He shook his head to clear the thought away, clenching his fists as he walked and gathered aether to pull himself away to the city aetheryte nearby. He sniffed a lungful of cold air into his lungs before he left, rubbing his freezing nose with the back of one of those fists as the tug of aether flowed around him.

He had so few rules to keep people at arm’s length…

Why did they always insist on breaking them?

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2022 // Prompt #14 Attrition

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger Warning - This prompt includes depictions of violence, bodily injury, decapitation, blood mentions and descriptions, murder and arson. 

Read at your own discretion.

The pulse beating in his throat was his own, but the fading thump of a pulse in his hands was not.

The back of one degloved hand rose, wiping at the splatter of gore up across his face. A useless gesture, simply smearing the wet shock of red across the sun-warmed cheek. His mismatched sunset coloured gaze moved up slowly and stared at the figure wheezing across from him in the long hall.

It was a breezeless place, save the opened spots in the windows. Both double-doors were shut and barred with beams of thick pine, with a collapsed horned body at the foot of one set of doors. A vague dark red imprinted outline of the body’s shape where it had struck the doors still drying. The vaulted ceiling shifted to three main points above their heads. The walls were lined with brilliant, complex stained-glass imagery. One image was missing the middle of its coloured tapestry, remaining bits occasionally falling from loosened cracks as more reverberations from the fight had rattled the ground. Another blown completely apart, leaving just a bit of the window framing intact.

The white glow along his hands lingered, fading slowly as it licked up his wrists and forearms like a lover’s caress. The hyuran man in his hands was dropped with a wet thock to the already blood-covered rug stretching the length of the aisle. The miqo’te body beside it twitched its fading waves of life. Raising his head with a heavy exhale, that narrow gaze pinned onto the vieran woman heaving for breath across from him where she braced against the shattered remains of a carved pine bench. A spear of thick, red-smeared wood extended from her stomach, blood slowly trickling down both corners of her pinched mouth.

“Monster,” Came a whisper in a tongue all-too familiar to his long ears. His head tilted at the sound, ears shifting forward, hearing the bubble in her throat before she coughed wetly. Her figure slumped more with an unbidden groan, steadily losing consciousness.

Rising in the crooked aisle, it’s jagged path offset by the tossed over or destroyed benches along the rows, Shear stepped over the headless body of the man he’d released to the ground. A step further and he casually kicked that same man’s head out of his way as one might move a ball in a field with the side of one’s boot. His body swayed at the motion, stumbling and he had to catch himself against one of the upturned benches still lining the aisle.

“No.” His answer came quietly but loud enough her long ears could pick up the sound just the same. “Just a tired man who asked you to not pursue this.” He spoke in the same tongue, pushing himself up to continue the trudge closer. She grimaced and a shaking hand reached aside to try to push herself away. Her palm slipped on the red pooling under her and her shoulder went down instead with a pained whimper, body stuck in place by the wood within her.

Dull brown eyes tracked his closing movements up, attempting a glare that was feeble compared to the energy in its gaze prior to the fight. He fell to his knees in front of her with a groan, gasping a breath in and taking a moment to let the pain in his side finish its throbbing trail along him.

“You’re wr-wrong, y-you are… you-” She muttered again, another feeble attempt to shuffle away from him with an agonized moan. Her movements were sloppy, and her eyelashes fluttered too quickly, fighting the loss of consciousness. Pity filled him once again, as it did when the familiar faces he had shared thick stew and hot crusty bread meals stared at him with such anger and resentment. Pity and a deep ache that squeezed that wretched part of him. She managed to gasp another word past her agony. 

“Monster!”

His heart.

He replied to her coolly, reaching out but halting when she flinched. “I’m not. I asked you to walk away. To forget you knew where I was.”

“You w-would have s-struck us d-down,” Red bubbled at the corner of her mouth as she spoke, the wheezing in her tone worsening. “If w-we had turned. C-coward. D-disgusting wr-wretch.”

“Shh shh. Hush. Do you want to spend this time hating me? Truly?” Shear asked it plainly, even as his adrenaline faded with the light along his arms. “Is this what you want? At your end?”

“There is n-nothing I f-feel f-for you otherw-wise. A t-traitorous w-weapon with no m-master… is just… a d-isgusting d-dis… grace…”

He was silent as she muttered, coughing between words and spraying droplets of red. Finally he set a hand to hers. The muscles in it twitched but otherwise could not flinch away where it had lain limp in front of her. “Go to the great forest beyond in peace, Hrefna. Home and hearth await you there.”

She whispered as her eyes unfocused and he leaned in to listen.

“M-man… jima… was… r… rig… ht… ab… abou… t… y-y…ou…”

The last breath she drew bubbled out of her with a wet sound and whether by fortune or not, she did not speak or move again.

His body was heavy as he knelt there, staring at her pained, half-lidded and dulled expression. The bloodied hand he’d touched hers with raised, two streaks of red drawn down her brow and over the tops of her cheeks as he shut her eyes to his image.

“Lest it haunt you further,” He whispered it and moved to stand, swaying away from her. His legs had different plans however, half collapsing back into the soaked rug which squelched wetly under the pressure of his knees. It spiked another ripple of pain up him, leaving him gasping and seeing stars instead. So he opted to not fight it, settling instead where his legs had given out.

A trembling hand pressed numbing fingers into his jacket unsteadily, his other hand patting for the edge of that bench Hrefna was impaled on to right himself against it. A plain, thick metal case - no thicker or wider than a cigarette case - removed from an inner lining. The latch across its glinting side flicked open with a thumb and raised to his mouth. His sharp teeth gripped one of the vials within it by its stopper, tugging at it as he pulled the case away from his face. Clicked shut, it fumbled its way back into his jacket, the gouge along its back casing glinting in the light glimmering in through open or glass-decorated windows.

The case had saved him another hole and its contents would save him yet again.

The glass vial was gripped weakly next. The stopper yanked from it with his teeth and spat aside. The disgusting - albeit helpful - crimson coloured potion was swallowed in its entirety. Nearly choking a moment at the dreadful, bitter taste and thickness of the liquid but down it all went. The vial was tossed aside, clinking and rattling against the rest of the wooden slatted floor of the hall.

He’d pay his alchemist for the lost glassware later.

It might have been considered sacrilege, were the hall a more holy place, with what had happened within its old walls. Although it had been used for village meetings once upon a time, it was long-since abandoned. Over time its insides had simply just grown dusty from disuse but the bones of the place had held up over the turns.

Until he’d sought refuge in it, of course.

While the effects of the potion knit his wounds closed and lent him strength, Shear’s head lulled forward with a heavy sound.

No.

He would not.

Not for them.

Not for any of them.

They would never spare grief for him.

He swallowed the pain and agony clawing at the back of his throat, yearning to be released. Wishing to be howled into the pine beams above his head.

Not for them.

The worst of his aches numbed, sealed, or in the process of sealing, Shear pushed to his feet with a calming breath. He moved slowly, taking care not to overextend his mending body. He did not bother with the doors - he did not truly believe he had any energy left to move those beams anymore anyway - and instead opted to pick the mostly-blown through window.

He leaned against the windowsill, sliding half onto it and swinging a leg over. Overgrown grass rustled as he stepped out and shortly his other boot followed. Fresh air filled his aching lungs, warm sun filtering over his exposed skin and into his golden hair. Comforting feelings.

He sat on the windowsill awhile before standing up from it. Turning, he set both of his bloodied hands to the sides of the wooden walls, that white glare flaring to life along his palms. Hot copper hit the air from his warmed skin, his teeth gritting against the smell. Eyes pressing closed, a growl rose in his throat. A roar ripped from his hands, white flames skittering along the old wood in a flashing burst of heat. He pushed those heavy feelings deep into his aether well, shoveling the pain within those spreading white ripples painting up along the aged pine wood.

Leaning back and stepping away from the engulfing wall, the viera turned and walked away from the half-alight hall. The bodies lying within did not make any attempt to escape the encroaching flames as they were consumed in the fire as it moved across the building quickly. Spurned on by his pain and his aether both.

The smear of blood across his face itched but he paid it no mind as he put distance between himself and that roaring fire. He did not wipe at it when his other cheek itched again from the pink, wet streaks sliding down his skin.

Not for them.

But for himself.

And his very long war.

He was so very tired. 

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

"What's ur type in men?" "Morally grey men with touch her and I'll kill you vibes"

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #23 Soul

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger Warning - This prompt includes cloyingly sweet fluff & suggestive sexual themes.

Read at your own discretion, ya filthy animals.

The warm skin and deep breathing tucked against his back was comforting.

Tanned, gloveless fingers slid over the darker, dusky coloured arm tucked around his bare chest, fingers lacing along the hand resting limply in front of him. A single beam of light snuck between the firmly closed curtains, and Shear could hear morning birdsong outside the glass panels.

A lazy smile formed as he squeezed the hand, thumb idly stroking between thumb and forefinger. His blonde ears were bent just behind his head, pressed between his head and the idle snoring belonging to the man tucked against him. He didn’t dare try to move them, or his body, lest he wake the other and ruin the peaceful moment.

Gradually, a bell passed - Shear wasn’t certain and couldn’t see the ticking clock across the room clearly - and the form behind him stirred and rumbled. One dark shoulder rolled forward and pulled the smaller viera firmly in closer with a squeeze. “Hoy,” A tired mutter as the rava tucked his head into the blonde tangle of hair. Breathing in and rubbing his nose along one ear which slowly unfolded at the nudging. “You awake?”

“Mmmn? Maybe.” Leaning his head into the face and giving the hand a squeeze that was still laced with the tucking arm, Shear hummed it quietly in case Kolli wasn’t actually yet prepared to rouse. “You alright?”

“Duh,” Another mumble, a huff from his nose and a following questioning rumble. “What time is it?”

Mismatched, sunset coloured eyes glanced at the window. “Mid-morning I think. Sun’s been up for a bit.” The veena half shrugged. “I think.”

“You been up awhile, then?” A snort then from the rava who pulled the veena’s raised shoulder flat, turning him over to his back as he angled his torso partially over him. Tired stormy grey eyes stared down at him with amusement, blinking slowly. “That’s pretty fucking gay of you, laying here awake listening to me snore and all.”

“Well, I know how cranky you get when you get woken up early. Not in my best interest to wake the slumbering beast~.” Teasing him lightly, the laced hand was released and cupped up one side of the rava’s face. The dark cheek rubbed into the palm with another deep rumble. “You sure you're alright?”

“Mmhm. Just woke up and realized you weren’t sleeping, so I was gonna ask you that. I’m thinking you’re just fine though.” Rolling his eyes, the rava’s gaze inspected the warm, broadly smiling expression on the man beneath him with a crook of a smile forming. “Hoy now, the hells you look so happy for eh?”

“Just you,” Shear’s other hand joined the first, cupping both sides of the rava’s face and looking at him adoringly. “Just being you.”

“Now that is really fucking gay.” A dark hand joined one of Shear’s on his face, giving it a squeeze before easing it off his face to press a kiss to his palm. The movement shifted and he held it down against the pillows beside the veena’s head, ducking his head close with a murmur against his mouth. “You can’t say that kinda cute ass shit to me, I dunno what to do with it.”

“I think you play hard to get and you know exactly what to do with it.” Shear spoke quiet and coyly, rubbing his nose up along the ridge of Kolli’s. One tanned leg stretched up from under the rava and the bedspread under them. Crooking at the knee, it tucked around the larger man’s hip and urged him closer. Grey eyes searched the sunset tones of the veena below him a moment before the rava shrugged and nodded, pressing his lips down to connect a slow kiss gently.

After kissing the veena breathless, Kolli’s mouth traveled across the shape of his jaw. It trailed soft kisses and teeth along the skin to the veena’s neck and nibbled there while his hips eased forward. When the viera under him responded in kind and shifted his hips up to meet him, the hand holding the paler hand down released to pat at the side table where that bottle of oil from the previous night’s adventure had been left. Yeah. Of course he knew exactly what to do with it.

And he spent the rest of that morning showing Shear exactly how much he knew what to do with it, much to the veena’s metaphorical and literal pleasure.

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #22 Fluster

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger Warning - This prompt includes written depictions of very suggestive material & general sexual themes.

Read at your own discretion.

“Hoy, look at you, being so fucking godsdamned stupid.” Kolli’s dark form leaned over the edge of the sofa, white teeth grinning brightly down at the veena laid out casually on the cushions below him. One long leg was thrown over the other and he’d taken his coat off already, his shirt bunched around his torso, baring his belly button.

Mismatched, sunset eyes glared over the edge of the book open in front of him as Kolli stared plottingly at his belly button. A hand released one side of the book to tug his shirt down over the rava’s distraction. “I literally have literature in front of me and you want to call me stupid. Make that make sense.” Snorting, Shear’s eyes drifted back to the page in front of him as he reached to replace his hand on the other side of the book.

Yoink.

Kolli swiftly snatched the book, lifting his prize aloft and peering at it as he turned it over in his palms while Shear spluttered behind him. “You heard me, stupid nerd. What is this literature about anyroad?”

Flushing brightly, Shear rolled off the sofa and launched over the back of it, snatching for the rava’s hands who danced back out of his grasp. “K-kolli! Knock it off and give it back!”

“Weh weh, Kolli, give it back, weh weh weh! That’s what you sound like y’know?” Mocking Shear’s complaints with a higher-pitched whiny voice, Kolli scanned the page in front of him. His brows shot into his dark hairline. “Hoy now, wait a tic. There’s two books here. Oooh! Are you sneaking porn while you study? Perverted nerd alert!” Cackling as Shear growled and swiped again for the book, Kolli let him grab the one that had been shielding the inner book.

“Kolli, don’t you dare--!” Shear tossed the book he’d obtained back behind him onto the sofa as he watched Kolli holding the inner book close to read out loud.

“Oh oh, here we go. AND HE GROANED DEEP IN HIS THROAT AS THE ELEZEN BUCKED AGAINST HIM ROUGHLY, BENT OVER THE CHURCH’S PEW THAT CLATTERED ON THE STONE WITH THEIR HALLOWED COUPLING . ‘AAAH, LUNAULT’ CLEVOIX -- What kind of name is clee-voh? -- CLEVOIX CRIED LOUDLY TO THE CEILING OF THE ECHOING CHURCH. ‘PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME WITH UTMOST HASTE… AND A BIT HARDER, I BESEECH THEE. RAM YOUR HOLIEST OF RODS DEEP INSIDE MY TIGHT LITTLE SIN HOLE, FOR IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO CLEANSE THE VOIDKIN I FEEL STIRRING WITHIN ME. SMIGHT THE DEVIL INSIDE ME WITH YOUR EXPELLED DIVINE GRACE.’ What the shit is this!” Crowing with laughter as he ran from the fuming veena, Kolli ducked a hooked fist aimed for his face from his annoyed target.

“Fucking quit it, Kolli!” Shear huffed when he missed - again - his grab for the book.

“How can you read this shit and not laugh your ass off, or be totally hard?!” Flipping to a different, random part of the book further in, Kolli darted away down the hall and returned to reading out loud. “DEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ON THE EVE OF THE BANISHING CEREMONY, WHEN CLEVOIX WAS CERTAIN NO ONE WAS AROUND, HIS HOLY WATER COVERED HANDS MOVED ON HIS COCK - ooo, this is dirty - IN A STROKING MOTION. TUCKED IN HIS FAVORITE PLACE WHERE NO ONE COULD POSSIBLY FIND HIM - A CONFESSIONAL. HE MURMURED HIS TRUE LOVE'S NAME, ‘OHHH LUNAULT’ AS HE FELT THE VOIDKIN WITHIN HIM SWELL. SURELY ONLY SOME DEMON FROM BEYOND THE VEIL OF NIGHT WOULD MAKE HIM FEEL THIS WAY. STIR HIM TO A FRENZY AT SIMPLY A GLANCE.”

Shear gave a panicked noise as someone - Iji, of course - peered out of his room as Kolli went trotting past. The Hingan man’s brows furrowed. “Is that boy reading po--”

“NOPE. Definitely not! Nothing to see here!” Huffing, Shear sprinted past Iji after the chortling rava in a pink and blonde flurry of nerves. The man watched the two race down the hall, rubbed his temples and shook his head.

Iji stepped back into his room and shut the door to the noise. “You know what? He’s absolutely right. It’s absolutely none of my damn business.”

Further along, Kolli had already exited the long hall and climbed the spiral staircase to its right, hanging from the upper balcony with one hand as he swung and yelled more of the passage into the foyer of the house.

Shear slid to a halt on the tile underneath him, turning his paled face up and hissing at the rava. “Knock it off!”

Alas, the shouting was hard to hear the hiss over. “BUT THEN, AS THE DOOR TO HIS PRIVATE BOX SLID OPEN WITH A CLATTER OF WOOD ON WOOD, HIS SPREAD WIDE LEGS AND BARED CRIME STICK GRASPED IN HIS PAWS OF REVELATION WERE WITNESSED IN THEIR LUSTY GLORY BY THE FIGURE STANDING THERE. THE GRAVELLY VOICE THAT ANSWERED HIS UNSPOKEN PRAYERS STEPPED IN SEDUCTIVELY WITHOUT INTENDING TO BE AND SHUT THE DOOR BEHIND HIM. ‘YOU CALLED?’ LUNAULT, STANDING THERE SHIRTLESS WITH HIS TROUSERS ALREADY UNDONE AND RAVEN LOCKS TANGLED AROUND HIS HEAD AS IF HE’D RACED THERE ON THE SLIP OF MOONLIGHT OUTSIDE, RAVISHED CLEVOIX WITH A SINGLE HUNGRY LOOK THAT LEFT THE PRIEST BREATHLESS UNDER HIS WIMPLE.”

“Kolli I swear to the stars and fates and whatever else, shut the fuck up!” The veena took the stairs two at a time, scrambling at the landing and lurching for the railing. The rava let go with a smug look up at the tomatoing veena above him, booking it down a different hallway as the blonde viera screamed his frustration behind his fleeing form.

“Hoy there’s so much more! ‘HELP ME, THE VOIDKIN IS TRYING TO ESCAPE ME,’ CLEVOIX’S GRIP ON HIS SHAFT TIGHTENED. ‘I’M TRYING TO KEEP IT FROM ESCAPING INTO THE CHURCH BUT IT’S URGING TO ESCAPE.’ LUNAULT, LOOKING MAJESTIC AND CELESTIAL IN HIS GOLDEN ROBES, NODDED AS HE KNELT BEFORE THE WHIMPERING PRIEST IN WHITE. ‘OF COURSE FATHER. WE CANNOT LET THAT HAPPEN CAN WE?’ HE FELL UPON THE THROBBING - what even is this euphemism? - CANE OF FIENDISH DELIGHT MOUTH FIRST. ‘OH, THIS IS A MUCH SAFER ALTERNATIVE.’ CRIED CLEVOIX. ‘THE VOIDKIN HAS NO CHANCE OF ESCAPING YOUR HEAVENLY MOUTH. LET ME RELEASE MY BURDEN WITHIN THE CONFINES OF YOUR SACRED VERBAL ENTRANCE TO DEFEAT THIS WICKED EVIL.’ THE PRIEST COULD NOT UNDERSTAND THE OTHER PRIEST AS HE SPOKE AROUND THE PULSATING MUSCLE BETWEEN HIS HOLY, PILLOWY LIPS BUT HE TELEPATHICALLY KNEW LUNAULT HAD SAID ‘IT WOULD BE MY GREATEST HONOR AND MY UNFETTERED DREAM TO EASE YOU FROM THE BEAST OF BURDEN YOU CARRY. SPARE ME NOT ONE DROP-’ He’s getting all that from a fucking wordless dick mumble? Shit, man that’s impressive.” Kolli’s head turned to shout at the rapidly approaching, panicked veena with another loud taunt. “Hoy Shear, I don’t understand none of this kinda shit when you’re blow--”

Kolli, abruptly cut off from his reading and his taunting after slamming face-first into someone, stumbled. The veena close on his heels skittered right up and snatched the book out of his hand from behind him, slamming it closed with a victorious hoot.

That is, before he realized just who Kolli had run into and his red edges only deepened in color.

“Err-- Sup Kalona. Where you going?” The rava pawed blindly behind him for the veena who dodged from his grasp as the taller, darker rava glanced between them with an uncertain, albeit amused, curiosity.

“Tymbask and I were just discussing the state of the armory and I was on the way to head down into the markets for a bit of supplies. What were you shouting, exactly?” Kalona’s deep voice echoed in the tiled hallways, arms crossing over his chest with a slow tilt of his head.

“You know Kolli,” Shear piped up as Kolli opened his mouth with a ludicrously wide grin. “Just… Being an idiot per his usual.”

Kolli, at the same time, started saying “I was reading his book,” until the veena finished his explanation. “You got some balls calling me stupid you little--!” The rava turned, curled hands raising as the man took a threatening step towards the other, smaller, viera.

“Kolli,” Kalona rumbled and motioned with his chin. “I need some assistance carrying the crates from outside to the armoury and Tymbask is occupied. Spare your old mentor a moment of your time?”

As Kolli turned a disgruntled expression at Kalona, Shear mouthed a ‘thank you’ from behind him. “Hoy, get Iji or Payeel to help you then.”

“Alas, Iji nor Payeel are nowhere to be found. Guess you will do in a pinch, hm~?” Giving a wink, Kalona unfolded his arms and beckoned the other rava with a hand. “Come on.”

Kolli hissed under his breath towards the veena’s gloating smile as Kalona moved away. “Tch. I’ll fucking get you later, pervert ass nerd, just you fucking wait.” Stomping after their mentor with a grumble, the younger rava stuffed his hands into his pockets as the elder of them struck up small talk about how well Kolli’s footwork practice with his new sword was going.

Relieved of Kolli’s jeering and hollering passages from the book clutched against his chest, Shear traced their path quickly back to the sofa. Plucking up the oversized book he’d been shielding his actual reading material off the cushion where he’d tossed it, he retreated towards the stairs. Down a veering hall on the upper floor of the house where his room was tucked, Shear bolted for it.

Shutting the door quickly and throwing the bolt lock once inside, Shear pressed his back against it with a wheezing breath. Still flushed along his cheeks and staring down at the front of his pants in abject horror.

“Well I hadn’t been that horny before he’d started fucking reading it out loud…” The collected books were pressed against his warm, reddened face and the veena mumbled into the top book’s cover with a groan. “What a bastard!”

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #21 Feckless

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger Warning - This prompt includes depictions of violence, bodily injury, blood mentions and references murder and arson.

Read at your own discretion.

One cannot kill other people for a living without igniting certain… types of enemies.

Typically the righteous sort; with flares for revenge or avenging angles.

One cannot avoid these types of people, or their perfectly expected retaliations.

Even bad people have family or loved ones, after all.

‘Bad’ could even be subjective, to some.

To Shear, ‘bad’ simply meant someone might be willing to pay coin to have their ‘bad’ influence removed from their lives. Permanently.

And he would be happy to oblige their desires for the right price.

Late summer sunbeams streamed in through the window, curtains and shutters open, facing the rising sun. In the early morning, giving a stir, tanned bare skin shifted against soft-spun silk sheets with a tired groan as tiny beams of light trailed over his face.

One rosy quartz colored eye blearily peeled open, the gold flecked pupil drawing unfocused across the sun-brightened wooden walls of the room and across the grass woven mats across the floor. The room he’d chosen for himself lay on the second floor, along the east side of the building, located on the sprawling estate of Shirogane where they were staying. The muted colors of the painted walls were broken up by the occasionally specifically placed dark wooden shelves in varying leveled patterns and meticulously - albeit sparsely - decorated.

A single paneled shōji set against the far wall opposite where he lay, leading to the private balcony on the north side of the building and was closed, the latch still locked in place. The small rectangular windows set between them and the ceiling in opaque glass, brightly illuminated and unoccupied by any shadows.

A full-length, double paneled shōji was on the joining wall on its left, also still closed and latched. His ears picked up the trickling of the man-made stream that moved through the grounds, set beside the stone garden just below his balcony, and the faint chirping of distant birds on the other side of the house. The sound of sea waves were close, but still a walk down the long, winding stone steps outside the north gate to the beach.

Blonde head rising off his pillow, the viera pushed his body up to a sitting position on the thickly stuffed and layered futons he’d been sleeping on. Clad only in a pair of black cotton smalls, one palm rubbed sleepily at an eye while the other stretched high above his head. Torso twisting, the opposite of the movements were echoed on the other side.

Scratching at the base of both long blonde ears and easing that scratch along the back of his head through the blonde tangle of his overgrown bob, Shear blinked fully open both mismatched, sunset toned eyes. One the rosy quartz flecked in gold, the other sunlight golden and speckled with deeply hued pinks.

Something felt off but the rousing viera couldn’t quite put his finger on what. The estates had been rented a week prior, Kalona’s crew all having various jobs or errands to run in the nearby prefectures. With the size of the house itself, Shear had his own room, as had they all. Kolli had opted not to stay on the grounds, insisting on a room at the hot springs inn in Kugane proper.

With Manjima fucking Yohan.

Stamping down his spike of irritation at the thought of the smug, smiling xaela, Shear pushed himself to his feet. What he realized was odd, then, was that there were no close birds chirping. The bell crickets that had taken to singing in the carefully tended bushes below his window were silent.

A squeak in a floor board on the stairs - and why Shear had chosen the second floor for sleeping- got the viera moving. The pillows he’d previously been resting on were stuffed under his blanket and the blanket tugged over them. Standing from there he slipped the loose, oversized summer patterned garment hanging from the hook over his head over his shoulders, belting it closed quickly. Two curled knives from his belt were removed and placed - by the grips - between his teeth.

Slipping out of the window, he hung there curled on the outside of the wall, listening intently.

He rather liked the estate and he thought it’d be a damn shame to accidentally burn the place down dealing with whoever was coming for him. So, knives it was. Adjusting his handholds, Shear moved to the very northside of his window quietly, ear turned to listen at his balcony.

There. A scuff of a leather sole on the waxed wood. A calming, muffled exhale.

Shear scowled from where he hung on the sill of his window.

Let them calm themselves all they like.

They’d be dead before the next bell’s chime.

The figure on his balcony kicked the wooden brace of the single paneled shōji, rolling into the room with a snarl and there was a distinct whump where a weapon hit the pillows along his futon. The viera swung up onto the waxed dark colored wood, waiting there as he observed the hyuran figure stab his futon repeatedly with a short sword.

Panting, the bandana-masked hyur yanked at the blanket with a disbelieving, “He’s gone!” A man, younger sounding by the pitch of his voice, yelling in Hingan.

Someone else - the one Shear had heard on the stairs to the second floor - shouted from outside the door leading to the rest of the house. “What do you mean he’s gone?!” A woman this time, also young, also responded in Hingan. The viera’s eyes narrowed as the figure previously stabbing his futon shanked it again in frustration.

Now he was curious.

Standing up from his crouched position, the karambit knives in his mouth were eased into his palms, clamped there idly as he gave a small whistle and called out in Hingan to the man in front of him. “Not that gone, idiot.”

The hyur whirled, startled, and nearly tripped on the destroyed padding. “YOU!” He lunged for Shear on his balcony - without his sword. Shear waited until he was near before ducking low, catching the edges of both the curled blades inside the front of both thighs after the man tried to throw a boxing punch for his face. With a pained scream from the masked figure, he shot a look down at his thighs as he clutched his palms around the karambit knives planted into him.

Yanking up and heaving him up over his head, Shear tossed the younger male off the edge of the balcony to the carefully raked tiny pebbled rock garden below. He fell straight to the ground with a yell, abruptly cut off as he landed on his back with a cough. From the lack of scuffling from below and just the echoing, gasping groan, the viera figured he wasn’t getting up any time soon.

“Taku!” A different figure, the one belonging to the woman, barreled into the room after ramming it a few times with her shoulder. Another bandana covered his face and she screamed in fury not finding him present in the room.

The bloodied karambits dripped blood onto the waxed wood of the balcony floor under him. The half-dressed viera braced his legs apart and cocked his head with a broad, taunting smile. “What are you two kids doing trying to break into this place, hm? Looking for someone?”

“We’re not kids! We’re adults!” A bulky weapon snapped up in her hands, pointed his direction. Shear jerked shortly before the tiny crossbow’s string gave a twang of warning, diving to his right. The bolt thunked into the railing where his guts used to be and he gave it an impressed ‘Huh,’ under his breath before gripping for the railing.

Kicking up over it’s edge, Shear landed in the swath of pebbles below with a clatter, heading for the figure still on his back who was struggling to catch his breath. The hyur gave a gasp and a wheeze, trying to scramble away from the approaching figure but was at a disadvantage. His aching legs bled freely, still winded, and his back throbbed at the points he’d landed on it.

Reaching down, Shear hooked the tip of one bloodied karambit onto the edge of the bandana, giving a yank against the tugged fabric before flipping the blade off his finger and tucking it into one pocket of his cloth-belted shirt. Giving the younger man’s revealed face a quick inspection before reaching down to grip a fistful of his dark hair, the viera yanked him up by it and drug him backwards. He kept the hyur pressed close against him as the woman - who’d reloaded her crossbow - pressed her hips to the railing and raised it again, taking aim.

“Nami, shoot him!” The unmasked young man Shear was using as a shield shouted at her but above them, she hesitated, unable to get a clear shot. He continued walking backwards, putting more distance between them and dragging the now struggling Taku stumbling with him. The viera’s other hand settled the still-wielded karambit under his pointed chin, the tip pressing closed and the curve of the blade resting up against his jaw.

The man froze in place. Nami, the one on the balcony, gave a shout and raised her bracing arm off her crossbow. “Don’t--!”

“Drop the crossbow over the side, then.” Shear called up at her, eyes narrowing.

Taku half turned his head and ceased the motion when the karambit dug in closer. “D-don’t do it, Nami! Take the shot!”

“Brave. Stupid, but brave.” Shear muttered it near Taku’s ear, who hissed something callous about the viera’s mother and her various used holes in return. Giving an amused snort, Shear held his position. To the woman, he called up again. “Drop it or I will kill him here and now.”

“Wait! W-wait, don’t--... Please.” The crossbow was tossed over the railing, landing with a clatter below and she raised both of her hands up. “He’s all I have left. Please.”

Scoffing, Shear rolled his eyes and barked at her, “You cannot tell me that, you never tell your enemy your single weakness! Honestly, are you new? Get down here.”

“Do I jump-?” Nami’s brimming fury from earlier was deflating the longer that karambit was held so close to easily sliced skin, although the edge of her tone betrayed a lingering annoyance.

Shear gave her a long-suffering look from behind the bristling hyur in his grasp. “If you can jump it, sure. Otherwise, you took the stairs once, you can take them again.”

“You won’t kill him while I go downstairs?”

“What? No, I want to talk to you, not lose you to grief screaming. Or worse, you trying to come at me senselessly after this idiot’s death and I’d have to kill you, too. Then you’re both dead and I get no answers. So just get down here already.”

“Nami no, just leave me!” Taku shouted and gave a lurch as she turned from the balcony, heading back into the room to proceed back down the stairs she’d come up and threading through the house’s corridors quickly. The hyur gave another hiss as the ache in his legs sharpened and the karambit bit in with the movement.

“She has more loyalty to you than to leave you behind to die in my grasp. How are your legs, by the way~?” Shear adjusted his grip on the hyuran man’s hair, checking that the idiot hadn’t yanked his neck open on the knife pressed to it. There was a tiny trickle where the tip of the blade had nicked skin, but short of the furious look on his face and his blood seeping into his pants, he seemed fine.

“Fuck you, murderer!” The hyur spat the words over his shoulder, which gave Shear a bigger indication of why they were there. “My legs are fine enough to kick your ass.”

“Is that why your knees are shaking like a freshly-born ewe? Don’t struggle, I have a knife to your neck.” The hyur had attempted to lurch away again, and Shear decided then these two would live if only because they were so gods damned stupid they’d get themselves killed before it mattered if he did it.

Nami stepped out of the front door quickly and followed the wrapping porch around to the north side of the building. Shear motioned with his chin for her to approach as she slowed on arrival to the stone garden. “Sit, on your knees in the grass, just there. Pull the bandana down and lace your fingers in front of you on your lap after. Reach for the stones or for another weapon and I will give him the last smile he will ever give you. Understood?”

“I d-don’t have a-any other weapons. But a-ah, y-yes.” The hyuran woman knelt where bid, fingers clasping the edge of the dark bandana and pulling it down off her face. The tongue spoken did match both of their looks and Shear frowned at the familiar looking face she’d revealed that shared features with the hyur in his grasp.

Likely related, and both of them locals to the area, then.

She was passably pretty, not his type, but good looking, with her hair tied tightly behind her head. Speaking of looking, she barely looked of age but he took her word for it. On the back of one clasped hand, Shear could see trailing burn scarring along the uncovered skin. The scarring continued up into her sleeve past her wrist, and he could see more of it crawling at the edge of her shirt’s high collar on the same side, partially up one side of her neck and up along her cheek. Her earlobe was stuck to the side of her neck on that side, her jaw more defined by the irregular shape of the healed scar tissue.

“You really should not tell me that either,” Shear drawled his Hingan lazily, as casually as Iji had taught him. No formalities. You don’t try to kill someone while they sleep and get formalities or respectful phrasing. “Unless you are lying and you do have other weapons, in which I will kill him for that.”

“Stop!” Her clasped hands rose and Shear growled a warning. They thumped back to her lap as her lip quivered. “I r-really don’t. Please, let him go.”

“Nami, shut up, don’t tell him that-” Taku started and was silenced by the sting of the karambit once again. The hand in his hair gripped harder, making the hyur grimace.

“Mmn, I will believe you, if only because of his rude pleading for you to shut up. Since you seem more inclined to speak than he does, why are you here? More specifically, why did you target me?” Shear spoke evenly, staring at the woman across from them.

“W-we were told you s-sleep well into the a-afternoon when y-you don’t h-have work,” She spat the word bitterly. Her voice shook the longer she stared at her companion’s state, deciding to change her gaze down at the disturbed stones leading from the place Taku had fallen to where he’d been dragged and was currently. So much for keeping her eyes off of it. “So th-the early m-morning we thought w-would… Be p-perfect.”

“And who told you that?” Shear’s lip curled and Taku gave another whine as the grip in his hair tightened.

“Sto- hhhhgh, o-one of the people you t-travel with! He was d-drinking and m-mentioned this place he was staying, and c-complained that you sleep t-too m-much.” The laced fingers squeezed, thumbs rubbing against one another nervously as she watched the grimace ease off Taku’s face, Shear’s grip having loosened as she talked.

Shear’s annoyance dimmed some. Maybe this wasn’t personal then. “So you made smalltalk with one of my companions, got them talking about me, and decided to… What? Make me your mark, to rob me or something? Is that it? Do you need gil? Are you starving?”

“Screw your money! You killed our mother.” Taku snapped it over his shoulder, laced with venom. Maybe it was personal after all. “And you left the place burning where Nami was sleeping, so she got burned real bad! This is revenge, you idiot!”

“Actually, this would be you avenging your mother, and would be her revenge.” The viera’s chin motioned at the woman sitting across from them. “Although I have to say, thus far you are poorly avenging your mother, so the word choice on the matter is irrelevant.” Shear corrected Taku loftily and barked a laugh when the hyur snarled back at him. “How do you even know your mother died because of me? I do not know either of your faces, or recognize your names for that matter.”

“The neighbor told us she saw a viera man matching your description leaving, long after the flames had already been roaring. If not you, then who? Do you even remember the fire? Or our mother? Ota Emiko. Her name was Emiko.” Nami’s nervous thumbs shifted, rubbing at the scar along the back of one hand as she spoke fiercely.

That name did ring a bell. Two, even. “And you decided to not report this witness to the authorities because...?” Shear pressed for more, figuring the answer before they spoke.

Taku responded when Nami did not, her lips pressed together while she bit back tears as the painful memory resurfaced. “Because they didn’t believe her. She’s older, and claims to see things no one else can. I did though. Believe her I mean. That old lady might say she sees her dead son sometimes and some other weird spirits, but some people can just do that. It doesn’t mean she’s lying. She took care of me while Nami recovered, so we had time to figure out who you were. Not like you rabbit ijin are common in our area, it was easy to put together, stupid.”

Listening, Shear nodded and eased the karambit off Taku’s throat. His hair was also released, giving the hyur’s back a shove towards Nami. “Good little sleuths then. I would say ‘well done’ if not for this piss-poor execution of your plan so far.” Still holding the karambit in his hand, Shear’s other palm rested on his hip as Taku hit the stones with a pained grunt. The hyur crawled closer towards Nami who hesitated.

To her credit, she recalled his previous warning and did not move from her position as Taku crawled into her lap. At Shear’s nod, her hands rose and wrapped around Taku’s back in a hug as he gasped for breath on her folded legs. She eased her hold off him with a murmured apology as he whined at the squeezing.

Hitting the ground on his back had been very painful.

“As you were honest with me, I will be honest with you. I recall Ota Emiko, as well as a house fire around this area. That was a few turns ago now and that house was empty, except for the marked target left inside-- your mother, I presume. You could not have been home, you were with your brother and father at the Ruby Bazaar in Kugane that night.” Brows furrowing, Shear recalled that job and he dug for the memories of it.

He remembered all of his jobs, just not always immediately. They were daily reminders about the scum of humanity, and how easily your life could rest on the edge of a large sack of coins.

“You’re wrong!” Nami finally blurted it out, staring up at him indignantly and openly crying in frustration. “I was home. Taku was out with his girlfriend at the time and our father, not me. I was in my room, on the second floor, asleep.” Shear’s gaze wandered to the girl and her burn scars, his eyes narrowing on them.

Had his lookout been that foolish to mistake them? Had he only seen a young girl with the then-teenage boy and his father and assumed she was the sister?

That was entirely possible. Tymbask* was a hulking wall of muscle that could cleave a person in two with his axe easily, and who had been historically kind to the viera, but as his name’s literal translation meant ‘Dumb Ash’ suggested, that did not mean he was always intelligent.

“When the fire was set on the main floor, it eventually came up through the floor and caught my futon and hair on fire.” Nami choked and swallowed thickly, touching at the space above her ear under her tucked hair. The styled hair was lifted to reveal more of the scarred skin a bit above the edge of her ear. “I-I couldn’t get down the stairs. I had to jump o-out of my bedroom’s w-window, w-while I w-was on fire. I b-broke my arm w-when I landed a-and the old lady saw me jump. She r-ran over a-and helped put me o-out.”

Putting details together, Shear observed her brother push himself up to sit beside his sobbing sister, brushing at her tear-streaked face with one hand gently. It left streaks of red behind from his bloodied hand, leftover from when he’d grabbed at his bleeding thighs earlier. Realizing his error, Taku attempted to keep swiping it off in vain, spreading it further out across her face until Nami was swatting at his hands.

Shear felt a pang of pity and moved cautiously closer. Both of the young Hingans flinched, heads turning to stare up at him with a varying level of distrust and hatred. Shear reached up with his unoccupied hand, claws hooking the fabric of one sleeve and tearing it off. The torn off sleeve was then slit along it’s seam with the karambit into a wide - but now flat - arching square of blue, flower-patterned fabric.

Shear moved to just in front of them, squatting and holding it out towards the crying woman. “I was misinformed, then. You were never meant to be home.” Taku slapped at the hand holding the cloth but Shear, simply to spite him for it, leaned closer to wipe Nami’s bloodied and tear-streaked face clean instead. “Where is your father now, perchance…?” He asked cautiously while Taku simmered in his anger beside them.

Nami looked confused at the question and her sobbing eased some, responding to his inquiry as her reddened face was wiped with his sure motions. “H-he’s dead. He died a bit after our mother did, trying to barter the r-remaining things of value that survived the fire with a corrupt a-appraiser.” Her expression fell again but the tears seemed to have stopped. She gave a sniff. “But he was k-killed for them instead.”

“Nami shut up! Stop telling him shit!” Taku snapped and wiggled between Shear and his sister, shoving at Shear’s chest with one hand. The viera gave a snort at the shove, his crouched form wobbling a moment. He leaned back in, shoving the hyur aside roughly instead, straight back into the stones he’d fallen into earlier with Taku giving an indignant, pained squawk as he landed.

“You should not tell your sister to shut up while she is talking and being reasonable. It is incredibly rude.” Her face clean and dry, Shear tucked the torn cloth into the same pocket as his other karambit and crab walked back a step from her as she turned to check on her brother. Taku waved her off with a grunt. The viera continued. “Although it is a good story, and I may be incorrect on the specific details, I do not believe that is who killed your father, or for that reason.”

“What do you mean? How could you claim to know something we were assured of by the investigators? They even caught the appraiser! He was sentenced and thrown in jail!” Nami objected loudly and narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. The braid Shear had assumed was just a simple ponytail whipped behind her with the movement. “How dare you!”

“Nami- it was Nami, yes?” Shear waited and the heated Hingan stared a moment distrustfully before nodding. “Nami, you seem the smarter and more reasonable of the two of you. Maybe even older, I’d guess by at least a turn or two. Take stock of what I have said and realize I may know more than you, having been intimately involved in this already. I also described your mother as a mark earlier, and you have yet to ask me the most obvious question.”

“Wait, a mark?” Backtracking her thoughts prior to her outburst about him being wrong, her brows knit. “Oh, so you did. What does that have to do with my father and the appraiser? Who marked my mother, then?”

“Your father.” Shear sat his backside on the stones in front of her while Taku gave a shout and lunged for him. The karambit still in the viera’s hand curled up for the lunging man who stopped just short of it’s point, huffing.

“Liar!” Taku spat at him, the wad hitting his bare leg.

Shear’s other hand removed that bloodied, tear-damp cloth from his pocket and wiped it off his leg. “I have yet to lie to you about anything, least of all this.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. Our father was distraught when he realized our mother was dead. The official reports ignored our old neighbor lady naming you at the scene. We knew better, obviously, and tried to tell our father but he told us not to make demons out of shadows.” Nami shook her head again, gripping the back of her brother’s shirt and tugging him back away from the knife.

“He would, considering he knew it was I carrying it out and that he was the demon in the shadows the whole time. Assuring you to accept a perfectly believable story is entirely why he asked for the job to be carried out in a rather distinct manner. Your mother was known for fainting, right? Something about her weak heart, if I recall.”

The siblings looked at each other and frowned. Taku decided to broach it first. “Yeah. So what? Everyone around our area who knew our mother knew that.”

“So I happen to know your father had been trying to poison her for some time, hence the strange and sudden onset of it, despite being healthy as a chocobo her whole life. All it gave her was a weaker constitution and fainting spells instead. She was very strong willed, I heard. He insisted he had wanted her to die quickly but his poison attempts were failing and he did not want her to suffer unreasonably.” Taku bristled but Nami set her scarred hand over his mouth. After her nod to continue, Shear tucked the cloth back into the pocket at his side and kept going.

“He needed distinct things, which cost him extra for finesse.” The viera counted the contracted details off on his fingers. “First, his wife dead from a posed fainting episode. That was easy. After she was already dead, I had to drop her just right as if she’d fallen and bashed her head on the edge of your living room table to make it believable. By the unmistaken damage on her skull eventually found in the fire. Some would even believe that is when she would have died, on the edge of the table itself. So the body would be next to where it would have fallen before the fire consumed it, either way.”

“Second, the place needed to burn down from the lantern she'd have mistakenly knocked over from her fainting fall in your living room. He indicated clearly he wanted her body taking the brunt of the worst of the flames so no other damage than the obviously damaged skull would be recognizable. He could claim the whole thing as an unfortunate series of events out of anyone’s control about the terrible accident.”

Shear let these details settle into the two Hingans in front of him, the both of whom looked increasingly sick as he spoke. He followed up with the next information more gently. “All this to guarantee the insurance money from your mother’s death, and for the house, which would be paid after the heart-breaking investigation into her death. You all would have alibis, witnesses of the bazaar itself and each other placing you shopping in the Ruby Bazaar during the regrettable incident. All of this plotting and planning to pay off his debts, one of which was a life debt, as well as the debt he would have with us for completing, since he was broke to pay us outright and too cowardly to kill himself.”

“You lie!” Taku exploded and pointed a trembling finger in his direction. Wisely, he did not lunge at the viera as he had during previous shouted dissents. “Our father had no debts, or they would have passed to us! He was an honorable man who did not have our mother killed for money. He loved her! He loved us! Fuck you, asshole!”

“Explain.” Nami, more reserved, stared at Shear with a level expression.

“You can’t believe him!” Taku whirled on his sibling, looking shocked.

“He hasn’t lied yet, Taku. He knew about the lantern, and where and how she died.”

“That you know of! And of course he knew the details about the crime scene, he’s the fucking murdering ijin who set all of it up! You can't trust a word he says!”

“That’s true, although for a ijin, he speaks our language well.” Nami pointed this out and Shear considered passing her compliment to Iji. They really had worked very hard on his pronunciations while sharing dumplings.

Taku did not agree. “So he’s a well-practiced ijin, who cares! He’s a murderous, lying bastard!”

“But Taku, what if it’s true?”

“Shut up! Don’t even entertain it! It’s not!”

While the two siblings continued bickering, Shear eventually cleared his throat. Taku turned his head and glared, Nami looked tired. The mismatched gaze glanced between them before the viera shrugged. “I can prove it.”

“Bullshit! You can not! Asshole! You fucking liar! Bastard! Piss off!” Taku bared his teeth. Nami set a hand on her brother’s shoulder, squeezing it. She took a deep breath and quietly counted under her breath. While she counted and Taku puffed and muttered angrily, the young Hingan eventually simmered his shouting.

Shear waited as well, faintly amused about being told to ‘piss off’ in front of his own - current - home. “Are you finished?”

“Don’t test your luck, shithead.” Taku growled it under his breath after another squeeze of the hand on his shoulder.

Nami spoke louder then, turning her head from her brother. “How can you prove it?”

“We have his contract for the job in a safe, for starters.” Taku looked less certain then and stared at the stones. “My mentor keeps them as insurance in the hypothetical scenario that should anyone who requests services from us attempt to betray us or extort us by threatening to, we would simply take them down with us. The details I spoke of I know about because they are clearly outlined, in your father’s own hand, in that contract.”

“Can we see it?” Nami frowned and pressed her lips together. “Not even Taku could deny such damning evidence.”

“Typically, no.” Nami started to ask something else but Shear continued. “However, this is… a curious case. My mentor may make an exception. Although,” Shear eyed Taku, who despite having calmed his shouting, was still openly seething beside his sister. “Would seeing the source of this pain, knowing it were true, sway you away from attacking me in the future? I was still the one who did the job. I killed your mother, and set fire to your house, and as such subsequently, set fire to you.”

“Exactly!” Taku hissed it and Nami looked torn.

“But if I’m understanding this correctly, you would not have if our father hadn’t paid you to.” Nami chewed the inside of her lip.

“That’s also true. It wasn’t personal to me, it was a job. Normally not even the type of job I would have accepted because your mother, all things considered, was an innocent.” Shear scratched at his bare shoulder with the handle of the karambit lightly.

Taku cut his sister off before she could speak to exclaim at him.“Then why did you?! She was kind! And sweet! And loving! She was innocent, like you s-said, so why d-did you kill her?!”

There, then, was the root of all of that futon-stabbing bluster. Shear grimaced and waved his free hand vaguely. “Because it was as I said. Your father was already trying to carelessly kill her, and I knew she would have died eventually anyway. By accepting and handling the job myself, I could at least guarantee her a swift death, rather than a painful, extended one. His first idiotic suggestion as a means to possible ‘painless death’ had been to slit her throat and let her bleed out. He’s obviously never choked and drowned to death in his own blood before.”

The siblings looked at Shear, clearly horrified.

Both blonde brows perked. “Oh, I see. Well, maybe he understood why I didn’t at his end then.”

“How did you know?!”

“Did you kill him, too?!”

The viera held the waving hand still up in a ‘stop’ motion at the sudden upset assault of questions. “No, I did not kill your father. I expect the ones who he owed his massive debts to did, especially after learning that instead of simply owing them his life, he traded his wife, his house - which arguably had more value than his life anyway - and nearly his daughter in exchange. Someone who is willing to sacrifice someone he loves to save his own skin is not someone to be trusted. I suppose you both should be grateful he didn’t have one of you killed instead.”

“That is not the comforting thought you think it is.” Nami muttered under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

As eloquent as ever, Taku glared at him before turning his face away. “Asshole.”

“I will let the two of you talk it over. It would be more likely you would both see the contract your father wrote for us and be set free to return home if you swore to drop the vendetta.” Shear shrugged simply.

“How do you know we wouldn’t simply lie about dropping it and come back to kill you, regardless? Or report to the investigators what we know?” Nami asked it, and Taku thumbed at his sister to echo it silently.

Shear’s shoulders raised in another simple shrug, flipping and spinning his karambit idly in his hand. “The investigators would not want to reopen something they have already tied closed, and especially so old. It would never pass in any kind of court, especially not hinging on someone your neighborhood has labeled as a liar.”

Motioning at Nami with the karambit and making the hyuran woman look nervous, Shear followed up. “As to the former, two words: magic contracts. My mentor knows how to do them. You both would sign one guaranteeing the dropped vendetta, even if you both still feel like doing it. But if either of you caused me harm, especially death, the contract would reap its justice against you in return.”

“So if one of us hurt you, or killed you... Say, me, I would die when you died.” Taku squinted suspiciously at Shear, who returned the suspicion with an unimpressed brow raised.

“Or be harmed equally, by cuts, stabbings, scratches, etcetera. Please don’t go thinking you would valiantly sacrifice yourself to rid the world of me, idiot. It would kill you both. Same contract, same punishment for those involved. It would also, in turn, guarantee that I could not harm either of you, either. Not that I have any plans to. Though you do owe me a new futon.”

“Owe you a-?!” Taku spluttered and sat up threateningly, and Nami’s hand plopped against his puffing chest.

“We will sign it.” Sure of herself, Nami stared at Shear hard who looked bored by that point. His adrenaline had more than worn off at that point.

Taku made another angry noise, shoving the hand off his chest. “Can we talk about this?! He’s still the murderer who killed mom!”

“Taku.” Shaking her head, Nami offered her sibling a small smile. “It would still be answers. And he was simply the tool used against her, he wasn’t truly who killed her. Even if she died by his hand, he was set against her by someone else. That is who really killed mom. Do you understand?”

“No?! Hello, did you fall and hit your head when I wasn’t aware?!” Gripping at his sibling’s shoulders, he shook her gently. “He! Killed! Her! He could have said no-”

“But he said she would have died either way! And then we would be chasing someone else in her name! But that’s not the point, Taku. He was sent after her by someone, possibly our father. I want to know the truth! I want… I want to know for certain.” Shrugging his grip off her shoulders, Nami set her jaw and stared at him stubbornly.

“And if it’s true?!” Taku scrubbed at his scalp with both hands, eyes squeezing shut. “Then he’s already dead and this asshole is still alive! We promised to kill her killer! This just… It just turned into killers, plural!”

“Except we won’t get answers unless we give up something, Taku. Aren’t you ready to go back to Old Biju? She’s still worried about us, Taku.”

“Don’t you dare use the old lady on me like that. Of course I want to see her, but we… We promised each other!”

“And if father is behind it, and he is the reason the rabbit was sent after mom, then he’s dead, and her killer is no longer alive. We would have succeeded.”

Shear considered correcting their word for ‘rabbit’ with ‘viera’ and opted that the linguistics battle wasn’t worth it at that moment.

Taku growled and rolled his shoulders, flinching when they gave a twinge. “But…”

“And if it’s not true, we did say until death we would hunt her killer. I would accept our fate, if you would.” Nami cocked her head in Shear’s direction, whose intrigue in their back-and-forths died inside his irritation.

The viera began talking, heated. “Excuse me, you would ki-”

“Of course I would accept it. So it’s settled. If … If it’s father, then the rabbit lives. If he’s a liar, the rabbit dies. That fair to you, rabbit?” Taku turned to address Shear who looked miffed.

“Viera. I am a viera. A veena, to be precise. And I guess, you could try. The first time went all sorts of in your favour.” Pulling the karambit off his hand and pocketing it, Shear rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t pop clean out of his head. Climbing to his feet and stepping past them, he waved his hand over his shoulder. “My mentor will be gone at least until midday, so either leave and come back later or try not to annoy me with your quarreling. And a reminder you still owe me a new futon!”

“Sure, yeah, whatever. That’s definitely not fucking happening, asshole. Consider it collateral damage for you being a prick.” Taku snorted and stood with the assistance of his sister, the pair of them stumbling towards the house. “Don’t suppose you got any bandages?”

Turning his head and glancing at his bleeding limbs, Shear curled his lip in disgust. “... I do. Stay on the porch. If you bleed on the mats, he will kill you.”

“He who?” The pair of them chirped the question at the same time as Shear stepped into the house.

“My mentor, Kalona.”

“Who the fuck is Kalona?” Taku snorted as he eased to the porch. “Sounds like a girl's name.”

Shear called over his shoulder. “You will find out.”

Nami murmured under her breath to her brother after Shear disappeared, nudging him gently as she sat beside him. “Think we’ll regret it?”

Taku exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging, staring at his bloody thighs. “... I got no fucking clue.”

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #20 Petrichor

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Trigger Warning - NOTHINGGGG BWUAHAHAHAHA

Too early in the morning, a rustle from outside the pinned and tethered dark canvas stirred the half-asleep form inside. His senses tuned in to the continuing scuffling sound, bare fingers flexing on the thick blanket under him, still covered by his thin sheet. If something - or someone - was going to sneak up on him inside his tent while he was sleeping, they were in for a sincerely unfortunate morning.

Movement stirred in the barest light from the visible horizon outside outlining the opening to his makeshift tent. Shear’s mismatched, sunset toned eyes peeled open to stare towards it. A silhouette, belonging to a thickly bundled, furry brown tail wriggled as a small head set with beady eyes peered into and sniffed at the dark confines of the tent cautiously.

Shifting his legs to create a sudden movement, the squirrel squeaked and darted out from the entrance of his tent, fleeing into the still mostly dark but slowly greying morning. The sore viera listened awhile to be certain it was just the squirrel he’d heard.

Assured by the lack of continuing rustling, he stretched then on the blanket-covered ground and yawned wide, flexing his still-bruised jaw as it creaked. Sitting up slowly, his bandaged torso held a dull ache that was easier to withstand this morning than it had been the morning prior.

Shuffling his sheet aside and scooting nearer to the pack tucked at his feet, the man flipped open the flap of the tooled leather. Digging for a canvas bag within and setting it aside once found, his hands bundled his blonde hair up that swept past his shoulders with an elastic pink ribbon off his wrist. Breathing in a calming breath filled with the smells of the cedar and soil, his attention turned to the bandages wrapped carefully around his form.

Taking care not to yank if something stuck - which thankfully this morning it didn’t - the bandages were gingerly unwound. The ointment smeared pads of gauze under them removed delicately and set aside with the used bandages to discard later. Inspecting the healing swipe of claws on his side, left from the Shroud beastkin he’d put down during the night a week prior, they had finally sealed over completely along the edges of the tears in his skin. They had also only stopped seeping into his bandages yesterday, and he was glad he didn’t need to soak them to get them off, unlike his previous mornings.

Yet again during his week of recovery he was grateful to the tiny lalafellan woman in Bentbranch who’d urged him into buying a few potions and a clotting ointment. The kind-eyed woman had patted his bicep leaning on the counter and nudged the set with extra bandages towards his waiting purchase. “A discounted deal for the whole lot of it, just in case, yeah?”

He thought she’d just been a kind, if overcautious, business woman. Turns out, he’d vastly underestimated what would happen if a hungry jackal came tearing out of the bushes at him, claws first. She, at least, preemptively had not - for his sake.

Staring at those healing wounds while quietly reminding himself to send her flowers later as a ‘thank you’ when he was back in Gridania proper, Shear shook his head and sighed at nothing in particular.

He’d struggled through a fever the days following the attack that he’d had to handle by himself. Upon realizing the fever had set in, and he was going to quickly run the supplies down he’d hiked up this mountain with to its meager remainders if he pushed himself too hard, he took stock of what he’d had. Deciding to just camp where he’d stopped rather than try to make the rest of the journey sick and injured.

When he had broken the fever and felt a bit more like himself, he’d focused his mind the day before on the task of counting back through his supplies. Thankfully, he still had at easily two days' materials for food and bandages left, as well as a full canteen of water. The pot he’d boiled the prior evening aught still be on his fire to refill it when his morning cleaning routine, tea, and meal were finished.

Pulling the full canteen, two ointment containers, and a strip of clean gauze from the canvas bag, he cleaned his fingers first before smearing ointment from the container marked with a red sticker on his healing wounds. Pressing new gauze along his injuries and rewrapping himself up gingerly, he took his time with the motions so as to not reopen them. What lingering scrapes and bruises he could see had a different ointment applied, that from the green stickered container. Since those had already mostly healed, he slipped an oversized shirt over his head from his pack to cover them rather than waste more of his remaining clean bandages.

Although the shirt itself was quite a few turns old, it was clean and the fabric of the shirt was still soft. Shear ran the aged edge of its hem between two fingers a moment with a melancholy smile. Releasing the fabric and packing his aid supplies back into the canvas bag, that was set back into his pack and the tooled leather opening flapped closed.

The soiled bandages and gauze were bundled neatly, carried out with the canteen as the viera crawled from his tent into the dewy morning air. The canteen was set next to the dry, blackened remains of his fire from the night before. Pivoting on his heel, he carried the bundle left in his hand a bit aways from his camp by the light of a flickering flame held in his free hand.

Travelling a few fulms from his camp, the viera knelt. His illuminating hand raised to light his work and set the bundle beside his knee. He dug his palm claws first into the ground at the base of one of the Shroud’s massive cedar trees, scooping soil to form a deepening hole. The viera piled the soil beside his other knee before stuffing the bandages into the hole in the ground, sweeping the previously scooped soil back over them and patting the surface flat. Snuffing the flame after standing to relieve himself beside the tree in the barely discernible darkness of the very early morning, he lit the flame back to life in his hand and returned to his tiny camp.

A bit later, his small fire was crackling merrily behind him as it fed on the old, discarded twigs, dry leaves, and broken branches he’d collected for its fuel. The flames heated more water for his morning oats as he stepped away to not watch it come to a boil. One of his prized, remaining mugs filled to the brim with steeping tea clasped between both hands, he pressed a shoulder to rest along the bark of one of the many trees around him at the edge of the cliff he’d camped on. He stood a few fulms from where his tent lay strung up and tethered against the side of a fallen cedar, the view down the rest of the rising hill and over the distant road below ideal for both potential unwelcome visitors as well as the view over the boughs to the horizon.

But today he wasn’t watching the road warily for travelers heading up his side of the mountain. He eyed the leafy tops of the boughs rustling below in the sea of jade spread out from him, inhaling deep. The collecting soft grey clouds blocked the rising sun, heralding a wet day coming and casting the already dim morning to a heavily shadowed, breezy one.

Sipping his tea before pulling the bag and discarding the tiny paper sachet of medicinal leaves over the edge where he stood, Shear heard the plopping droplets of rain above him before he felt them. His tongue ached for sugar he didn’t have that might help the bitterness from his tea not taste quite so strong, but he drank all of the tea back as the rain began falling steadily overhead.

The engagement with the beastkin had been an unfortunate setback to reaching one of Kalona’s old safehouses Shear still held keys to. He longed for a bath that wasn’t campfire boiled water and a washcloth. A long, soaking hot one that would ease the stiff joints gained from sleeping on the blanketed ground for so many weeks. Thoughts of a real bed to curl up in made his heart ache in his chest with longing.

Just a little further and he would have a bit of comfort available to him.

He just had to get there.

The pungent smell rising from the slowly dampening earth was a familiar one that both elated his senses but brought with it that familiar sadness. Kalona had loved the forests and jungles, and the safehouse he hiked to set deep in the recesses of the Shroud was one of his mentor’s favorites.

Well. Had been, before…

Pulling himself away from the easily spiralling thoughts of why Kalona was not joining him at the safehouse, Shear figured he could stay there awhile while he figured out where he wanted to go from there. He would have to check what resources it might have still stocked while he had supplies to spare, just in case. He’d probably hunt for local game for his meals when he was further healed.

In the worst case, if the safehouse had been cleared of anything useful or necessary already, there was a settlement back down the mountain he could resupply at if needed. Then he could just hike back up and be set for as long as the gil from his previous contract lasted him.

When the gil and his resources ran out, hopefully by then he’d already have thought of a plan for his next step.

Shear turned from the view, stepping back over to his fire and easing himself down to the ground. Surrounded by the comforting smells rising from the ground and the trees circling his area, as well as the soft sounds of rain through the trees, he poured a bit of the steaming water into his empty mug. In the remaining water he dumped a serving of his remaining oats and his last packet of dried fruit into the simmering pot. Setting the small lid over it and pulling it from the fire to set aside and cook, Shear grabbed a different bag of herbs from the small box beside his fire where his foodstuffs were tucked. Placing the bag into his refilled mug and settling it in the soil to steep beside the pot.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d stretch his supplies a bit further that day and stay longer in this comfort-smelling area to recoup himself a little while longer.

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

“My head began to understand what was happening, but not my heart. My heart had always had a hard time accepting reality.”

— Gayle Forman, I Have Lost My Way

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #19 Deafening Silence (Extra Credit)

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Trigger warning: this prompt includes depictions of sexual content, depression, drug use, and bodily injury.

Read at your own discretion.

At least three vials deep of it’s sickly-sweet pink haze-inducing contents, Shear’s mind swam with his heartbeat drumming in his ears. Blonde strands clung to his sweaty forehead and the back of his neck in golden spiralling patterns. His fingers stretched wide along the sheets underneath him, flexing. Claws digging deeply into the mattress with an echoing, distant sound drawn from his mouth.

If he let his mind drift to memories of the past, the dusky hued body behind him was almost roughly the same size and shape to fit his fantasy as it slammed into him in a familiar frenzy. The semi-aware pieces of his brain nitpicked the motions against his better judgement. He wished the man behind him would grip his tail and pull his hips closer by it. He wanted those broad hands yanking at his ears, or his hair, bending him back as he drove his hips forward.

The claws along his toes dug in behind him and the pitched grunting of the stranger repeated to the pounding. The surprisingly tall miqo’te wasn’t… terrible. He was large enough, certainly. Although his palms were boringly grabbing at his waist, the claws that’d started digging down against his hips was a plus. But all he’d done since bending Shear over had been thrusting as if he were some god to be complimented on his steadily drumming hip movements.

The wandering viera’s mind attempted to bring up their conversation literally at all, having already been slurping those vials with his drinks during the initial ‘flirting’ phase.

If, that is, the miqo’te coming up to the bar to drop some cheesy pickup line the viera couldn’t recall details of and Shear responding, “Sure, you can fuck me, but you’re paying for the room,” was passably flirting in this turn. The miqo’te hadn’t seemed to mind his response and had immediately raised his palm for Baderon’s attention to ask for a room.

Baderon had laughed loudly and pointed over the man’s shoulder to the actual innkeeper and told him to make his own damn reservation if he wanted to get his dick wet so badly.

The stranger had enough shame at least to colour, apologize under his breath with a wave, and go pay for the room.

The viera braced his cheek into the bedspread, the scratchy sheets grinding against his skin as his gaze unfocused and blurred. Had he specified any of his actual desires to the man? Maybe he was being unreasonable about picking apart his performance in bed if he hadn’t. Shear only vividly recalled pressing his palm to the man’s face when they’d initially reached the door and the keeper had tried to kiss him.

Although the whipping dark tail betrayed the lie when the miqo’te said it was alright, Shear had appreciated he hadn’t pressed the subject any further. Instead, he had just pressed the viera into the room to strip him, skipping the small talk.

Which was good, because Shear wasn’t sure he’d had enough mobility in his own fingers to get his clothes undone by himself without it.

The frame creaked and banged against the stone wall it was braced against and not for the first time in his life Shear wished beds were built into the floors instead. Or at the very least anchored to the floor to prevent the oh-so-obvious to the room sharing the wall what the percussion of their actions were up to.

His skin became aware when the miqo’te was moving his hands and his eyes pressed closed to follow the sliding touch on his skin. He was nearly - so closely - excited as they moved further down along his hips proper but disappointment came crashing in when all the man behind him did was cup the front of his thighs to continue driving himself forward.

His pace hadn’t changed and now not even his claws were pricking sweetly into his skin.

Fates damn it all.

Shear nearly fell completely asleep with the miqo’te smacking away behind him, only stirring above the wave of unconsciousness when the jerking rhythm started, heralding the pitiful end to this excruciatingly lifeless partnership. He pulled out of the viera and the most interesting thing he decided all evening was pressing his pale thighs together to finish between them instead of inside him.

The fuck was the point if he was going to spurt all over the sheets he was about to sleep on? At least if he finished inside, Shear could go wash the fluid out and off of himself.

Though it was a pretty hot move. A half gold star for the miqo’te, ladies, gentlemen and those of the unchecked-box inclined.

With the miqo’te panting and murmuring things he couldn’t make out against his skin, the first kiss planted to his backside made Shear snap to awareness and flinch away. His claws crunched into the bedspread with a growl as he jerked out of the calloused palms squeezing his thighs. The viera crawled away from the afterglow dazed miqo’te, face turned from him.

“I’m going to go wash.” Shear swung his feet to the floor and slid off the bed, retreating from the man who was hurriedly attempting to apologize for the move, reaching out for him.

The naked veena crossed the room and shut the door to the bathroom where the sink and large, empty tub lay within.

He didn’t want romance. He didn’t want it to be soft. He wanted someone to fill him and his time and make his body claw at itself to exquisite numbness.

Padding to the sink, Shear eyed his reflection warily as he set his palms on the counter.

Stars be merciful, is that what his state looked like?

His normally bright wheat blonde hair was dull toned and overgrown from its usual shape. Unstyled, bedraggled and clingy weakly along his paler-than-normal dampened skin. The tired shadows rubbed under his eyes were darker than he remembered and his sunset toned, mismatched eyes were squinting, wan and glassy. The most amount of colour was the flush of their activities and the raw scrubbed skin along one cheek. His teeth were bared at his reflection as if he was in physical pain.

Was he crying? He couldn’t tell. His heart ached, certainly, and his mind was a spinning wheel of disappointment and sadness and grief which only made the blurring of his vision worse and…

Oh. Maybe he was crying. No wonder the miqo’te was knocking on the door to cautiously ask him if he was okay.

Wiping his face down with a palm, Shear tiredly called over his shoulder. “I’m fine,” A beat before he lamely added a fakely assuring, “Honest.” The faucet was flipped on to muffle whatever follow-up the miqo’te added and the viera cupped water between trembling palms.

Washing his face a few times until he was certain it was just water falling down his cheeks, Shear turned the faucet off and moved towards the tub. Turning the dial, he tested the water against his wrist before flipping the showerhead on. The rattle of the curtain pulled behind himself echoed in the room as he stepped in, pressing to the warm tile over the insulated pipes.

“Just a bad night,” An empty comforting murmur spoke quietly to himself, pushing up off his lean. “Finish yourself, wash up and get some sleep. You will overcome this by the morning.” Hoping that while he washed up the miqo’te would fall asleep, the viera took his time between cleaning and stimulating himself to his own silent, shivering release.

Rinsing the claws he’d sank into himself, Shear stepped out after turning the faucet back off. Wrapped in a towel, he dug in the wicker cabinet of the Drowning Wench’s bathroom, searching if it had a first aid kit-- yes, there it was. Simple things for the passing adventurer and more than enough to tape over where the miqo’te and his own claws had pressed into his skin.

The thick red potion in the kit was knocked back and drank empty. He left the kit on the top of the counter as a notice of it’s missing contents for whatever chamber maid would be in charge of restocking it later. Taking stock of the rest of his scars - both very old and more fresh - the bruises from his contract a few days prior were yellowing at the edges.

That, at least, made him feel better. The etching of his visible ribs made him feel less better on the heels of that relief. When had he eaten last? Had he eaten at all that day? The drugs still floating around lazily in his system assured him it didn’t matter if he’d eaten yet that day.

What was important was if he couldn’t remember, he probably hadn’t eaten recently enough.

Without food, he’d lose muscle mass. Without muscle mass, he was more likely to be overtaken by a stronger target. One corner of his mouth pulled down in a grimace and he promised that come the morning, he’d eat something substantial after his workout.

Shaking himself free of the tangling cobwebs of his thoughts, Shear wrapped the towel back around himself and left his wet hair free. Opening the bathroom door, he was surprised to find the miqo’te dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for him with his palms clasped.

The keeper’s dark head rose immediately at his exit and his mouth opened, palms rubbing on his knees. Shear raised a hand at him first and offered a tired smile. “It’s alright, I swear.”

“I’s-- er… Still, I’s shoulda realized, after you’s declined it at the door an’ all- '' The miqo’te stood, half reaching for him before his hands tucked away into his jacket. Soft blue eyes - too soft for Shear, he’d ruin this man if he tried to linger too long come morning - stared at the ground as his shoulders hunched. “An’ I’s gotta run anyroad, company mates pearled, which feels worse-”

“Truly,” Shear waved the raised hand and hugged the towel around him, smile widening falsely. “You were great, thank you for your time. Please, don’t keep them waiting on my account.”

“If’n I’s were so great, that’s why you’s finished you’self in the shower instead of lettin’ me do it?” A disappointed but sympathetic look crossed the keeper’s face and Shear’s smile faltered.

“You heard-”

“Yeah, I’s heard.” One hand withdrew from his pocket briefly to point at his ears, whose dark furred cones flicked when pointed out.

Well, Shear had tried to be quiet about it. “Ah- shit. I didn’t realize-” The viera began.

“Look,” The miqo’te cut him off lightly, shaking his head. “I’s ain’t lookin’ for no kinda relationship neither, just a romp ‘round some sheets. You’s obviously gotta lot goin’ on an I’s guessed that off the bat. I just ain’t realize how bad it were? So, in the future? Don’t lie ‘bout that kinda shite. Stings deep.” Clearing his throat, the keeper shrugged his hunched shoulders and motioned to the door with his chin, moving towards it. “Anyroad, room’s paid up for the night so use it or don’t. Thanks for the fun, even if you’s ain’t enjoyed it. I’s catch ya later or I’s won’t.”

Making a hasty exit while Shear grasped for something apologetic to say, the keeper disappeared behind the heavy swinging door. The latch clicking in place behind him left the viera’s numbed mind alone with itself in the suddenly crushing silence. His hair dripped to the floor and he released one hand off the towel to cover his face, suddenly weary, and his exhaustion weighing on his shoulders heavily.

“Damn it all.”

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

“The marks humans leave are too often scars.”

— John Green

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

“Thinking of you is a poison I drink often.”

— A t t i c u s

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #18 Devil's Advocate

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Trigger Warning - This prompt includes depictions of manipulation and gaslighting.

Read at your own discretion.

Shear never liked Manjima Yohan.

From their first meeting when he sat with them suddenly, the viera had detested the way he’d talked to his friends or how he would smile. Whether that unsettling smile was at himself, or his mentor, or his partner, or any of the rest of their motley band, he loathed it in his very core.

Much to his surprise after the charismatic xaela showed up, his contentious opinions about the man were scoffed at, or dismissed outright as jealousy. That ‘Manji’ simply got along with everyone easily on the first try and Shear did not, ergo, Shear couldn’t handle losing to ‘the new guy.’

“Don’t be such a sour puss, Shear!”

“Shear’s just a sore loser, is all.”

“I’d just lighten up, Shear, it’s no big deal!”

“Sounds lot like you’s jealous to me, Shear.”

“Hoy Shear, piss off with that shite, Manji’s great!”

Kalona and Iji of them had tried not to outright dismiss his fears, and the former attempted to persuade Shear to simply try to learn of the man, and perhaps his doubts would be dispelled or his lingering questions answered.

“Remember. Knowledge is power, Shear. Wield it and you will never have to doubt anything.”

So Shear tried. To learn of Manjima Yohan.

He learned that Manjima Yohan was an orphan, allegedly born into a tiny peaceful fishing village who had never truly been content with his place in the world. Escaping from service of conscription into the Empire when they cut a swath through his village’s area by throwing himself off a cliff in a failed suicide attempt.

While he’d been floating, he’d been found by a Limsan privateer vessel posing under a Garlean banner. The crew swept the young man back to the Admiral personally for whatever information he could provide to the Maelstrom on the Empire’s movements within his area.

And then he’d been released - or ‘abandoned’ as Manjima would put it - to find work within the city. Truly, a stranger in a strange land.

Don’t you pity him?

In other stories, when Manjima Yohan had grown bored of that life of struggling to make ends meet and truly ‘understanding the poverty and racism of the city,’ he left. The fishing, groveling, small chores for the merchant’s row, and the ‘lackluster’ training he implied he’d done with an undesignated group of people he claimed were ‘too boring’ to speak about, he grew tired of all that.

So he left to pursue something of grander pursuits, leaving his meager means to become an adventurer. But, he admitted mournfully, he struggled to succeed at that, too. His trouble began with finding companions he could truly work with. They’d been too weak to persevere, or too foolish, or full of pride to work with the man truly wishing to test his mettle against the world. Not one of them understood him, you see. His ideals, and his aspirations to truly succeed in this heavy handed world where nothing is obtained easily, let alone comfortable living.

But Kalona’s crew did, of course. They were wonderful, fantastic, amazing people who really got him, y’know?

Manjima Yohan was, as Shear had seen and was the only thing he could for certain say was true, a tactical man with a brilliant mind and an astounding illusionist. But to use these skills of his, he needed certain scenarios to be able to perform the feats. Thick fogs could have the aether of the water and air particles manipulated, casting figures of men and beasts within them where there were none. Smoke could be warped to change casting dark shapes against walls. Within the fields of heavy ambient aether, Manjima could craft brief holding images of familiar faces and throw his voice to mimic them.

Truly, his companions were so impressed by this and clapped when Manjima pulled tiny particles together to create funny caricatures of the crew to argue about simple things like who took the last portion of stew, or whose pillow had been used as a bed companion by whom.

How they complimented how ‘on the nose’ his interpretations were.

And Manjima would thank them for their generous compliments, look at Shear, and smile.

The dark feelings swimming in Shear’s heart amplified the more he learned. The latter of Manjima’s skills which his unsettled guts he distrusted the most.

Amongst those medley of skills Manjima Yohan had obtained over the years, he had a passably good form in hand-to-hand combat. His knife skills paled in comparison to Kolli’s but had - to everyone’s amusement except the veena’s - even trumped Shear’s. Manjima could play the piano, which brought more questions to Shear’s mind as to where, or when, or how Manjima would have had such an instrument available to learn at length in his story.

The xaela also had learned from what he could glean by spying or overhearing students from the Arcanists guild from his time in Limsa and knew very few aether glyphs sloppily inked in and cast from the tiny book he carried around.

“I’m sure a six-turn child could draw these better than I,” he’d laugh and everyone would clap him on the shoulder or back and assure him he drew them just well enough to pass, and that he did good work regardless of his skill. He’d smile and wave them off.

Shear would not join in on these patting consolations. Because he had seen the man’s artwork he had hidden in his journals and sketchbooks and knew there was no way he’d been drawing those simple sigils for so many turns and they would still be so sloppy.

One of the times he had decided to confront the xaela and held up one of Manjima’s pieces of art to the group - an intricate mandala design he’d found pressed in one of the man’s sketchbooks - to disprove the sigil sloppiness claim. To prove that he was more than capable of drawing them cleanly, having included them within the mandala design in smooth inked lines and shapely movements. Manjima had claimed it was only so clean because he was able to use rulers and straight tools to create the shapes so neatly and had spent so many weeks on it.

But also, Manjima had looked so hurt and disappointed as he defended himself.

Why had Shear been spying through his private, hidden things?

Why was Shear always so distrustful of anyone stronger than himself?

Who else had had their personal effects dug through by him, Shear?

What other skulking around the group and behind their backs had Shear done?

Shear, suddenly set on the defensive, could not explain he knew the mandala was new because that would mean further admitting he’d been keeping track of Manjima’s sketchbooks for those same weeks and it had not been there the prior two days.

So he’d kept his silence and the rumblings against him grew. He had only served to assist further positioning Manjima favorably above him, who despite casting so much swimming doubt on Shear and his actions, was also ‘understanding’ that the co-orphan would have ‘trust issues.’ That of course he understood why Shear would seek to throw doubt on Manjima with the perception that his special people - Shear’s family - might move on from him, and would forget him.

And then Manjima would smile and Shear wanted so desperately in that moment to splatter the inside of the man’s head like a rotting gourd.

Kalona had been, blessedly, the only one who had believed some credence to Shear’s questions and prying. Quietly, he’d asked about the findings of Shear’s investigations, and pressed the veena to continue them discreetly.

He, too, had unspoken doubts about Manjima Yohan that could be explained simply with more information, as none of the questions he’d posed to Manjima himself had ever been thoroughly answered to his satisfaction. Shear simply needed the confidence to pursue it and his mentor had persuaded him further to continue them, but with more discretion.

When Shear mentioned his continued questioning of Manjima Yohan and who the man really was, his companion Kolli told him outright he was full of shit and bloodied his nose for continuing to be an asshole to ‘Manji’. For saying such rude things behind his friend’s back.

So Shear did not elaborate further, lest Manjima learn of his intentions.

Shear continued to wonder, from his on-high perches looking down at the group below. That for too long and realizing too late the distance that had grown between him and his partner, fueled by the veena’s insistence of confusion on what exactly Kolli had been laying at his feet. That whenever the rava would show up in his upset rages after having overheard Shear gossiping about and insulting Manjima Yohan, Kolli would not believe his word that he’d said no such things, was in no such places. He was a lonesome creature and it was his word vs Kolli’s.

How could Shear lie to Kolli’s face of all people about what the rava had clearly heard?

Sure, Shear figured he had spoken about Manjima within Kolli’s earshot, but they had been simple, tame questions. Much more careful, innocent in their phrasings and intent.

Not pure gossip.

And certainly not outright insults.

Moons into that man’s arrival, when Shear saw less and less of his favorite rava and learned Kolli and Manjima’s relationship had evolved into something more… private and physical, the blinding contemptuous hatred in Shear’s heart bloomed, ripping his chest asunder.

Blackened and barbed and furious.

And when he noticed as he stumbled away one of the times bloodied and beaten from Kolli’s enraged fists and his straying lover turned to his ‘friend’ for solace, ringed in supporters of his actions against Shear from the crew - his crew - Manjima would smile.

Shear knew he should have killed that lying little fuck the moment he’d sat down at their table for drinks at complete random. Should have snuffed out the smiling, consoling, whining, smug xaela bastard the very same moment he had laid eyes on Manjima fucking Yohan.

… But Shear hadn’t.

And Manjima Yohan cost him everything.

[burningpaths-ffxiv]

FFXIV WRITE 2021 // Prompt #17 Destruct

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger warning: this prompt includes depictions of graphic violence, murder, descriptions of gore, blood, and bodily injury.

Read at your own discretion.

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Trigger warning: this prompt includes depictions of graphic violence, murder, descriptions of gore, blood, and bodily injury.

Read at your own discretion.

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

In the aftermath of his losses, and the remaining members of his mentor’s crew loathing his very name, Shear was left alone.

Although he could swim for bells in his self loathing, and his self pity, Kalona’s memory gave him strength. Brought him mental solace to continue on, to feed himself. Get out of bed, work the store, obtain a contract, fulfill the mission, collect payment. On and on.

Wake.

Eat.

Work.

Kill.

Bathe.

Maybe read.

Sleep.

Repeat.

On occasion, he found bed partners to fill his void where he might otherwise read. Temporary companions that came in varying shapes roughly described as ‘large’, with middlesome egos too large for them to back it up and who often couldn’t perform up to par. Fleeting connections he rarely went back to unless they managed to scratch even the surface of his itch.

Which, to their credit, a few managed.

But they weren’t Kolli.

They would never be Kolli.

And that was a hole inside his chest he wasn’t sure would ever be full again.

Through the missions, and his pastimes, Shear also consumed a wide degree of substances. He grew bored of them quickly, never the promised the kind of highs the dealers would assure him he’d reach. It took a few moons for him to realize it was because they were empty promises of a fulfillment that could not be reached through them.

Not many come to that conclusion so quickly, and so Shear only used them for sleep, pain management, or to pass the time.

And never on a mission.

In the soft moonlight along the stone roofs of Ul’dah with his chin resting on one knee, Shear scratched behind one ear idly and gave a sniff of the air. The vendors were wrapping up their stalls to head home for the night, and one such stall was bundling his excess food in a box to pass out to the less fortunate to fight over. It was overcooked by that point, and wouldn’t last the night to sell in the morning. The merchant grumbled at its loss and on his way home, set the savory smelling box along the same crate he always did in the lane.

When he left, Shear observed the shadows rustling and snaking from their hidden positions to swarm the box, fighting each other over the meager scraps left behind.

He pitied them and took another bite of the apple in his hand, eyes drifting to a trio that had finished packing up their stand and were making their way across the city.

‘Time to get to work.’ The half-eaten apple was tossed aside on the roof as the viera stood to follow after.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Not even a bell after he’d eaten his apple he was throwing it up in a narrow alley, tucked near the back of the less populated corner of the city. Spitting and wiping his mouth with his remaining sleeve, Shear craned his head up with a scowl in time to receive a swift kick to his jaw. It sent him to the ground with a groan and the voices above him cackled merrily.

There was the distinct sound of palms clapping in a high five.

That annoyed him deeply.

His clothes were torn, his jacket on the ground behind him in tatters. One ear was bent at an awkward angle that would need a healer’s touch later. Blood splattered across his mouth and chin from a busted lip and a bloodied nose. A steadily trickling line of red matting vividly along his short-cropped blond bob. A scraped, unsleeved arm circled under his visibly bruised torso, his other arm with a cut along his forearm pushing his shaking frame up from the sand-covered brick.

His face turned up again, gathering the fluids in his mouth and he spat thickly. The bile, spit, and blood slapped one of his assailants along his bare chest where Shear had already caught it with a swipe of claws earlier. The highlander - the target of the spat wad - bristled and snarled down at him. Reaching to grab a handful of the remains of Shear’s tunic, the viera was lifted easily. The highlander’s fist found his cheek once, then twice more into his gut.

His form hung limp in the burly man’s grip, left barely lifted to his knees. Shear’s eyes watered and he coughed, gagging on the nothing left in his stomach to throw up. Stars danced across his vision and spittle slid down his chin. His head lolled and a hand swung from his side out to rake across the face of the lalafellan woman with intricate - albeit quite singed - clothes and hair standing to his right. She screamed loudly, falling while backing away from him, clutching at the newly opened bleeding lines across her face.

Shear was dropped abruptly so the highlander could rush to her aid. The elezen on the viera’s left lifted him up by his shirt and his broken ear, dangling in the new man’s grip. “You’s gonna regret that!” Sun-kissed skin of the elezen’s face swam in Shear’s vision, the smell of smoke coming strongly to his senses off his shirt where Shear had burned off half of it prior.

The viera offered the elezen a cocked, unfocused smile. His jaw moved, aching all the while, to reply, “Bet I won’t.” His leg swung up to catch the wildwood - who was not expecting the half unconscious viera in his hold to be able to move his limbs, let alone go for his balls - straight up between his legs. The man’s tanned face purpled and Shear was dropped again to the bricks underneath him as the elezen crumpled, clutching his groin with an agonized, echoing howl.

“JUST KILL HIM ALREADY!” The lalafellan woman shrieked and shoved at the highlander, whose hands hovered worriedly over her.

Shear rolled to his forearms, giving a grunt and turning his head towards where the elezen had dropped to hold his tenderized groin. Pushing his form forward to press his palm against the distressed elezen’s head. While the soft glow along his bare hands briefly illuminated brighter, the vague outline of his handprint lingered before fading against the elezen’s dome. Shear wheezed after it dimmed and fell over to his side.

The highlander, slapped away by the lalafell and shoved again in his direction, climbed back to his feet. Shear’s mismatched sunset eyes watched the sandaled feet come stomping over to him. Bodily lifted by his shirt which gave another distinct tear along his side at the motion, Shear was flung away into the far wall. He hit it flat with a wet exhale, falling back to the brick and coughing.

That was less good. He could taste copper thicker than before and wasn’t sure if that was coming from inside or the blood around his mouth.

“You fucked with the wrong people!” The highlander was storming back over and Shear weakly raised a hand. The man’s raised foot paused before stomping on the hand, making the viera yelp. “What’d you wanna say, huh? Gonna beg for your life?? Gonna try to apologize?”

The palm clutched the bottom of the sandal, that strange white light flickering faintly before fading. Another wet cough and Shear turned his head up to whisper something. Unable to hear him, the highlander bent down and leaned in. “Wassat now?”

“More like weak people.” The whisper came louder, thickly spoken. His free hand rose and snatched at the holster straps circling the highlander’s shoulders. Giving the holster a tug, his teeth clamped to the closest bit of bare skin he could reach. The highlander gave a surprised shout, jerking back and falling to his ass. At first trying to yank the viera by his clothes and hair before his fingers dug in around Shear’s mouth and jaw. The jaw forcibly released its hold and the highlander shoved him away into the brick wall.

Slumping slowly to his side, Shear laughed wetly, dissolving into a coughing fit after. The larger man stood up to his feet above him, checking the bleeding bite with raging confusion. “What’s with this crazy fuck?!” He swung a muscled leg into the viera’s stomach who rolled up with a grunt. The kicks kept coming, striking the balled up man whose bruised arms curled protectively over his head.

Panting heavily, the highlander gave one last kick before he looked to the lalafell. She was sitting up where she’d fallen back, holding a small pocket mirror. Dabbing the clawed marks across her face with a handkerchief, she noticed his questioning stare and snapped loudly, “Idiot! I already said! Do it! I need to get to a healer before these scar, and apparently Toelle is useless!”

With his co-body guard, presumably the aforementioned Toelle, still holding his balls and whining pathetically as he relearned how to breathe, the highlander puffed his chest and looked around for where he’d lost his sword in the earlier scuffle. Finding it a ways away where Shear had kicked it, the man strode away from Shear’s bundled form to retrieve it.

Shear, no longer the recipient of the highlander’s forceful kicking, gave another thick cough, spitting and grimacing at the thicker red present in his saliva. He was going to need a lot of recovery time after this contract. While the highlander fetched his sword and was returning, testing it’s edge with a thumb, Shear let his eyes drift shut to the throbbing in his body. His arm covered back over his eyes, his other palm covering his mouth and nose. His back adjusted in anticipation into the wall.

“Hah! You hide away in fear, as you should! Any last words?!” The highlander reached him, sword handle gripped in both hands, blade high above him but pointing down.

From the viera covering his face, he raised his voice to be able to call a sarcastic, “Goodbye?”

The highlander gave a snort. “Goodbye is right, you shiteball.” Before he could impale the viera on his sword, the bite on his shoulder throbbed and distracted him. Turning his head to look at it, the outline of the teeth marks glowed with that strange, vague light he’d seen flashing earlier. The claw marks across his chest were also glowing as he noted his shoulder, as were the ones he’d forgotten were stinging across the backs of his thighs.

“By the Sultana’s tits, what is this?” His head turned towards the equally confused voice. The lalafell was inspecting her glowing reflection in her hand mirror. The raked marks across her face were brightening in tandem with the marks across his own form. On the ground, Toelle’s head glowed vividly while the elezen groaned and shook it.

One of the hands holding the sword from his injured side went limp to his side, the highlander stumbling back as his legs shook. The foot he’d used to stomp on the viera’s hand earlier brimmed light. “What’s going on? What is this?!”

Behind him, the hand mirror dropped, clattering to the bricks as the woman’s hands hovered over her face with a wail. The elezen on the ground’s groaning was rising, an already pained moan growing louder.

“S-stop this and we’ll let you live! By Rhalgr I swear it!” The man in front of Shear dropped his sword to the ground and tried wiping at light coming from the bite and slashes across his chest. The eerie tingling glow much brighter and aching further. “Just stop! Stop it right now! Stop, stop-!” The pain peaked and he bellowed like an angry, pricked bull. Both fists clasped to raise above Shear, agony fueled rage filling his face. Surely if the viera was dead, this would stop! The cries from his companions behind him joined his bellowing as he swung down.

Shear’s form and the alley wall behind him was covered in a bursting splash of gore as the highlander’s chest was blown apart. One arm flung off further down the alley where the surging aether had torn it off. His legs spurt a fountain of blood as they were shorn at the thigh, one foot popping off the joint in pieces to roll away. The man gaped, not quite immediately dead with his heart missing and his brain desperately trying to send signals to his missing limbs. Dulling eyes fluttered as the body collapsed without its legs.

From behind him, the heads of the lalafellan woman and the elezen man still on the ground had also burst. Erupting bits of bone, brain matter, and blood in their surrounding and overlapping areas. The three sets of ghastly leftovers left the alleyway a grisly sight.

Shear lowered his arm off his face, the eyes he’d covered from the impending splash of fluid blinking open to peer at the destruction that lay twitching or oozing in front of him apathetically. Although he was used to the sight so it didn’t bother him to see it, the viera did not - as usual - envy whoever was going to be responsible for cleaning this up. His aching ribs pulsed as he pushed himself up, clutching at them while sitting up in the vain attempt to hold them still as if that would ease their pain.

At least the highlander hadn’t broken his legs before he’d died.

It was a slow process but the viera pushed himself to his feet, using the wall behind him with assistance from an empty nearby crate splattered in blood and organs. He still needed to get to the sewers below the city, looking like he was, but first…

The palm braced on the wall he was still leaning against glowed again, a sharper and immediate light this time. Ambient aether pulled from the area, searing his signature oversized palm print into the wall above the remains of the highlander. His mark completed and his mission accomplished, he stumbled from the scene dizzily towards where his jacket lay in tattered ruins.

The destroyed garment was picked up out of the edge of the pool that’d trickled from the hunkered elezen corpse. He rolled the material up in his hands before he moved toward the mouth of the alley. He’d stashed his bag safely prior to the initial fight, and the smooth leather was a grateful sight.

The bag, at least, had managed to avoid being ripped up during the scuffle, as well avoided the covering of gore painted over the inner length of the alley and Shear himself. It wouldn’t last long, not with the viera stuffing the slightly bundled, ruined jacket inside it. Looping the strap of the bag over his shoulder and letting it bounce behind him, Shear moved on.

Maybe he should just start poisoning his marks while they slept. It seemed like a better, less bodily injuring, method of dispatching them.

Kalona’s voice rang in his head at the thought as his bloodied form moved gradually down the alleyway, peering into the unoccupied street and spying his previously planned exit: a dusty manhole covering. The ladder that’d slip him down into the sewer system coming into view below after he moved the metal off it’s braces.

“Poison is a coward’s tool of killing, Shear, and I did not raise cowards.”

“Yeah well, you’re dead, so you technically are absolved of raising anything…” Shear muttered the bitter reply to himself at the phantom thought as he crawled down the ladder. Tugging the cover back over his head before making his way under the city with the help of a tiny, flickering white flame held lit and cupped in his palm. Following the memorized series of layered stone and brick tunnels at a slow pace with the occasional squeaking rat scurrying from his presence and the bright light. Steadily moving towards where they would eventually dump out further into Thanalan proper.

He’d find something with water, clean himself off there, change into the clothes still tucked safely in his bag, then worry about finding a healer who wouldn’t ask any questions about the rest of his state.

Shear snuffed the flame in his palm with a relieved sigh when he reached the end of the winding tunnel, the mouth of his exit covered with a loosely bolted grate that was moved aside easily when the left side’s bolts were unscrewed. The bright stars and moon above him illuminated the rest of his escape as his ribs gave a twinge at the effort of crawling through the opening he’d opened for himself.

An annoying reminder of the beating he’d endured. Why couldn’t people just accept their impending deaths with grace?

“Ugh…” The viera screwed the loose bolts back into place before he disappeared past the end of the tunnel and into the night, still clutching his throbbing ribs.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Back in the city, a man too drunk to stand or see clearly stumbled on the bloody, gruesome scene left behind a bit after the remains had already begun to cool. When he’d stepped into the alley to piss, he’d been unable immediately to identify the forms as more than some potentially other drunk figures.

He’d gotten close to the headless and blown-apart bodies before his blurred vision had focused and he began bellowing in terror.

After falling back into the puddle of gore he had otherwise yet to realize was blood under his feet until he was sitting in it, slurring loudly, his hollering was somewhere between wordless guttural horror and for the city’s guards.

While pissing his pants, he scrambled back out of the alley and sprinted down the empty streets, waving his arms wildly.

The guards he’d find would first detain the raving man, question him thoroughly, and then investigate the mangled remains at the scene with mouths pulled taut.

What monster could have been capable of these acts?

Elsewhere, Shear gargled river water to rinse his mouth out and complained to the local toad population that they smelled terrible but were awfully cute.

What a monster, indeed.