carrera-ffxiv

[carrera-ffxiv]

The Bitter Taste

The sound of the chronometer grated in her ears. She meticulously scoured through each letter, each number, each symbol, each nonsensical scribbling along the margin of myriad tomes and grimoires; yet her efforts yielded nothing. Tick-tock, tick-t-

A shattering reverb, the exploding glass sounded, mixed in with grating teeth cracking at the sheer pressure. Steel and metal bits dislodged itself from the clock along the wall.

Well, there goes the rest of her bottle.

Her rage had consumed what little patience she had left.

She thought she’d have time for it all, time to enjoy anything and everything. Her hubris had given her the luxury of a dream though she’d been stuck in a nightmare. She should have been grateful for what she had. Always, she wanted more-- always a little more, a little more, just a little more until her avarice could take none. Immortality; she’d joke about it-- that it was the ultimate goal of her research and that she’d share such a treasure with others should she uncover the secret to it.

The unfortunate truth was that her research expedition into Tural had garnered her little. The prospect of Alexandrian technology and the recycling of souls were such a promising lead… yet in the end only false hope lied in the end of an empty bottle. Her condition was not compatible with such technology.

She heard the quiet chittering in the back of her mind grow into a cacophony. The void chewing into the cords of her mind, growing into a chorus of masticated neurons and torn sinew. Such a fool to continue enjoying life as she had but what choice was there? Was she to lament the end of her life and make everything miserable and hopeless for those few around her? Or was she to continue her grandiose project in hopes to usher in a new era for herself and those few comrades?

She was never going to be satisfied with simply living. She needed more: more time. How else would she unravel all the secrets of the world, all the spells, all the potential of her Mhachian blood? She was destined to be the last and greatest Mage of the Black in her bloodline and all bloodlines, after all. Carrera glared at the blackened veins and ichor running through her arm, into her hand. What she wrought in Bleakpoint-- uncovering the artifact, unearthing Creature, sundering and taking its body for more power. It was all a foolish quest. She was corrupted from the core, out and now it consumed her extremities. She could no longer maintain a glamour to cover the ugliness she had wrought.

She did all she could through many moons to slow the infection. For what little it was worth, at least the infection did well enough to stay the frayed shards of her mind from fraying even further. It gave her some semblance of coherence and peace, a reprieve from the bloodlust she lived and drowned in. The compulsions of a shattered mind slowly subsiding and giving her a semblance of peace. Her cousin’s subtle glances always gave Carrera the impression that she knew something was different about her- more stable in the latter months. Or maybe it was the familiarity of the creature inside of Vahalia whose body Carrera had taken into herself. It didn’t matter who absorbed what or where, now they were both sentenced to corruption of both body and soul. Mayhap she would fare better.

It was meant to be a gift; this was planned while she was still twisted in the mind. In retrospect she had cursed everyone whom she’d have ever come to care about. She had promised Laphiline a courtship and a lofty future which she knew she could provide- should she survive. It was clear now, she wasn’t going to. She hated lying. Still, it was time to wrap up everything. She knew now without any doubt that she wouldn’t survive much longer and every avenue has brought her to a dead end; Even her desperate study into necromancy.

“I hope you understand, sweet Laphi…” she’d grip at the page her hand rested on, tearing from a priceless tome whose secrets would now be lost to eternity. She tore, and tore, and tore as tears streamed down her face. What good was it all if there were no answers?

After the tantrum subsided she’d slump in her chair. 

She would need to make plans in the coming days before she withdrew into nothingness. She’d use the guise of caring for her sick mother to escape into the night. She’d prepare administration and correspondence to leave her assets in her cousin’s care. Her businesses, arms contracts, even a glowing recommendation to the Ambassador of Doma to Hingashi to help with her contacts and business. Not that she would have had trouble with convincing the man to help, mayhap it was simply a goodbye to an old friend too. One of the last she had left.

Among all others, there was one she would have cheated the most.

“Gwendolyn…” she squeaked out. Even to say her name broke her heart. Still, at least she knew this was a possibility. She had never lied to her lover and maybe with her ministrations and help with prepared medication they could eke out a meager existence. At least a few more weeks, maybe moons, away in peace-- away from anything and everything. From everyone.

All the while she’d devolve into a monster. An abomination reminiscent of void and seething with corrupt power from the abyss retaining the knowledge of Mhach. In private, mayhap, she could descend into madness with some measure of dignity. At least, she knew when the time came that Wendy would end it. She wouldn’t let her linger long enough to cause misery to those around her. She wouldn’t allow her to wallow in anguish long enough to hate her continued existence. Still, it was too much to ask of someone she loved and still further, too much for one to bear. 

But she had no one else to ask for such a sacrifice. Were she a better woman, she never would have asked this of her-- but her avarice would win out as it always did. She always had to have her way to the end, after all.

At least in her arms there would be a sweet end no matter the pain. No matter how bitter the tears tasted to the end.

[carrera-ffxiv]

⸸ Equilibrium ⸸

There was no pain, only peace and comfort as Vahalia cracked open her eyes as if she had been asleep for eons, the vision of soft greens and blues blurred, and the darkness she had felt herself slipping in and out of had come to a close. 

She was weightless within a sea of tranquility, as bare as she had been fresh from the womb and comforted by a familiar presence. An energy she had harbored within her throughout her entire life – this was a balm. Bountiful reserves of aether. Freeing. Impenetrable from the darkness she had laid within. 

‘Where….am I?'

'Have you a dream to finally share?’

Vahalia felt herself turn amidst the float, feather-like and ethereal, golden eyes searching beyond the strings of green aether and the healing sensation of unseen waves. She knew that voice.

‘Am I dreaming?’

‘Are you?’ Vahalia felt a warm embrace from behind and the voice found the shell of her ear past floating locks.

‘I must be. I cannot remember the last time I did.’ she lifted her hand to place along the center of her chest beneath her clavicle, her necklace was gone and while she might have felt a pang of frantic disposition roil within her over missing such a piece of her attire….she still felt eerily calm.

A deep breath. And then again.

She was without pain.

The last thing she could remember was a series of foggy blips from the pier, the screams and cries from those within attendance.

'I know you.’ Vahalia spoke again, trying to turn and catch a glimpse of the person behind her but there was nothing but empty space and the tendrils of serene greens upon its course.

‘I would dare say you do.’ the voice laughed, ‘We shared a womb.’

Vahalia knew it the moment she heard the voice, but the reality of dreaming was that there was always a time to wake up. Valeria was simply a figment now, even in her subconscious and unconscious mind. The hand along her collarbone curled, trying to feel for the flesh and bone beyond herself, the hands and arm of her sister she felt embrace her but lacked any tangible form.

‘Am I dead?’

The voice laughed again, ‘No.’ the response came to her ear and the embrace grew tighter, ‘Not yet, you have unfinished business sister. You’ve always had unfinished business.’

‘It’s finished now. I remember it.’

‘No.’ Valeria’s voice hummed gently, ‘You have much more to do yet and then some.’

‘So what happens now? I wake and find you gone again?’

‘Yes. Our paths have briefly converged but must depart once again. This place is not your calling. Not yet.’

The pain returned briefly and Vahalia’s nails clutched deeply at her flesh, briefly, she felt the sensation, the sting but as quickly as it had come, it left again, ‘You’re asking me to go back without you?’

‘You don’t have a choice.’ Valeria hummed.

There as a singular passenger through the corporeality of shifting tides, Vahalia lowered her head and closed her eyes and Valeria’s voice continued a familiar tune as the embrace remained and a gentle sway was afforded to her torso.

Comfort. Peace. Tranquility.

‘I want to stay with you.’

There was no answer as Valeria’s humming continued and once the heaviness of Vahalia’s eyes took hold, there was that intimate sensation of the darkness closing in once more and time had passed in what felt like a blink of an eye.

A sharp pain caused Vahalia to stir and when she opened her eyes again it was the ceiling of the cabin within The Red Queen’s captain quarters that she focused on. Gone were the soft swishes of aether that drifted by. The freeing furor of the currents and the peaceful humming of Valeria had lulled her and instead was the heaviness and searing pain that felt like it had been crushing her lungs.

“Volricc!” she bellowed and jolted up despite her injury and she was met with a gentle hand at her shoulder. The brunette woman came into view and Vahalia eased back once more.

“You must rest.” Kaevia hushed her, “I do not condone what you and yours have done but first and foremost I am a healer. Let me work.”

While her body felt like a bag of rocks, tired and worn, she willed her hand to move along the center of her stomach with great pain, “And the baby?”

“Alive and lucky,” Kaevia confirmed, her hands moving in a slow hover over Vahalia’s wound that had been cleaned, sewn, and had now begun to heal thanks to Kaevia’s skillset. The green glow of her magicks illuminated Kaevia’s face and Vahalia watched as her brow knit, how she focused so stalwartly on her task.

Vahalia swallowed dryly, “Thank you.”

Kaevia simply paused and exchanged a small glance with Vahalia, a silence lingering between them briefly, “I should be the one thanking you. You’ve granted me my freedom. While the Whitlock’s have never abused me, my reach in being able to practice as I wished was terribly limited.”

A ghost of a smirk, a sharp exhale through her nose and Vahalia closed her eyes, amused. While Kaevia worked and Vahalia tried to swallow down the lingering pain and discomfort, the Matriarch still ached to reach the place and peace she had been absorbed into before reality found her.

She knew that energy could not be destroyed, it simply changed from one form to another.

[carrera-ffxiv]

So this was the dock the Whitlock's had seen all their ships off from….

Vahalia looked over the planks and rows of chairs that had been set along the end of the dock and the various people that sat within each seat, all holding blood ties to the Whitlock name, the very family she was about to marry into. Foes to friends – how strange a table to turn when one hadn’t expected it; but was such a commitment and idea as unpredictable as it looked from the outside looking in?

The sheer drapes of white billowed along the current of the wind fresh off the waves that gently rolled in along the wooden braces. The fragrance of pearl and cream lilies carried along the breeze, tickling at her senses even though she stood far from the audience present to witness the ceremony, and beside her stood the ever-vigilant Castien.

Not far off from the Priestess Vahalia had recently been introduced to was Kalem, engaged in light conversation with all those in attendance, even from this distance she caught the dagger-sharp stare that Abel bore in his brother's direction, undoubtedly an insurmountable amount of malice lingered in the space.

“That one…” Vahalia casually motioned her chin towards Kaevia, the Priestess, as she spoke in a low tone to Castien beside her, “ – keep her safe.” she intoned and without needing to look, Vahalia could already feel the woman beside her nod and shift before stepping away from her station.

The small storehouse beside the dock was well-lit, and decorated with a variety of well-wishes and celebratory quotes for the newlyweds-to-be. A tradition that those within the Whitlock House had practiced, a small token of good favor Vahalia was keen to adopt. But no decoration came close to the majesty of a ship that rested in the waters beyond, anchored and awaiting its familiar home; eager to await the couple's arrival to which they’d sail upon their honeymoon.

It was tradition to christen a new ship, these docks belonging to the family had seen many ships cast off from their shores though it had only been Ophelia’s ships that had never returned to their rightful place.

Two of which had seen ruin, been commandeered and dismantled for profit, fashioned into something more fruitful for all those who held connections to Vahalia. The Red Queen however stood apart, one of three Vahalia had considered to keep, to salvage and put to use. The very same ship she was reluctantly presenting to Kalem on their day of union. An action made in good faith– she had been making plenty of those lately.

Was she turning over a new leaf?

Slowly, light golden eyes came to close as Vahalia prepared herself, steeled what nerves she had and which already were sound with armor. This new year was to bring peace to her heart. A yearning, a desperate need to fulfill her promise and to embark beyond the grief she held since Valeria’s passing.

Pursing her lips she walked toward the altar, the elegant flow of white satin and lace trailing in her wake, a cascading bouquet of yellow and cream-colored daisies and lilies flowing from her hands as she had placed herself before the Priestess of the Whitlock House, opposite Kalem.

There were whispers and murmurs, smiles in all manner of fashion. However, the tension from Abel was nearly palpable and though Vahalia had not looked in his direction, she could sense the animosity upon which she often thrived. The unknown, the chaos, the venom that was practically her lifeblood.

Currents of soft gold found pools of green as Vahalia stared up to Kalem and the Priestess began, “Today we are gathered here, in the spirit of the Twelve, to pay witness to this ceremony of matrimony between two hearts. Between two families seeking to walk into the new light hand in hand. To build a better union and a better name upon their joining. Let all those in attendance today bear witness to the joining of Lord Whitlock and Lady Cress, to wish them well on their coming journey and to usher them along their path into the bosom of peace, prosperity, light, and love.”

Still among the masses of 20-something-odd people, Vahalia could not find Kalem’s other brother, the youngest of the Whitlock sons, Volricc.

Perhaps all that had been offered was not enough to draw him from whatever depths he had himself holed away in. Kaevia’s voice continued as she offered a small prayer and chant and those in attendance bowed their heads to give their silent wishes.

The wreath of flowers the Priestess held was lifted and while the ribbons of it caught the breeze, the pale hand of the Seer lowered it to hover and eventually circle it above the chalice she held within her grasp.

An old prayer though one Vahalia had come to recognize as a blessing of prosperity and fortune.

The absence of Volricc hadn’t done much to Hakan’s own mood, he was nigh unflappable, but the words of the priestess, Kaevia,  had a scowl tugging at his face. They were too flowery by far, and even from where he perched, obscured, on one of the towers overlooking the docks he could hear courtesy of listening devices that had been planted far in advance. But however much he may’ve wanted to twist them, it was not his play to conduct, only observe until the last brother revealed himself.

He wasn’t worried, no, capable, of thinking Volricc wouldn’t attend. Not when the bait they set, the chance for reclamation and retribution, was presented so prettily with a bow and a dress, flowers; in Vahalia herself. Were Volricc even an ounce of the man evidence coloured him to be, the idea or fact that it was all a trap still wouldn’t be enough for him to steer clear. 

So, he was left to wait. To play with the virtue of patience even as they were readying to enact sins born of wrath and pride. There was no chance to be surprised, not fully, not when the Shikari waited in the clouds with only its grey painted hull ‘showing,’ not with the town beyond the dock occupied with just as many contractors as common folk keeping aware of strange faces. 

“S’a a pity,” he rasped into the linkpearl, “that you’re not more keen on hurting dear Kalem. You in that dress, the color you hate, it spawns cruel ideas.”

Vahalia smiled, watching as Kalem spoke but it was only another voice she heard in her ear. Cruel ideas indeed, though she knew Hakan to be passively impatient.

“And now you.” Kaevia motioned a hand towards Vahalia. Vahalia had been entirely devoid and absent as Kalem spoke, professing his admiration, words that had been a buzz in her ears as if her soul had been elsewhere wholly. 

Otherworldly.

She was expected to open up and share some lovely, sappy slew of words she had for Kalem, a vow he could keep in his pocket and fall back on were he ever to find the need to remind her of her devotion.

A venomous gaze shifted between them and he took up her hand from beyond the stems of the bouquet and when he turned her hand over to pat her palm, the well-suited Lord paused. Crimson bled into her sleeve and a breath left Kalem, his fingers reflexed away from the blood that pooled and dripped from her palm, “Halia…” he whispered and stepped into her with concern.

“I always hated you calling me that,” she seethed in a sharp tipped whisper. As swiftly as Kalem tried to reply, her bloodied hand shot to the front of the bell that hung from her throat, a dull knell loosed as she felt the thrum of the piece pulse against bleeding palm, the bouquet in hand dropping between them, her now free hand shooting in the other direction. The gasps of the crowd cried out and there was a shrill scream that gave way to chaos just beginning to unfold.

A dagger point protruded from Kalem’s socket, the hilt snug as far as it could potentially be bared up along the underside of his chin and throat. And there at the altar Kalem’s hands reached for Vahalia’s shoulders, the gurgle and spittle of vital poured out from maw and wound, the cause of the uproar. Chairs scraped along the dock, the Priestess barely gasping before she was plucked from her station at the altar from behind. A flurry of pale robes, blonde hair, and limbs frantically trying to shove off the assailant behind her.

Hakan furrowed his brow, blinked, before focusing his attention on the stage Vahalia had built. “Hnn, not how I saw this going,” he voiced the thought as it came. He supposed now was when the rifles in the other tower, the floors beneath, and those that had been acting as the customary guard for a noble's wedding would begin to bark. And they did, the cacophony of screaming joined by the cracks and snaps of discharging firearms.

He watched the struggle of the priestess, arms and legs kicking, and the frown that had been tugging at his mouth became a slight curve in the opposite direction. 

“You couldn't have waited till the bedding? Seeing his wife stripped and taken might've twisted the knife worse before you really did it.” His focus narrowed onto Halia as she handled the blade, unable to see the results but knowing it wasn't quite fatal. Death would've been swift, the body collapsing like a sack, otherwise.

Once more Hakan’s voice came through the pearl, though Vahalia was far too focused on the rite she had been extracting upon the eldest brother. Her hand jerked away with a sickening crunch and ripping of bone and sinew as she ripped the blade free from Kalem’s face.

It was the barrage of bullets snapping through the air that brought her back to her senses, the whirling and buzzing of the clamor that had been happening where ceremony goers dove behind what little of their chairs they could. Abel was already closing the distance between him and Vahalia while Kalem spun around clutching his ruined face on the floor in agony.

Step by step everything had been calculated, Vahalia certainly expecting Abel to perish within the crossfire. Perhaps all his ill luck gambling had made him lucky today. The blast of a round crashed over the curve of a glittering shield she conjured, knowing full well that there would have been some fighting and disgruntlement at hand once things played out.

She would have to adapt and fast, “What a strange joy that would have been,” she finally spoke as her eyes bore toward Abel as he fought against the shield. He hadn’t even seen it conjured yet all the same it remained as Vahalia held her hand upward showing no real struggle to maintain it. Dark magic wove and slithered along the floor below the virgin white hem of her dress, pooling out as her marred hand dripped blood – seemingly unbothered by the normal sacrifice it took to summon Creature at whim.

Kalem moaned in agony, writhing around the floor – impotent for the time being.

“I knew this shit was a setup from the beginning. Kalem wouldn’t listen!” shouted his brother.

“Most don’t heed advice from whoring middle sons with compulsive gambling issues. It's truly a shame that your one bit of solid advice really should have been heeded. Silly boy. The silly boy who cries wolf.” Vahalia purred and already she had been losing herself to the dark gift.

Eyes of glinting gold bled black and the rasp of Creature’s voice protested his cage, a harrowing howl that echoed over the venue and winds until finally, he had loosed. Tendrils whipped wildly up along Abel’s legs and arms as he fought and slashed against something still yet unknown. Restrained and coiled Abel continued to writhe and worm along the grip Creature’s shadow happened to manifest.

“You’ve run out of time, Witch! Volricc knows of the ceremony and makes his way now! You’ll have to kill us to be rid of us and there isn’t anything you and your pet or plots can do that would have us come willingly.” Abel spat and the firearm in his hand had eventually been wrestled from his grip, already he was struggling to breathe.

Vahalia’s attention finally cut from Abel as she looked towards the chairs. Those who had tried to flee or make it to the water’s edge or under the dock itself had already been cut down at the pass, small fires started to catch along the old, dried wood of the dock’s flooring that found wooden chairs alike, “I don’t recall saying anything about taking you alive.” she hummed and calmly her attention found Abel once more, “I wonder how well my accomplice can end you with one bullet from his range. Care to make a wager for your life?”

“Held up as the fool is, I'd say easily enough,” Hakan replied. He’d taken a seat along the tower floor, comfortably braced against the rail with one leg dangling off the edge. “What makes you think I've a rifle with me, though?”

 It was a hypothetical of course. Despite being more an observant to the scene playing out below, it wouldn't do being unprepared. Not when they were expecting the prodigal brother, the one responsible for the current bloodletting happening far below. 

The discharge of firearms began to take on a slower cadence before petering out near completely as mercenaries and retainers began moving amidst the bodies with blades.

Hakan looked away from Vahalia and her prey, hawk-like eyes surveying the carnage, the killers reaping the field and finishing off those that tried to escape to the waters edge or the building fire. To drown, to burn, or to die quick. It was hardly an option to him. 

“Seeing your betrothed still alive, I might've suggested it still but…mnn, the shock wouldn't be there to enjoy. Perhaps if Volricc takes his time, we might place Kalem on the prow of his sister's ship to get him.”

All sound ideas, and the twelve knew there were plenty to consider, none of which might have had the impact Vahalia had wanted. Perhaps nothing would have truly been enough after what they had done. She came for blood though Hakan certainly had other ideas to emotionally torture the Whitlocks before they met their end.

Kalem was silent along the floor, passed out perhaps by the sheer loss of blood and shock to his system. Abel remained restrained, and even then, plucking him off the face of the Star while he was incapacitated wouldn’t have been as enjoyable as she might have thought.

Lowering her hand, Vahalia’s crest fizzled away, the electric charge of the arcane sizzling through the space between her and Abel. Castien had played her part well, no sign of her nor the Priestess remained, and soon the Red Queen would act as the rendezvous point.

It was silly to assume one would hand over such a vessel and in Vahalia’s eyes, she had earned it. It belonged to her and her alone. A token. A...trophy.

The serpent-like glide of Vahalia’s dress slipped its way down the two steps to reach Abel until there was nothing to separate them. She grasped his chin roughly within her clutch, “Not one for making smart decisions are you Abel? I give you this chance here and now – where is Volricc?”

There was silence.

Lifting her finger towards her ear, Vahalia’s eyes drifted to the Red Queen off in the distance, “Return for the two brothers. Prepare their voyage to Black Water.” a voice returned the command, voice a mere muffle at Vahalia’s ear and Abel’s brow knit as he watched the woman before him.

“Once more, where is Volricc, Abel?”

Silence continued though Abel’s lips twitched and with velocity, he spat towards the woman. Hardly phased though seemingly amused, Vahalia wiped away the spittle from under her eye with the side of her thumb. She took several steps back and loosed a small laugh to Abel’s surprise.

A scent on the breeze coupled with the metallic tang of blood lingered at the back of Vahalia’s throat and she paused, expression shifting. The familiar rake ran swiftly along the back of her darkened eyes, turning on her heel to confront the stranger– she barely had a sliver of a moment to harken Creature forth, salt burning at her nose before the steel object implanted itself into her chest, her feet slipping from under her as if the rug itself moved.  In a vicious lick of pain she felt herself brought up hard along something behind her, her body searing with agony, entire form pinned to one of the braces behind her that was left of the dock.

“I’m right here.” the monotone voice spoke and Volricc stepped into better view.  Had Vahalia a moment to register she would have easily taken note of his leather-clad garb, long straight hair, singular patch worn over his eye, the prominent chin and hooked nose.

A large man and much like his brother’s on all accounts.

Her hand twitched, her mind abuzz as both manus lifted and digits curled over the shaft– the very steel pole that impaled her to the wooden slab behind her.

Volricc was here, within reach!

Never before had she felt the blaze of a sun outside of Hakan’s touch but now it roiled within her stomach despite vital pulsing from the wound she had now suffered. Lifeblood trickling from her lips she sneered, gritted teeth already coated in the coppery substance.

‘Creature.’ even within her mind her voice was weak, and even as she beckoned him, she felt the warmth drain from her fingers, the taxing ability to keep sound of mind. 

Awake. Alive.

‘𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔪𝔟 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔢𝔱.’

Roughly her trembling hands held firm to the piece within her, knowing full well she would bleed out if she removed it. Even adjusting upon the spear caused her to cry out in pain as Volricc began his swift pace towards his mark, both Whitlock brothers remaining as they had been before Volricc’s arrival.

Hakan was not prone to panic, to freeze at the unexpected nor shouting in rage. Those things had been trained out of him if they had ever been part of him. But even still, he couldn't help but acknowledge a certain…disconnect, as saw Vahalia suddenly impaled, the appearance of someone that by all means shouldn't have been able to get so close, nevermind get on the island, without notice.

This was twice now, that an assailant had bypassed all the measures and security put in place by him and other experts. Perhaps, the simplest and most plausible explanation, was that there had never been a hired assassin; that it was always Volricc himself. 

These were things he thought from afar even as his body moved, rifle rising and voice echoing orders into the open channel for the mercenaries to converge on Vahalia. Volricc wasn't moving far, wasn't changing his path; firing at him was as simple as breathing, an act he distantly knew he was capable of and doing– though not at that exact moment. You were only supposed to exhale before the shot.

As the bullet moved faster than his eyes could track, he wondered if he should be feeling something. That was Vahalia bleeding out, dying, his daughter; His. Yet he could only watch, a passenger, as something else held the reins and acted while wood began to smolder and warp around him, smoke rising skyward. 

The pearl wedged into ear carried voices Vahalia had not been all too familiar with, the space around her felt tight and restricted – the bullet she hadn’t banked on hit its mark and Volricc toppled from the impact which offered just enough time for her to act.

Moments, seconds…

He was right there!

While trembling she pulled herself along the rod piercing through her, enough to try for the end and the chitter of a voice came along her ear as once a pristine and vibrant dress had now been soaked, dyed, recolored and painted of her own organic ancestry.

‘𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱.’

'But you still can.’

‘𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔬𝔴.’

‘I made a promise.’

‘𝔜𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫. 𝔘𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔳𝔢.’

A bloodied hand reached for the bell at her throat and once more she silently called upon the divine shadow that rested within, the thick cloud of darkness that always followed, reaching to pluck and summon that part of her from her very soul.

Volricc found his feet once more, hand pressed to his throat swift glances between Vahalia, his brothers, and where the shot had come from, the voices in the distance – it was fight or flight.

There was no possible outcome where he could win and so he spun to flee into the streets not too far off. The moment he bolted Vahalia finally freed herself from her steel trap and fell forward, the traces of an otherworldly being ripping from her person, an eerie groan and wail of voices filling her ears – shrill cries, a cacophony of agony and grief tore through into the open. And there was Creature before her right when she connected with the ground on her knees as if gravity had finally plucked him from his cage.

“Find him.” Vahalia spoke aloud and labored as her hands pressed to the wound at her chest that kept hemorrhaging her vital. 

A lick of hesitancy came from the large Creature that loomed over her and a small touch barely grazed the back of the Voidsent’s leg, “Feed.” Vahalia commanded once more in barely a whisper that sent Creature after his prey on all fours, closing the gap between him and where Volricc had run off. Volricc had already been bleeding, which was evidently more than enough for Creature to hunt.

The vision of Creature before Vahalia blurred as she felt her eyes blink several times fighting that urge and almost involuntary need to sleep. The clamor of boots along what remained of the dock around her was all she heard before everything started to dapple into darkness, the sight of a smoke-ridden figure with burning coals for eyes moving toward her was the last she saw before succumbing to a pitch so black.

Collab w/ @belgravexiv

[carrera-ffxiv]

⸸ Bereaved ⸸

[ ♫ ]

She felt the sting of the cold on her cheeks. Had she not been numb internally, she surely would have felt the bite of the cold in Ishgard coursing through her veins. A small blessing perhaps had she not of denounced the possibility entirely due to the circumstances.

Vahalia looked worn, tired, and at the edge of emotional collapse though in public she held herself together quite well.

The last two days leading up to this very moment was both a blur and equally seared into her memory. Time ilmed slowly and painfully and for what was a familiar comfort, was now lost to her. Creature sat silently without stirring behind her eyes and the only murmurs and voices that collected at her ears were the sounds of the Priestess speaking.

All she knew were gathered within the garden of the Cress estate – in name only, the home which had been a place she grew up was merely stone walls encasing pain and torment for as long as she walked them.

It was as if a curse was designed to take every Cress woman there was. First Odessa, now Valeria. She had known there were ramifications coupled with the title and territory her family held but she had not imagined this. The very actions that had lead her to Tural and to Ophelia, eventually led her to the death of her kin.

Not just any kin, her twin. A shared womb, a shared pain through childhood. 

Valeria had not deserved this and in truth, Vahalia knew it should have been her laying on the slab wrapped in fine linen.

Already the vibrant and jubilant smile of Valeria’s was fading. Marred, scathed, and threatening to distort itself from her reality. Curse the lifestream for not allowing her a proper haunting…

At least then, a piece of Valeria would have remained beyond just a simple husk.

Tenderly Vahalia’s hand dipped into the pocket of her jacket searching for the loose necklace her sister often wore. The sharp edges of the filigree pricked at her fingers. She needed something; anything that was a connection to her splintered soul. Then again, small tokens would have never been enough to fill the void that expanded inside of her.

Carrera stood close to Wendy, Osric stood stalwart with his head slightly bowed, Vahalia could tell he was mourning in silence as the Priestess continued the rite of Valeria’s passing. Chione and Penelope held one another and even throughout the ceremony, Vahalia could feel her cousin’s concerned eyes set upon her. Aunt Adelle remained beside her Daughter – the Houses of Blackheart, Eirwen, Cress and all those who knew Valeria had been there to say their goodbyes.

A dark show of the loss of life rather than celebrating it. Alas, it was the way of their ancestors. To bless those who passed into the lifestream only to hope one would flourish anew in another life, another energy; were there evidence of it being possible. It was a pleasant thought, a good one had Vahalia been one to cling to happy endings and comforting stories.

Her heart ached again. The squeezing sensation deep within her ribcage she had not been able to shake. A tormenting grip that could not relent no matter how much she willed it. She wanted revenge, anything to quell the annoying swell within her chest, though it was easily masked by the waves of pain she had been feeling internally.

Annette and Marion wept as the younger woman held her elder and tried to console her co-worker. Bruce remained near, Hyaka vigilant. Once more Vahalia’s eyes roved over the crowd. Close friends of theirs and some unfamiliar faces she saw amongst the bodies, which she only knew by name, were people Valeria had worked with within the city.

Hakan, Cordelia, and Ricard were absent, though she knew the reasons that likely kept them at bay. Either it was time and distance, the lack of receiving the missives in time, or simply the feeling of how it might have looked how they have shown. It was no secret that Valeria and Cordelia had their differences but they were blood. Ricard having once been betrothed to the deceased Cress and furthermore, the lacking presence of Damien whom she had not seen in what felt like eons.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Rites were simply a way of processing into the afterlife and not a necessity.

When the Priestess ceased her words, her fingers dipped into the golden bowl she held as a mixture of wine and blood was flicked over linen. She chanted in a low tongue, words offering prayer with each flick and the dapple of vibrant red seeping into the crisp white fabric that had covered and wrapped Valeria’s face.

Below, she was unmarred, safe, unmarked by pain or the remnants of how Vahalia had found her. In the final verse, the Priestess drew her thumb along the center of Valeria’s forehead and a kiss was offered forth with meaning as the Priestess’s lips touched down on the linen of the deceased’s crown.

When done, flowers, woven circlets, and trinkets were placed at the side of Valeria’s body, each person taking their time with final goodbyes and leaving tokens of adoration for her to take with her to her final rest. Envelopes of letters were left behind – words that would never be read and the now vibrant wreaths of winter jasmine and rose hips would eventually wither and die. These are tokens that were cherished now but would be long forgotten in the months and years to come.

How solemn and lonely the afterlife seemed, swathed in darkness. If only Valeria could see how much she was loved.

Vahalia’s hand gripped the necklace in her pocket tightly, willing herself to step forward and place the heirloom where it rightfully belonged but her feet would not move. Rooted in place, unable to part with the only thing she had left of her sister.

She could not. She would not.

She wasn’t sure how long she had stood in the garden long after people gave their offerings and filed out. Some family members offered Vahalia their condolences and love in the form of hugs and reaching for her hand in passing – all of which had sparked little to no response from Vahalia herself.

Vahalia was not herself, she was no longer feeling whole as part of her had been bitten off and passed align with Valeria into her eternal rest.

Her feet felt heavy like she had been unable to move, feeling as if though she wasn’t sure where to go there after. A small fear of wanting to leave and forgetting everything that transpired, as if her mind and memory would remain in this very spot if she moved.

When Bruce stepped forward, the two being the only ones remaining in the garden, Vahalia barely registered his hand that rested on her mantle until he spoke, “Lady Cress, You must head inside. Forgive me for being so bold to ask but where would you like me to place her? By your mother?”

She knew he meant the family mausoleum buried beneath their very feet. The lined stone walls with stone coffins of their ancestors and family that had passed previously.

No.

She could not leave Valeria here, a place in which had been her demise.

For what felt like the first time all afternoon, Vahalia blinked, her eyes stung with warmth, “No. Prepare her transport for Black Water Bay. See to it that the coffins of Baron, Charlotte and Odessa are on the journey as well.”

“Ma’am?” her question in a low tone, curiously.

“There is nothing left to come back to here. If I am to build anew, they will accompany me on that path in life and I will keep them close.” she finally stepped forward, her hand reaching out for Valeria’s feet where her fingertips delicately felt at the cold fabric.

This wasn’t her.

All of this was beautiful but she knew deep down, Valeria was long gone and she had no other choice but to accept the passing for what it was. Perhaps in another time, another life, another bud of energy, the two would be together again.

For now – they both would have to walk their separate paths alone.

[carrera-ffxiv]

⸸ Departed ⸸

Rain.

She loved it because it was a rarity to her, given her place of residence for many years. It had seemed like eons since she had witnessed such within the northernmost parts of Aldenard.

Memories were easily a blur, a haze of blips that barely made it into her consciousness. They were there, buried deep, set to death with portions of her past she had sought to forget; day-to-day erasing the parts of her that built her into who she was today. Easily cast aside as simply a matter of growing.

But who was she beneath the elegance, business, inheritance, and ambition?

Vahalia’s thumb smoothed over the tips of each finger, watching as the rain she welcomed to her palm soothed her warm flesh. A cool sting that reminded her that Ishgard had not been too far off from Black Water Bay, outside of the encased perpetual freeze that was what she had called home but had little to no emotional ties.

Emotional ties…Mmn…

Just the painful reality she had once lived there, even still despite how she found herself on the cusp of a move before the year’s end.

“Lady Cress.” The man approached with a heavy jacket, and the parasol along her shoulder lifted, angled, and properly kept her frame exiled from the downpour.

“A pleasure to see you again Callum.” she hummed and turned towards her familiar. Even in the rain, he wore the tell-tale symbol of his connection to his work within the market and among the Bay with the White orchid that was pinned to his breast pocket. His neck turtled into the large collar of his attire and his vibrant gingered hair wasn’t easy to miss. His scruff had been heavily grown out since she last saw him.

“Quite the day you’ve chosen to be out here.” he laughed, hands diving into the depths of his pockets and his attention washed out towards the stretch of the Laeves they had been there to visit, “Much of the debris has been seen to as requested by your proxy. As you can see much more remains to be done but it is better to decide now while you’re here if there is anything else that should remain.”

“Appreciated.” she mused quietly and the pair began to walk the stretch of the Laeves in a slow gait as they spoke. Callum filling in the Lady Cress on the soil, land, fertility, the make of the stones and ruins they had cleared away, and what further use they could be in future projects.

Light golden eyes roved over the lands – her lands, a small swell of pride knotted within her stomach as her eyes caught something not too far off.

Vahalia strayed from her company who eventually followed her and the pair came to stop before several sets of sporadically placed rings, all varying in size but all remained the same in which the circumference of the circles were peppered with white mushrooms.

Lowering, Vahalia crouched to get a better look at the fungi as Callum spoke, “Are they safe to eat?”

“Quite.” Vahalia responded with a small smile, dimple forming neatly on her cheek, “Mane mushrooms, or the ‘shaggy’ Mane Mushrooms they’re called in some places. Tall white caps, almost a scaly appearance –” she stood once more overlooking the collection of circles that natures bounty had drawn into perfection. Art.

“I can have them removed for you if you’d like. Of course, if they’re to be a nuisance.” Callum spoke, his hands coming out of his pocket as he lifted a foot to cross over the curve of the white mushrooms along the ground. Instantly he had been caught by Vahalia’s arm who barred his way at his chest to keep him from going further, “--Or not?” he looked down to the woman, puzzled.

When it seemed he had withdrawn from his attempt, Vahalia lowered her arm away and she nodded to the rings decorating the ground, “It’s wise not to step into them.”

“Why is that if you don’t mind me asking, they a trap of some sort?”

The sable-haired woman shook her head, “They’re Fae Circles, some call them rings or halos. Harmless enough until you step into them or disturb them. It’s said that they’re marks on the earth where witches have once held their rituals during certain days of the year or the turning of the moon. Some claim it is where the Fae dance and if there is one thing we know, we ought not to disturb the Fae or be tempted by them.” she smirked looking up to Callum, “Nor to tempt them.” she added.

His brows rose and with a small nod his hands dipped back into his pockets, “ Aye, very well then.”

Looking back to the collection of rings Vahalia lifted her hand to point out the locations, “I want these secured, fence them for the time being if necessary. I have an idea for this space.” she paused once more and looked over her shoulder, “An acre or two might do from the Laeves. I have an idea of what I wish to place here now. Expect the blueprints in the coming months and we’ll begin the work.”

“You’re commissioning me again?”

“I am. As I recall you don’t seem to scoff at the prices I’ve offered for your work. I’ll be sure to offer equal or higher value for your time should the project be of interest.”

Callum laughed and lifted a hand to comb his wet hair back, eventually coming to stroke at the beard he had been sporting in recent months, “Aye and I suppose you’re not going to tell me what this idea of yours is?”

“No.” Vahalia smirked gently, “I enjoy keeping people guessing.”

A small chuckle was shared between the pair until the transmission off the linkpearl in her ear buzzed to life and she placed a finger on the piece.

As Vahalia took a few moments to partake in the conversation from abroad, Callum lowered himself to pluck up one of the mushrooms and spin it between his fingers.

“I must go, something of grave importance has come up. I’ll be in touch.” She offered and Vahalia turned on her heel as she stalked along the slick grass in a hurry. Her gait picked up until she was bolting as fast as she could in a run for the Markets.

It has still seemed so far off and discarding her umbrella entirely she balled her hands into fists, willing herself to run as fast as she could through the slick grass, mud, and cobble.

‘I need you.’ She thought to herself.

Creature was silent behind her eyes and barely the shadows stirred until the faint growl of him echoed in her head as she had disturbed him.

‘I need you now!’ she beckoned. A hand flashed to her necklace as she ran, clutching it.

‘Need or want?’ the voice called back to her, scratching just behind her ears as it always had. She felt his maw upon her, his presence closing it.

‘Creature!’

She beckoned again, her voice loud within her mind's eye, the rain blurring her vision as she raced down the cobbled path, the market center within view but still far off. The sting of salt filled her nose and the fog that rolled in from the docks within the bay had her lost to Callum’s view.

Her legs moved faster, a sprint almost unworldly as Creature’s strength coursed through her that even within the grasp of the elements, Vahalia was very much the predator on the island due to Creature’s intervention. She veered towards the road, clearing logs and stone that had threatened her pace.

The voices from the market filled her ears and the lanterns hung brightly within the walls as she raced down the alleyway and streets of the Quill & Coven, shoving past all those within her way as the Aetheryte came into full view and when her hand flew out to reach for it, everything turned into blue fractals around her.

Wet, back in Ishgard the chill cut her to the very marrow but it had not stopped her from her destination. The warmth of the Cress estate prickled her flesh, fingers sheer ice by the time she burst through the door leading into Valeria’s room. It was the dead of night by the time Vahalia had made it back – a place she had left months ago for Tural.

The heat of the room that came from the fireplace within seared at her eyes but the vision before her was unmistakable. Annette had been weeping at the end of the bed, hands clasped tightly and she had been giving prayer in Halone’s name, something that had not been practiced within those halls for nearly a decade.

A prayer in Valeria’s stead.

Her feet barely moved and for the first time since leaving Black Water, Vahalia slowed, narrowly moving as she closed the distance between the threshold and bed. She had not noticed the open window and the curtain lulling in the chilled breeze when she swayed by it, she had not noticed the plush carpet underfoot or her blood sparking back to life from the warmth.

Tangled in the sheets of powdered blue, her hand lowered to feel the cold, fresh blots of vitality that had pooled and stained nearly the entirety of the bed, on and under Valeria’s frame. The very same that ran with life now within Vahalia’s veins.

“Valeria.” she spoke, quickly leaning in as she frantically cupped her sister’s cold, blood smeared face as a cacophany of emotions coursed through her, “Valeria!” She called again and she felt Annette curling in behind her to try and contain the Matriarch. A silent struggle beginning between the pair as Vahalia fought to connect and find something that remained.

“Val…” teeth grit, eyes welled and her hands trembled over the cheeks and forehead of her sister, “Sparrow….little sparrow…” she pleaded in desperation. Her chest heaved quickly and the ungodly wail that left her was eventually buried into the depths of Valeria’s unmoving shoulder as she knew right then and there, there was no life left within her kin.

She was cold. Stiff.

Long gone though that had not stopped Vahalia from remaining within the reality of what was transpiring.

“Please. PLEASE! You cannot leave me alone!” her hands clung hard to the nightdress her twin had been wearing, the darkened stains of sanguine bleeding deep.

Annette sobbed into the handkerchief she had been holding and when she reached for Vahalia once more the woman snapped over her shoulder, “Get out. GET OUT!” and the frame of the elderly woman eventually retreated from the space though left the door open.

Every part of Vahalia crawled into bed next to her sister as she placed her forehead to her kin and wept. She had wept for hours, not moving from the space next to Valeria’s body and when reality began to fade back in, her eyes sore and heavy, she lowered her hand to remove the sheets exposing the very places and wounds that had been Valeria’s demise.

Attacked while she slept. Peaceful and unknowing of what was to come.

She had struggled her entire life and only in the recent year or two Valeria had begun to bounce back from the spurn and betrayal of her father, past lovers who had seen her less than, her accident, and the struggle she endured with her health thereafter.

Valeria had hardly known peace. She had not yet begun to live.

There had been so many plans she had in motion, how she was to take over the Cress estate in Ishgard, having more of a hand in the business Vahalia led. She had a job she enjoyed and despite everything she had been faced with, Valeria was always the spark of joy within the house. Forever smiling, always kind, unfaltering sweet and gentle.

Vahalia had lost that part of her, the balance that made her whole. The kindness she knew she needed was a gift that could only come from Valeria herself.

Guilt ate at her the entire night, peppering kisses at Valeria’s cold knuckles and holding them to her face as if it were the last time they were ever to meet. She couldn’t even remember what their last encounter had been about or what the details had been; time had robbed her of the memory of something she thought could be so trivial. In hindsight, it would have been the most significant at the moment.

Had they taken tea together before Vahalia’s leave to Tural?

When was the last time they sat and shared a tart?

When was the last time Valeria bounded into the study regaling Vahalia of the relics new to her place of work?

When was the last time they fought?

Valeria’s still and cold hand cupped between her own and placed on her forehead, “I’ve failed to give you the nutrition to survive…”

Contrition.

Her chest ached, her blood boiled, a sadness and rage was roiling around one another that Vahalia couldn’t make sense of. The spark of pain and adrenaline only caused her to sob harder, rolling Valeria’s knuckles along her forehead.

“Forgive me. Forgive me….Forgive me.” she muttered as a mantra through her tears, over and over until exhaustion eventually came to claim her.

It was morning before the body had been examined and taken from the room. Awake and in the corner, Vahalia stared at the empty bed, all that remained was the blood of her sister. Aside from the material possessions within the room, naught else of Valeria remained – not even her scent of perfume. The copper tinge hung in the air, metallic and washing away whatever sensation of salt Vahalia had experienced in Black Water.

She was numb, eyes trained to the spot she and Valeria had laid together. One left behind, one having passed on. The very same place they had laid at night together talking, the nights she held Valeria to lull her to sleep when she had returned to Ishgard after four long years.

The very spot in which as children they’d giggle and hunker under the covers to read a story when it was long past lights out. The times they had pillow fights, the same bed she had sat beside when Valeria was ill.

Memories.

These were the ones she remembered and they were painfully reminding her of what joys she had in the haze of the past. While all else was suppressed it was the ones with Valeria that shined through.

Slowly, her tired eyes cut to the open window and the curtain that fluttered every once in a while against the new, Ishgardian sun outside. She felt no warmth, no ambition of a new day as she often felt in these early hours.

Her brow knit and her attention whirled to string her along back to her senses. Her intellect that had always carried with her was screaming at her to find out more. Vahalia needed details.

There was no way Valeria had done this to herself, all the signs were pointing elsewhere. Hyaka had been out to see to a task Vahalia had asked of him, to secure the twins from Coerthas with the House guard. Bruce and Marion along with the au pair had been in Coerthas with Evran and Idalia to oversee their needs while they stayed with Osric. Castien had been dispatched on errands – the Household had been nearly empty. An ideal time to strike.

Finally, Vahalia’s feet moved and she withdrew from the room to find Annette in a brisk walk.

Someone, somewhere was responsible, far more than Vahalia had been for her folly.

⸸ [ TBC ] ⸸

@the-unfinished-grimoire for credit. Thank you for inspiring me!

[carrera-ffxiv]

⸸ Syzygy ⸸

Crawl into me, seek the divine, drink deep from my well of darkness, and find rejuvenation anew.

If one were to describe the story of the sun and moon, where tales spoke of the sun dying every night to let the moon breathe. Symbols of balance and cooperation. They watched one another from a distance and rarely had time to be together but when togetherness came, they made the most beautiful of events to eclipse the skies. Some day the sun would detonate and the moon to dapple from the dark skies but there would be tales to live on long after about how their attachment held meaning; how they worshiped one another so fiercely. 

The lovely moon, a representation of all things calm, beautiful, and nurturing despite the cold exterior. The vibrant sun is a symbol of strength, substantial stability, and raw power.

Balance.

At the pagoda in Tural their hands met, fasting the bond of their nexus between cords of leather and lace overseen by a Turali Priest. Clasps with motifs of their otherworldly identities, each of which they had decided to keep on them as a reminder of one another while distance parted their devotion once more.

Husband. Wife.

A private affair where none else needed to witness or partake in. Intimate but swift where the days laid bare the most important hours one would appreciate before leaving their partner.

The runes had been drawn, chants had been sung, the placement of satchels made from spice and harvest were placed and the ritual had begun where blood had been spilled and freely given, shared, taken, and held with such dignity and purpose.

Before the night had ended in his arms, Vahalia had secured her tool, the symbol of conception washed in blood, wrapped in braided twine, and wrapped in silken cloth before being buried at the river’s edge. The last handfuls of dirt and moss covered the space that she had dug by the time the morning broke.

Bright rays pouring through the tree canopies and cresting over the mountain ridges – Tural was now simply a story to tell for her however there was more to the journey than her business that had eventually led her to stay.

Finding parts of herself that she thought did not exist. An origin to something new, something darkly natural and imperative though laced with personal desires.

Her legacy would be proof that the story of the sun and moon existed and in the future, there would be new stars to carry on with the fountain built. Stars were born of the amorous connection that did, once exist. 

Tuliyolall before long was to become a blip along the horizon and sooner rather than later she would lose sight of the colors and vibrant nature of the piers. The place she had come to grow fond of in a few short months, a place of many opportunities and such were the things she kept in her back pocket.

Before long she would no longer be able to tell the colors of the tarps or streets, the stalls bleeding into one another from afar to where it would be like a painted smear kissing the skyline and shores.

When she moved again, Vahalia loosed the sprig of Lavender over the deck of The Red Queen, watching the bright waters below carry the piece to shore in slow, lulling movements. It was here she chose to place her focus, a silent goodbye to all she decided to leave behind for the sake of necessity. Work beckoned, the ache for her children had taken over and suddenly the world felt like it shifted again deep within the swell of her ribcage.

It was mid-day when the sun let the moon breathe again. And when Vahalia looked to the sky, her golden hues caught the light coloring of the moon suspended above the clouds. Distant, but she and the sun were under the same sky. The darkness of night forever letting her shine – but she was always present.

The sails unfurled to full capacity and the large ship picked up speed as Tural’s shores pulled towards the distance and The Red Queen on her journey once more to Blackwater Bay.

She had left as a new friend to many and left as a wife to one.

Despite the waters taking her elsewhere, it was and would always be, she and he in syzygy.

Mentions: @belgravexiv

[carrera-ffxiv]

⸸ Tíu ⸸

The Creature behind her eyes squirmed, the familiar rake hissing deep within the darkest parts of her mind as it often was. A voice and murmurs she had learned to block out over time until there was reason not to.

While Creature had proven a reliable weapon, it was often a game of words to him, especially about how he would lead Vahalia upon a course based on riddles and nearly nefarious natures. One she had come to appreciate for what it was, simply an entity that stirred the pot of thought all the more, the itch of necessity when it came to remaining the course.

“Lady Cress?” The voice sounded from the pearl nestled to her ear.

Within the cabin still in Tural, Vahalia’s hands absent mindedly smoothed over the papers before her, a tidy mess is what she often called it, “I’m here.” Vahalia replied, “The envelope I sent you with, open it.” she lead Miss. Bancroft on the other end of the transmission, “Within is a detailed report of everything that happened here in Tural, you may share that with Miss. Slater when you arrive. Within is also the blueprints for the Keep, be sure to give that to Greyson. You can find him in the market in three days time, I have it setup for you to meet with him on my behalf regarding the construction of the Keep, hand him the blueprints and gil I sent you with, he will have a white orchid pinned to his jacket.”

“Anything else?”

Vahalia paused, her brows knit and her gaze swept over the scrolls splayed out before her, “Yes, actually.” she continued, “Check on the advancement of the water way. Let Greyson know you will need his men in the coming weeks to construct two additional wells near the farms. The harvest is upon us, we’ll need to prepare for shipment and check the stores to ensure there is enough for the colder months. Put kale, radish, broccoli and chard on the list for this coming season’s bounty. I need trade for additional salt for the piers.”

A small hum of affirmation came from the line and Castien spoke again, “And the ruins?”

“A project for another day. I’ll be in Black Water in a few weeks time, perhaps sooner. I’ll see to the Laeves when I arrive, I have yet to fully take in the damage to the old structure.”

“Very well.” the response came.

The line fell quiet and the static in her ear began to blip out as Vahalia removed the linkpearl from her attention and placed it to the table.

Harvests.

Additional grain would have certainly been a boon to the market itself for colder months ahead, which was all the more reason to take the proposal from Hingashi seriously. While Ishgard supped easily upon winter-born vegetables and produce that were well rooted, that wasn’t to say that other places had the luxury. Wheat and rice would become a demand in a short time. It was simply time to meet the need with supply.

Spiced pumpkin filled the air with sweet apples. The festivities were in effect and the four children ran through the glade, the three girls with long dark hair squealing with delight as the older of the four, Willem, chased them with a blindfold over his eyes. Hands splayed as he reached for the voices he had been chasing. The laughter echoed out from the girls, wisps of bright ribbons afloat in long seas of ebon and sable, skirts absorbing the muck of the earth at their hems.

The Equinox was upon them as the greens of the trees gave way to vibrant pops of speckled oranges and reds that aimed to take their place. The air hung cooler these days and a fog settled in the mornings as the clime came to a slow crawl with each passing day.

Music and the chatter of the families beyond were nearly drowned out by the children playing and not too far off sat Odessa and Adelle at the woods edge, sister’s of old Mhachi blood, ever vigilant. Sigils of House Cress and House Blackheart in fabulous brocade respective to the two houses were woven neatly into their robes, their sashes simply homage to the families and their corresponding colors.

Odessa watched her youngest drift from the game, small body worn from the festivities as Vahalia made her way over to the two women and curled up towards her mother where she had rested her head along her warm lap.

“Finished already my dear?” Odessa smiled, hand lowering to comb through the child’s hair.

“I need a break.” the small child huffed out, she looked no older than eight summer’s at most.

The silken voice of Adelle seated next to Odessa chimed out, “Sister, when do you plan on having her meet the Whitlock son?” her voice was low as she looked between Odessa and Vahalia, who was more than happy resting within her mother’s lap, eyes closed and her attention elsewhere beyond simple chatter and the music in the distance.

“That depends on Adrian. I do not like the idea. I would not be faced with such heartbreak had I of had sons. Perhaps that is simply the pain we mother’s of daughters must endure.” she placed a slow stroke along Vahalia’s head before shaking her shoulder and soon ushering the child off towards her sister and cousins once more.

“It’s your turn Valeria!” Willem called out as he removed the blindfold from his face, hair wild, and he handed it towards his cousin, “Fair and square.”

“Awww you cheated!”

“I did not! You’re just slow!”

“It’s okay Valeria, prove him wrong.” Carrera piped up, excited to string the chaos along, “You’ll have to make sure he’s caught first. Revenge!”

The children laughed as Valeria groaned and Vahalia walked up to take the blindfold that was extended out, “I’ll do it.” she invited herself in as the predator, the other three simply prey in this game of catch.

The back of Odessa’s fingers smoothed over her lips, lost in thought as she watched Vahalia place the cloth over her eyes and the game once again began for the children. Once more scurrying and running about in the small glade that was soon to be kissed by the first year’s frost in mere weeks.

“Why not Valeria?” Adelle asked, “She is the oldest.”

“When you have twins, people tend to see them as one in the same when it comes to who is youngest or oldest. Valeria is…meek, timid. I fear she might not make out well in a forced situation.” Odessa peeled her eyes back to her kin.

“Yet you are entirely convinced Vahalia would be a better fit for such a burden?” Adelle loosed a huff, “An odd way of thinking.”

Odessa lifted her hand as she motioned to the children, “Look at her. She is a child who isn’t scared easily nor waves from anything new or difficult. Something within me feels she can handle the labors of expectation. With Valeria?....” she paused briefly before continuing, “ – It would consume her.”

A stern sigh escaped Adelle as she shook her head, “So what you are telling me in such subtle terms is, you have no other choice to bridge the Whitlock and Cress household and so you’ve picked and chose between your two daughters as to which one can carry the burden without crumbling?” Delicate and slender fingers found Odessa’s as Adelle gave her hand a small squeeze, “Sister, you cannot make a choice based off of the lesser of two evils. Tell Adrian you will not do it. Tell him the Whitlock’s must find another means of peace that does not result in you giving away your daughter.”

“I cannot.” Odessa stood firmly, her golden eyes lifting to meet that of her sister, “There is little I can do. There is ruin otherwise as Adrian has placed us in a hole we cannot climb out from unless we have assistance.” There was a stint of silence before Adelle spoke again, “I can speak with Hakurou and his clansmen, I’m sure there is som –” A shriek filled the mist of the glade as the children had stopped playing and Willem ran over to Adelle, frantically trying to slap the ambers of fire that cling to the hem of his tunic. The smell of burnt linen followed him as he approached, Valeria and Carrera in tow as the fun and games seemed to cease. Adelle rose to meet him as she looked at the scorched linen, “What happened?”

“Vahalia cheated! She threw a fire spell at me.” he glared over his shoulder to his cousin who had been tailing behind the trio of kin.

“I did not mean to! I was playing by the rules, it just HAPPENED!” she hollered.

“No harm no foul.” Adelle muttered down to Willem and her knuckles propped his chin gently, “Well find you a new tunic, come.” she ushered to the boy and waved Carrera along, a small pointed gaze was afforded to Odessa as she too rose to meet her girls.

Adelle led her children back towards the festivities with Valeria following in a close gait.

“Fire Vahalia? That’s dangerous for a silly game with your cousins. You should apologize.” Odessa reached for the child as she and Vahalia walked hand in hand several paces back from the others.

“I will not.” Vahalia proclaimed, “I did not mean it.”

“Even if we do not mean to harm someone, sometimes it is in our best interest to apologize all the same, child. Where did you learn to cast such a thing?”

Vahalia held loosely to Odessa’s hand as they made their way along the slick ground, “Your books, modir.” she admitted and she remained stonefaced to the area before them as Odessa walked and with some measure of surprise gazed down to her daughter.

The walk felt long and cold as they meandered to meet with the others, the joyous music of the Equinox hadn’t quite reached Odessa to spark some jubilant sensation within, she simply focused on the possibilities now laying before her as her daughter had demonstrated something quite extraordinary for someone her age.

Perhaps she could bargain with Adrian over this, now that Vahalia had proven some affinity for magikca that ran deep within her Blackheart roots, roots that would need to be carefully nurtured and fed.

One for sorrow,  Two for joy Three for a girl Four for a boy Five for silver Six for gold Seven for a secret never to be told. Eight for a tale that the stars have spun Nine for a gate that can’t be undone Ten for a river of forgotten lore Eleven for a key to the spectral door Twelve for a mirror that reflects the night Thirteen for a beast that lives in spite Fourteen for a realm beyond our reach Fifteen for a speech no tongue can teach Sixteen for a dream trapped in stoneSeventeen for the old gods’ hollow moan Eighteen for the abyss that gazes back Nineteen for the cosmic formless wrack

Twenty for a Magpie’s final verse in a universe where shadows converse the end of the rhyme the start of the dread where naught a single word is said.

Creature's words coiled through her head as he sang the slow rhyme, through the echo of darkness behind her eyes. Her attention was brought to the blackbirds that sat under the balcony’s edge to avoid the rain that had started to fall within Tural.

Without thinking, her mind washed over their forms, counting each from where she sat with her papers. Ten. She had counted ten as once more Creature continued the rhyme though this time opting to hum in through breaks of sickened chuckles.

Ten.

[carrera-ffxiv]

Some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing.

C. S. Lewis, from ‘Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold’

[carrera-ffxiv]

WoL: are you single???

Emet Selch: you'll never fix me and I'll never see you as a person

[carrera-ffxiv]

Epoch: Barbed in Black

The first woman to run the estate and the very first woman of the Cress name to be the sole provider and leader for the Household – such things were rarely within reach for most women, especially in a space where men were often seen to be more capable. Some clans and tribes would have argued otherwise, but as was the way of some societal norms.

Ishgard wasn’t much different but it was changing day by day. More and more women like Vahalia cropped up, left with naught but old stones, empty coffers, and debt to wade through thanks to ancestors who walked before them. Women like Cordelia who paved their own way whether it be by biding time for unforeseen circumstances to wipe the slate for her or by her own meticulous crafting – it was a rarity to see women keeping themselves self-sufficient. In power.

Feared.

Respected.

The large chronometer in the hallway called out, its song filling the late corridors that the family often walked or the staff took as the veins of their work. As the days passed, the sounds of the cries of Evran and Idalia lessened and a sleeping scheduled had become more and more pronounced.

Bless Halone for that; had Vahalia been one to cater to such notions.

Her pen gave a final flick across the papers she had been writing. Proper proceedings to see to several things in the works such as looking into purchasing and building another ship – then again she could have taken Hakan’s advice and simply repurposed one of the ships she so kindly relieved Ophelia of in recent months. Certainly, there would be better, harder and more refined or newer ships to commandeer. She had the gil, the crew, the network and personal connections. It was only a matter of time.

While the quartermaster withered away in the cell within the keep, Cyrus worked diligently to play his role proper, his time wasting away within the libraries of the house and often finding himself within Vahalia’s presence to bombard her with questions. There was no end to Cyrus's curiosity, but it was refreshing that he had shown so much promise and interest in the Cress roots and ancestry.

What she knew, what she was told, what was written over centuries – they had come tiringly close to the unknown where information and people simply started to dissipate and trickle off into the sands of time and history. There was only so much books could tell.

Vahalia went about her work, sealing envelopes and scrawling messages that she had been putting off for several days on account of being a new mother, a dedicated Matriarch, and a spirited lover. Her time was rarely her own but she loved those aspects that kept her busy.

Adoration over the years had become something she had slowly learned and appreciated, ensuring not to take it for granted. 

Holding it close, letting it prosper.

Thankfully she had no man to hold her to rules aside from a few at the behest of Belgrave and even then such requests of rules were less of a rule list and more of ‘considerations’. He had always been one to leave Vahalia to her own devices and decisions, often berating her or chiding her if she had taken her steps too boldly but never forgetting to appreciate those parts of her in silence.

A wonder that the pair needed little to no words at all when it came to expectations, preparations or more. They were nearly of one mind, often of one body when it mattered and everything else in between. A prickly bastard but she admired that.

Betwixt her fingers, Vahalia lifted a glinting, platinum allagan piece. She and Carrera had held several meetings before but none such as the one they held the day prior to now. A lodge? Just another expense but she would be lying if she said it had not piqued her interest.

Once again, Vahalia finding an opportunity in investments; as was a talent of hers it seemed.

The gentle thunk sound of the coin loosed as it was pressed to the wooden surface of the desk by her scales. Just what was the weight of a mortal life and what would that weight look like in gil? 

Could the court consider themselves unbias enough to uphold a set of strict rules within an establishment, a Sanctuary? And just what services could be born of such a venture?

They were a Syndicate as she had once put it to Hakan. He questioned it but he had been within his right to do so. Up until this point they had just been a small collective of merchants and more dabbling in business with one another, shaking hands and rubbing elbows. Now?

Now they would have to dive in.

The dichotomy of good or evil could not be their concern. Their loyalty to any respective nations could not concern them. Their politics could not be a concern and something they'd have to temper to ensure no favorites. Ignorance could not be a concern.

Sharp golden eyes stared at the allagan piece across from her and in every envelope she had just signed off on several necessities that would keep this plan in motion on behalf of both Cress and Blackheart. Currently the most wealthy Houses in the circle who agreed to foot the responsibility of the Lodge’s construction and more – for a time.

It would take time and dedication to build the Syndicate up as its own entity separate from the matters of each of the House’s within the circle. Dues would have to be made as buy-ins. Partners would have to be carefully considered and each would have to have a level of dedication and trust to fill a chair.

Trust. Such an odd thing that Vahalia constantly found herself struggling with. How could she find it within herself to trust after Ophelia?

She loosed a hum and a large part of her knew it was only a matter of time before someone was brazen enough to betray the Syndicate; if Ophelia’s issue was anything to go by…

But first things first, she would have to settle debts and plans a little closer to home.

“Wyland.” Vahalia finally spoke and she held up a hefty envelope to the elderly gentleman who bowed proper before her desk, “See to it that Osric gets this. You may tell him it is of no consequence currently but I figured it might be of some assistance to him. Also…” she paused, her eyes cutting up to the man before her.

“Yes my lady?”

“Take a few days off, I want you to deliver this to him directly. Ex-dragoon, is no longer working with the Ashen Wolves or working in general, especially since he turned down Sir Taka’s request, I’d imagine his coffers are running quite dry since the dissolving of the marriage and his stubbornness in denying funds from me.”

“He won’t take this, I’ve known him since he was a child.”

“Which is exactly why I’m sending you. He’ll probably need your help and I’m sure you can convince him to take it. Otherwise, don’t come back until he does.” she finalized and gathered up the remaining envelopes to be sent out.

Wyland of course looked baffled and as if he wanted to argue further but if there was one thing he knew, it was that it didn’t do well to press Master Sla– Giroux. Even worse to try and budge the lady of the House. He had quickly learned while being staffed in the Cress estate that little to nothing could break Vahalia of a thought or idea once she had it in her mind. She was …quite an unmovable force.

“Dress warm.” Vahalia warned with a tilted, crimson smirk, “You leave at dawn and you may take the rest of these missives with you to be posted.”

Once more, Wyland nodded without any sort of combative desire, his tired and aging eyes peering to the names on the bundle of letters, the most important one by far seemingly being that of Carrera Blackheart which certainly had quite a ways to travel.

Mention(s): @carrera-ffxiv - @promethea-silk - @belgravexiv - @osric-giroux-ffxiv - @blackthorn-syndicate-ffxiv

One word prompt combined: First, Rules and Preparation as well as one to write about anything from @amorthonblackwood - @the-sycophant and @cultivators-loss. Thank you all for the asks/prompts that inspired me to write this evening! ^^

[carrera-ffxiv]

w/ @carrera-ffxiv & @promethea-silk

[carrera-ffxiv]

New sword. Much shadow.

[carrera-ffxiv]

Side Story: Blood & Sand

Can a Torrential Abyss drown an Inextinguishable Flame?

Abstract musings for a bored mind. The fighting was mediocrity incarnate.

There were few things that would help sate her lust for violence-- when all else failed, and there was nothing that could be done, she would visit the Bloodsands in Thanalan.

Usually it would be a mere distraction but was it really helpful watching people drink from an oasis if you were dying of thirst? Then again, beggars can’t be choosers. These were serious but friendly bouts void of malicious intent. She could not slake her thirst with such a reserved display; it would be just a tease to even participate. Still, part of her found some small measure of joy in watching raw violence being committed in front of her. It was better than trying to hide the evidence of a capricious murder.

Carrera found herself engaged in idle chit-chat with another spectator, one from Garlemald covered in scars. A well-meaning person who had empathy in their heart for the plight of their people. This meant little to Carrera. Sure, now that your people suffer it’s easy to see that civilians are innocents, but what of the countless innocents in Doma and Ala Mhigo that were murdered in droves for Imperial Occupation. If there was ever proof that becoming an Imperial province would not bring peace, those two nations were demonstrable facts. For a quarter-century they only knew oppression and strife; Doma almost succeeded in freeing itself of its own strength once, only to be betrayed from within and stamped out violently by the Garleans.

She would glimpse a red flash, a burning sensation searing at her left eye followed. It was nothing sinister or intentional, nor anything anyone else seemed to witness, but her aether-sight would catch a glimpse of something unnatural. She focused with her normal eye: The source was a person, dressed somewhat like a knight. Regal golden armor with engravings, and a sword and shield that somehow looked much like a modern day relic: new and serviceable, yet ancient all the same. Unmistakably Hyuran aether was emanating from her, but aspected with fire. Was she tempered?

She wore her crimson hair in a ponytail and wore a polite smile as she challenged an Elezen knight waiting for a fight. Neither tall nor imposing, she gave the air of supreme confidence without a hint of arrogance or looking down on her opponent. A mix of dashing and winsome, Carrera noted.

Looking again with her aether-sight, the witch was mesmerized. There was no way what she saw was her imagination, this person was suppressing fire aspected aether and compressing it into their person. The intensity and density would be masked on top of being rendered to somewhat normal proportions. Sure, it was skilled and practiced, but Carrera saw through such tricks-- trickery and subterfuge were her domain after all.

The battle was an intriguing spectacle. Both bore a sword and shield; the Elezen’s shield crackled with lightning aspected aether. The golden knight appeared to move and fight earnestly but her expression, breath, and casual introduction mid-battle painted an entirely different picture. She would dodge the Elezen’s attack by a hair’s breadth. An ordinary on-looker might have assumed that she had moved out of the way at the last second-- Carrera was anything but. Her eyes narrowed as she meticulously observed this creature. She would wait till the very last second, dodging only just enough to move out of the way of the danger by an ilm, making it seem like she was either lucky or just quick and practiced enough to barely evade. One strike on the Elezen. Two strikes. The Elezen would actually land a blow, albeit, an ineffective one with an unexpected pommel strike.

A finishing blow would be offered by the red haired knight, one of fire aspected aether emanating from her blade-- one might have assumed this was some finishing move of a sort but Carrera noticed it was barely a fraction of a fraction of her aether casually activated to overpower an opponent in a friendly bout. Friendly; At this moment, Carrera could be anything but. Her hunger for violence grew insatiable and her thirst for knowledge would not relent.

Pleasantries were exchanged and healing done. The redhead identified as Sagira used some sort of metabolic acceleration to expedite healing at an unnatural rate. It was magic of some sort, she was sure of it. What manner of creature was this woman? When she came to the sidelines Carrera couldn’t help but issue challenge.

She had avoided these fights until now-- she viewed it as a practice in futility when it came to her hunger. It also wouldn’t help keep her appearances as an amateur mage. But she needed to know what this creature was and she found it a necessity to obtain a sample for research. The conversation was a blur, quick introductions were made-- all the fighting had dwindled down and the makeshift arena cleared entirely, leaving them front-and-center as the only two in a match. 

As if the twelve wanted to add to the cliched mockery of the fighters, rain started pouring down around them. Of course all attention would be on their fight so Carrera couldn’t go all out; And now the dramatic rain. Ugh.

It was irrelevant, the fight would unfold regardless. Carrera rested her left hand on the hilt of her katana. A menacing smirk creeping into the edge of her lips. "Well then, Red." she bladed her body to the side, exposing only her left to Sagira. "Shall we?" Her opponent smiled politely before shifting to a somber expression. There was a hint of concern and wariness pointed toward Carrera. She suspected ulterior motives and couldn’t understand why Carrera would wager for a lock of her hair. The knight drew her weapons, moving into a more combat-ready stance. This time her posture was meticulous; steady and somber, ready for anything. She seemed to be taking this fight, particularly, overtly serious.

Myriad patterns of battle all unfolded in Carrera’s mind: She would keep her katana sheathed and use her magic to oppress the woman with unrelenting pressure, assaulting her from all sides and allowing for no breathing room. This would be child’s play as she toyed with her victim. A malevolent grin broke only momentarily as she licked her lips and bit down on her lower lip. The duel continued to unfold in her mind’s eye and the Hollow echoed within her, ringing possible futures and movements, all of which she would formulate a plan and backup plan for. She would start by unleashing red dust to ignite to flames-- 

Back in reality a small cloud of dust emitted from where Sagira’s feet once were. 

The speed was drastically different than the fight Carrera had witnessed prior. There was an alarming sense of urgency as Carrera had no time to react; Sagira’s blade surged forward with grace, precision and speed mere ilms away from her. She had no time for games and no chance in hiding her abilities if she wanted to keep up-- all her scheming was thrown out the window. Normally, she would keep her cards close to her chest but this was no time; this woman aimed to maim her without hesitation.

In spectacular fashion, Sagira opened the fight with intent to end it as quickly as it started. If her opponent couldn’t use her weapons or abilities, then victory would surely follow. This was the knight’s stratagem.

Surprise painted across Carrera’s visage. She could no longer hold to the intention of not drawing her sword. No matter, a quick iai technique to parry the strike was all that was needed. A quick parr-- was she bleeding? Was this pain? Carrera huffed indignantly. "Fast." She whispered in lament, turning her forearm at the last moment so her tendons would not be sheared and rent, instead leaving a deep laceration above the wrist. She channeled aether into her blade to strike with an unaspected quickdraw. It was too late to defend so she used the momentum for offense instead. 

‘Surely, the best defense was overwhelming violence.’ She thought to herself. Fortunately, her left was only used for holding the sheathe at the moment; Blood flowing freely down the scabbard.

Sagira was, too, caught off guard. It seemed they both did not expect instant action and reaction to follow. She scolded herself as the blade slashed against her armor, shaving off several of the engravings and leaving a noticeable indentation against the metal. The sheer force of the torrent of aether knocking the Hyur back an ilm. It was difficult to track for some since the exchange lasted only a fleeting moment.

The fight was far from over, however. Gripping her blade firmly, Sagira’s gauntlet grew red as in her previous match yet this time there was absolutely no comparison in intensity. The energy was magnitudes more threatening this time; Her blade igniting in a bright and brilliant crimson, fire-aspected aether dancing along its edges. 

Another iai technique was incoming and this time Sagira would raise her shield in defense to knock Carrera's blade away in such a way as to leave her wide open. Sagira’s blade surged forward this time to cut at her right arm. Weaken, disable, victory. A sensible strategy.

Carrera seemed confused in the moment: She was taking this seriously. She was going full speed. She was no longer hiding the fact that her true form was not swordswoman or a simple witch, but rather an intertwining of the two. So, why, why was her sword not finding purchase-- it made no sense. Another high-speed strike from Carrera that would decapitate most others was parried with a shield and now a sharp pain shot through her right arm. To her, Sagira seemed to be a bit of a sadist, torturing her victims by slicing at their extremities. A smirk broke into her expression; she admired the art, after all.

She used instantaneous movement to create some distance-- kicking a backstep while keeping her grip firm and forming a series of mudra with her left hand slick with blood, splattering it along the sands. She would utter an incantation as she did so. ‘So she’s a spellblade as well?’ She mused about her opponent and invoked the ability by name, “Katon: Tenka Goken.” [<“Fire Element (technique): Five (Greatest) Swords under Heaven.”>] She would slash what appeared to be once by onlookers who couldn’t track her movement. It was a series of blurs; five slices shot through the air consisting of razor-sharp aether backed by explosive flames.

Sagira would be pushed back for every hit; she was countered. She was definitely doling out her share of the damage but Carrera would somehow respond in kind every time while keeping up with her in a high speed battle, this felt most unusual for Sagira.

The fiery aether from the Tenka Goken charred away at the cloth of her armor and singed most of the rest. The residual aether of the technique was gathered by Sagira and drawn into her blade, augmenting it and amplifying the intensity; Fire to feed fire. She hoisted her blade up by her face, then pointed straight at Carrera, loosing a bolt of fire, then another, and another. Three condensed and focused blasts of the Fira spell flew from the blade. Was she taking this bout a little too seriously?

Carrera mused, ‘What would have happened to her previous opponent if she fought with such intent and ferocity?’

Her body acted on instinct, she didn't have time to consider whether to dodge or counterspell, her entire body simply acted with a survival instinct; holding true to the strategy of violence employed earlier, she went on the offense. Aether shined blindingly as a torrent erupted from the katana. 

One-two-three, she quickly slashed in succession rending the flames inert. While her body reacted with defense, her mind was already on the attack. She was uttering an incantation as she parried, and when she finished, she invoked the technique by name: "Blizzaga." A flash of frost froze everything about them, freezing the rain into tiny needles that would all whirl into Sagira as if caught in a vortex.

Violently slammed by the sheer force carrying the ice needles, her shield dropped first under strain of the unrelenting assault. Her blade soon followed. Carrera’s previous strikes were employing an effect that drained aether, which she had failed to notice until it was too late. The battle happened much too quickly for both to take accurate stock on events and their efficacy of aether usage. Half their battle happened to be instinct and practiced movement. 

This final assault of unforgiving frost and rime proved overpowering-- at least not without taking it a step violently and murderously further. Still, she could never kill a stranger in cold blood, even if they did look as suspicious and sinister as Carrera did. As she fell to a knee and the weight of the armor paired with ice finally got to her, "Very well... victory is yours this day." She would fall back into the mud after conceding, needing to take a moment to take stock of what just happened. This woman dressed like some casual witch with a sword happened to use the same principles of aetherial combat as she did and with no small measure of skill. An instance heretofore unseen by Sagira.

Carrera Blackheart did her best not to let the blood seep into her grip but all the movement of battle proved too much. She stood triumphant, a malicious and animalistic grin across her face but her katana extinguished and slipped to the ground. She looked down to see a mixture of mud and blood. "Ah. It seems I may need help with my katana.” she seemed to retain some level of normalcy and control. “And someone to check on my opponent." she uttered in front of the crowd.

She wobbled a bit and fell to her knees while a tall Paladin tended to Sagira. The witch assessed her situation and discovered her aether expenditure was much higher than anticipated; She was usually so precise. She picked up her katana as best as she could while she was down there and awkwardly sheathed it with trembling hands and lacerated arms. It seemed the adrenaline was wearing off. She got back up to her feet to meander toward her opponent, reaching into a pouch and chugging a potion she pulled out only to toss the empty vial over her shoulder like trash. Another was pulled and offered to Sagira expectantly, "Are you alright? You still have to uphold the deal." The potion offered was covered in mud and blood from her hand.

Sagira looked up at the two looking down to her as trickles of blood leaked from her wounds. "I'll be alri-... thank you, that does help." She relented and admitted to the Paladin weaving healing magics. She pushed herself up and into a sitting position. "You hit hard, but I do not need a potion, no. I will heal naturally in time." Her hand reached up to hold itself on her chest, where the first hit had damaged her armor.

Carrera shrugged, "Suit yourself. I need to mend my arms anyway." She drank the second potion, chugging it in its entirety before tossing the bottle. She uttered something, complaining about almost having her hands severed, while she moved to the sidelines and plopped down to allow her forearms to heal. She would need to replenish her depleted aether but she would have her prize and continue enjoying the show for now. 

She was satisfied with the results; The down of a phoenix is quite potent after all.

[carrera-ffxiv]

Shadowing Grace

A hunch. Osric wanted her to assume that he didn’t think what he had stumbled upon might have been a smuggling den based on a mere, unspoken hunch. A den no less that happened to be hunkered down in the Vigil and then to further house the envoy they had come across – a Garlean envoy no less – found smack dab in Ishgardian territory.

House Cress was now possibly housing an enemy or fugitive of her patron city within the very walls she supported and built. It had House Cress written all over it. 

Temple Knight favors. Supposed smuggling dens. A Garlean envoy….

Her hands shook the entire walk towards the barracks. Not from the bite of the clime or fear, not from anger but pure adrenaline she had felt pulsing throughout her body. It was a small wonder she had been able to contain her rage at all and not find something within that very dining hall to put into Osric herself if only to save herself from the insufferable missteps. 

Thoughtless. Blind. Tactless.

How did she not see that something like this could have turned around on them? How could she have faith that this small mission Osric had been set forth on wasn’t going to turn around and bite them in the ass?

Thing is, she didn’t know, but she still held on to that third chance. That willingness to allow Osric to make smart choices on behalf of House Cress. Both items, envoy and papers should have been relinquished to the Temple Knights – especially anything that had to do with the Vigil mission. Perhaps a misstep Osric hadn’t known he was making as he only sought to do good.

She had to repeat to herself over and over that Osric wasn’t aiming to undo anything nor had any intention. How could he know? But….he did indeed know the envoy was Garlean, he said as much upon meeting with her earlier.

Who was she kidding?

There was a monster within, edging at her senses, blinding her good conscience, and threatening to snuff what was left of her intellectual wakefulness. She was getting lost in the thick of herself, her feelings, her anger and her rage. For too long she had been watching the missteps and allowing Osric to fumble and catch himself and yelling would have done no good. Lashing out wouldn’t have fixed the problem.

Osric had offered to take steps to fix the issue – alas, his platitudes were not good enough. His verbal bandaids would not be good enough.

It would take her hand and the one thing she knew could make this right. A solemn declaration in which her allegiances lay. It was not with the den or the mission itself, it was not with the Garlean envoy or charity. It was not to her husband who seemingly had a knack for playing hero and suffering for it nor was it to any of those within the barracks.

First and foremost the allegiances lay solely in Ishgard or for as long as they needed to and above that…. House Cress. If there was a threat to upend that peace then it would have to be handled by any means necessary.

Such a task not suited for her husband’s delicate hands. He hadn’t the stomach.

She was the bad guy. The villain in his eyes yet he still didn’t seem to understand what his role required. A role he time and time again demanded to remain within yet hadn’t had the outfit or make to fill.

Slowly the door of the barracks opened and Vahalia stepped in, her eyes darted over the few within who had been in the dining hall taking their meals. It was her presence alone that had the whole of the room stop and stare, a silence that beat through the room for what seemed like eons though it was merely a fraction of a second, “The envoy?” Vahalia calmly asked, “Where is he?”

It was a youthful fellow who pointed to the man not too far from the hearth in the dimly lit room and it was at this moment that all eyes had settled between both Vahalia and this Cyprian goe Muzaka. Her eyes pinned intensely as she framed an order calmly at first, “Everyone out.”

The masses had barely begun to move and some chatter kicked up in the hall as the woman’s demand came. Surely they were all perplexed at a woman barking orders – some not even knowing who she was or having seen her face. Others only knowing of her by name. The lack of movement only brought Vahalia’s voice to rise, booming over the group once more, “ Out. NOW!”

The bodies moved and the screech of chairs along the stone below them groaned in protest, the envoy himself even starting to raise looking slightly confused at what was going on, “You.” she pointed at Cyprian, “Stay.”

She hadn’t moved with the bustling bodies shifted past her in a hurry, grabbing their boots and jackets to make for the double doors. In the commotion, she had barely even registered that they had been chattering about going to the forgotten knight. It was likely they’d fill their bellies with mead and ale rather than the warm meal they had been halfway through.

Finally, the double doors behind her came to a close and Vahalia stared at the man across from her who sat a decent 10 fulm from her near the large fireplace. The warmth of the room itself had barely even registered to Vahalia, her cheeks bitten pink from the cold she had just stepped in from. Her flesh felt like it was ablaze even more, a sensation coursing through her. Had she been anyone else she might have felt bad for the fair-haired man, perhaps no older than a few seasons past 39. What some would still consider to be young, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and shown a measure of hospitality that would be his undoing. He was well-kempt and looked well-versed and polite given how he held himself and his composure in the moment of confusion.

Golden eyes blinked away the reflection of the flames from the fire and she finally started to walk towards the man. Otherwise silent, her heels clicking along the ground in measured intent was what filled the room around them. It was here that Cyprian rose and wiped his hands in his slacks, ready to greet the woman proper whom he had not met yet but it was a good of a time as any to find out

Kind face, well-trimmed beard, and a stern face. He had even begun to bow and open his mouth to speak when Vahalia got within adequate distance to hold a proper conversation. It was easy to assume that he was indeed the fitting bill of an envoy. Barely a word made it past his lips when the blade in Vahalia’s concealed hand under her cloak slashed out and the glint of the fire caught the flat of the dagger. The hall was silent save for the swift splatter of blood that painted the stone adjacent to her and Cyprian.

Vahalia didn’t move and for a beat neither did Cyprian before his hands fumbled up to his throat, a guttural bubble of sound trying to make its way out of him as frantically he tried to contain the remnants of his lifesblood that pumped out from his wound, his neck smiling like the moon above, crimson and warm as he hunched forward and gasped, groping and tugging at the front of Vahalia’s cloak. Upon buckled knee he fell and not quite ready to give in as he clutched and clung, panic-stricken and fearful as the world around him dimmed ever more than it had already been. The passing glimpse of a tall and cold shadow hung over the woman who had just callously run him down without warning.

Who was she? What was that with her?

His lips moved and no sound came aside from the garbled spatter and burbling of what would have been his voice. Wet, death stricken and fatal. His world was overcast and fading as the final sensation he had endured was the ghastly and insufferable pain of the maw of the beast closing in around the front of his throat and suddenly it was not the floor that caught his blood but the cold, suckling mouth, teeth and tongue of the void-touched shadow drinking in what was left of his essence. His aether drained before he was retired from this plane of existence entirely.

All-consuming darkness took hold.

For a long while Vahalia watched in silence as Creature devoured, taking hold of his promise she had said she would deliver. Unbeknownst to her, it would be the Garlean envoy Osric opted to return home with. It was to save some other poor unfortunate soul upon the star but the choice worked out in her favor. Two birds with one stone….was that the saying?

It was as if the haze around her began to slowly lift and bit by bit the sounds of Creature hungrily feasting on the man came to cease. She felt high, drunk and in a lull that her urge was sated. Her anger subdued for the time being and had it not of been this Cyprian fellow, it very well could have been Osric himself.

She had made a pact and she aimed to deliver.

Now, the city itself couldn’t pin a scandal on her for cohorting with past and possibly present enemies if there was no possible enemy to speak of. Osric would pen his missive, return the goods and the head of the envoy could be delivered as simply duty. House Cress taking care of both the threat and the goods in one fell swoop.

Finally she breathed and budged from her spot, her attention gazing down at the crumpled body before her – she would need proof and luckily for her she had papers and remnants of a body to adequately fill that role.

This was but a fraction of the extent she was willing to go through for Hearth and Home. Mention(s): @osric-cress-ffxiv

[carrera-ffxiv]

A Grim Reflection

“Kindness just doesn’t have a place in this world.” - or at least that was what she was taught. Not in so many words but instead watching through the shattered looking glass.

Her fingers gingerly ran across the cold metal medallion; it bore intricate designs of horrors and tendrils spinning down to culminate into a hellish mouth consisting of teeth and hate. This singular disc, a relic of an era long past was the cause of her current woes. Long since drowning in alcohol and hedonism, she sought pleasure and sin to escape from the wretched fate she had designed herself.

She stared at her tiny form in the mirror, her narcissism reflecting in the smirk that beheld her own beauty. But that smirk quickly faded as she removed the glamour. Blackened corruption seeped into her veins from where her heart would be, the abyss leaving its jagged claws in her.

This was the price of hubris and for sanity. Scheming was always easy, even as her mind fractured and began falling apart. She struggled to concentrate and remember; From whence began the root of her woes?

Ah, yes. The death of her father and loss of her sibling. Others had assumed Carrera took it hard as she withdrew and isolated herself, a symptom of the mourning and depression that followed the death of kin. Little did they all know it was just a symptom of something far more daunting. In the isolation she began to hear whispers and her heart grew heavy with the thought of her mind eroding-- she knew the voices couldn’t be real. Right? She heard them, sure. Their words, their hissing, their seething. Their hunger. No, no, no. It wasn’t real after all! Until she began seeing the voices manifest. Malevolent creatures living in between the veil of shadow and light, just in the cusp of darkness she could make out shapes- sometimes they resembled people, other times the figures looked of creatures she only dreamed of in fairy tales and nightmares.

It was as if she had a glimpse into a reality that wasn’t her own. Mayhap a bit like the Echo but skewered horridly: twisted and dark. Something she would come to call the Hollow. Where light blessed and gave hope, darkness rung a hollow tune. In the midst of despair she could sense and hear the void calling, giving her grim glimpses into possible futures.

The fact that she could question her own reality certainly meant that she could see objectively, she thought. Knowing these weren’t real made her sane, right? Or maybe they were real. The feelings of hopelessness and confusion felt akin to standing on the precipice, looking down into the bowels of hell, and teetering forward. Entrenched anxiety, an unfathomable sadness, and acute distress surrounded her and consumed her as she contemplated simply stepping into the abyss in the hopes to end it all. While her lows were valleys, her highs were mountains. When embracing hedonistic pleasures and later on, unmitigated and unreserved violence, everything felt amazing-- a rush of freedom and happiness flooded her head followed by warmth and fulfillment. It was as if she had an unforgiving thirst that could not be quenched except by the most vile acts; A desperate and harrowing mix between desire and need-- her rage and gluttony taking control.

Somewhere along the journey of her life she had lost the right path. It all started with wanting to do the right thing. It was all too distorted to look back on clearly and perhaps it was too late for her. She had forgotten a cardinal rule: When you’re fighting monsters, make sure you don’t become one too.

She looked back down to the medallion: a disc, rather. A grim artifact that she once sent wolves to retrieve. Something that contained an amalgamation of power-- something that was revealed to her through the Hollow. Along with that abyssal power was a creature made of pure void. She intended on absorbing the creature for its strength but in an unfortunate turn of events it was taken by another; however, luckily for her, both the creature and its power were splintered. 

Once inside Dawn Aethwyn, she thought it could lend form to the soul that was carried by her, an old friend whose crystal Dawn possessed. Her plan went unhindered until Vahalia interfered.

Now hungry, starved, it would chitter and growl for sustenance at the back of her cousins’ mind. In a round-about way it was Carrera’s fault, an action she felt a bitter guilt for and perhaps a twisted mixture of pride at empowering her. Perhaps that was why she felt the misguided notion to be kind to her, but as she knew, there was no room for kindness in this world. They were not princesses in a fairy-tale. They were villains of the worst kind. That which was in their way? They killed. That which they desired? They took. The curse of the Blackheart name, one of hubris and avarice while on the other side of the coin laid instability and madness. Perhaps her cousins were destined for the same fate after all. Though strangely enough, one of the two twins did not seem to be affected.

Once extracted, the power left behind in the artifact manifested into a husk of a voidsent: empty, devoid of will. A will that once belonged to a creature. She would preserve this creation of raw void energies through the use of her witchcraft if only to take bits and pieces to integrate into her own body. A surprising side-effect was that she retained a clear mind. It was as if all the puzzle pieces of a broken mirror had slid into the correct spots within her. Now, what began as a hunger for power became desperate avarice to retain a sense of self. As the age old adage goes: Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. She now needed to inject herself with a vial of distilled essence from the husk to retain her sanity. Even though her mind quieted, her lust for blood had not. A ravenous hunger and unrelenting drive grew in her.

And with that, a profound loneliness.

[carrera-ffxiv]

Carrera Basic Profile!