catnip-smuggler-radio - Tumblr blog

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

one of the reasons why "what if people went on a road trip and it was weird" is one of the oldest story types is that a lot of sense of personhood has been, historically, tied to place. the weird road trip says "what if we went somewhere else, where no one knows us, and tried out being a different person".

Odysseus, the famous liar, goes on a weird road trip & over the course of it becomes several different people, and then comes home & is all those people as well as himself, wearing the echoes of those other people

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #23 Pitch

Rise of a Desert Stray - Part 10 (Work Got stupid busy so missed a bunch but still here trying! lol) Krick awoke to a grey ceiling bathed in the dim illumination of a single candle on a desk beside the small bed he lay on.  The bed was warm, soft, and inviting and he likely would have immediately drifted back into the depths of peaceful sleep when a chanting from outside the door reached his ears. The tone and pitch of the chant were shifting.  The strange words the inflection of the chanters mantra rose and fell as the mantra went on and on.  It was a strange yet oddly peaceful chant and Krick did not find any issue with the sound.  In fact it began to make him more tired and soon he was back asleep, the pleasant sounds filling his ears.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #9 : Yawn

Rise of a Desert Stray Part 8 (Missed Prompt 8 cause of work but keeping the story going in order lol) Krick’s green eyes squinted at the chamber that yawned before him.  The glow of the blue lights stung his eyes and made them water as his pupils tried to narrow as they beheld true light for the first time in days.  He looked around, confused and unsure if this was real, the end, or another hellish challenge.* He was nearly naked now, most of his clothes having been torn off by monstrous talons or ripped to make bandages.  Dried blood covered his body and numerous wrappings covered his arms.  But as wild and damaged as his body looked, it was his mind that had taken the true beating.  The dark spells and curses he’d endured had pushed him to the very limits of his mental endurance.  He’d seen and experience things he didn’t totally understand inside that dark pit and only his ability to consume aether had saved him as he’d eater away at the curses and hexes like a hungry cannibal. He licked his lips and heard clapping. “Well done my boy!” *Crate came rushing up do him, dressed in grey robes now and looking clean and fresh.  Crate slapped Krick on the shoulder and Krick shoved Crate away as he pointed a knife at him. “Get away.  This is another trick!”  Krick pressed his back against the wall as as more figure entered the room.  The room itself was a simple square with gilded columns rising along the edges. In the middle was a massive, bronze bowl with a blue flame burning inside. “This is no trick.”  came a woman’s voice.  Krick watched a tall woman wearing a mirror-covered masked and flanked by a hyur and a lalafel enter the room.  The other figures bowed.  Even Crate bowed, though not as deeply as everyone else.  “You survived our trials and stand before us now as one ready to join our ranks.” “Join you?”  Krick blinked, his vision blurry from lack of sleep.  “I’m just here to learn power from Crate.” “And you will.”  the woman eyed Krick and there was amusement in her tone behind her mirrored mask. “But power and knowledge have a cost. And that cost is your service to our cause.  But we can discuss that later.  First.”  she turned and looked into the blue flames. “Crate brought to us this man.  Today that man has endured our trials, killed his fears, and become one of us.  Welcome your new brother in death.” “Long may he endure.”  said the members in unison.  Krick wilted his ears and narrowed his eyes at that.  Crate suddenly slapped Krick on the shoulder again and chuckled.  “Come, Krick.  You must be exhausted.” Krick shook his head, yawned, and then collapsed into Crate.  Crate grunted at the barbarian’s weight and struggled to keep the suddenly unconscious Krick upright.  “He could have at least waited till the ceremony was complete before passing out.  Maybe he’s weaker than you thought.”  the scathing words and tone came from Anon Nonnon, the lalafel woman eyeing Crate smugly from the Speaker of the Dead’s side.  Crate simply smiled back as he used magic to levitate Krick’s bulk and began pulling the sleeping man to his new room. “My -apprentice-”  there was almost pride in that word.  “Is simply tired.” “He took four days. The longest completion time on record.” Anon smirked.  “And yet he still completed it.”  Crate replied.  “Don’t worry Anon.  The finest wine takes times to create. But the wait is always worth it.  Don’t worry. I meant what I said. He will kill you and take your seat.” The gathered members of The Order of the Eclipse looked between the two awkwardly.  These two were among the strongest, if not the strongest, members of the order.  To see them bickering made everyone uneasy. “I look forward to spilling your wine.”  Anon cackled, waving a dismissive hand.  “Enough.” The Speaker of the Dead ordered.  “Crate, take your apprentice to his room and restore him.  Once he is well, bring him to me.” “Of course, my mistress.”  Crate bowed to the Speaker of the Dead and then dragged the floating Krick away.  As he walked, he grinned and congratulated himself. Krick had survived.  He had found someone worth making his apprentice.  Of course if Krick survived the learning process was something else but, it was a start.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #7: Pawn

Rise of a Desert Stray part 7 Crate casually sat alone within the confine of his room.  He was playing a game of chess with himself.  He was aimless in his play, doing so more to waste time than anything.  But as he played, a spark lit in him and he flicked his tail as he suddenly began to speak in rhyme: “The pawns the piece that’s quick to die. After all who dares lie about it’s purpose in the game’ A simple wall, a snuffed out flame. Yet in each pawn potential awaits should they avoid Thal’s cold gates. So as a pawn move across the board the end reveals the power stored. And the pawn becomes much much more and changes the game forever more.” Crate moved a black pawn onto the far edge of the board and swapped it out for a queen.  Just then a horn sounded and Crate blinked. The horn signaled that Krick had survived the trial and arrived in their halls. Crate smirked as he looked down at the pawn become a queen. “Seems you have what it takes after all.”

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #6: Onerous

Crate sat at a desk in a small, stone room. The walls were covered in shelves and stuffed with so many books that any magus would have been jealous. Yet this collection of volumes paled when compared to his island vault library. The bed in the corner was soft and draped in blue silks. But it paled to his huge, king-sized bed in his island vault. The desk, the carpet, the lanterns, all were pleasant and well made. But, again, they paled when compared to his personal residence.

Crate was a miqo’te that enjoyed the finer parts of things. Yet, here, in these halls that the ‘Order of the Eclipse’ called its home, he felt reduced to spartan needs by the will of his superiors.

“What good is power and long life if you spend that time living like a peasant.” He muttered, knowing a peasant would happily take his current abode. “This place, this order, this work. They couldn’t be more onerous.”

Crate’s white tail flicked as his gaze turned towards a group of shelves that were full of books wrapped in blue leather bindings. These were the records of his missions and achievements carried out in the name of the Order. He had done more to ensure the Order’s success than anyone. But it was all self- serving ultimately. His true goals were his own and the Order was something he tolerated out of necessity. After all, why else would someone as strong as him bear the onerous burdens of the Order.Constantly they need enemies removed, investigations de-railed, and rumors spread. The Speaker of the Dead had her own ambitions and Crate had to play his part.

He sighed and picked up a violin and its bow from the desk. The beautifully made instrument began to sing as Crate played it with a master’s touch. Song after song filled the room and he let himself smile. At least he was left alone to play for now.

Krick’s time inside the trail would be ending soon if the barbarian was making decent progress. In the next few days Crate would know whether Krick had been worth coming here or not. If he had been, Crate would tolerate the inevitable missions he’d be tasked with so he could train Krick. If not, Crate would take his missions, accomplish them as fast as he could, and then just see to his own, personal tasks for awhile.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Writing Prompt #5: Cutting Corners

Rise of a Desert Stray: Part 6

Krick wandered the dark maze with a sense of apprehension and fear tugging at his mind. Dark, enclosed spaces made him uneasy after a life under the open skies of Thanalan. How he longed for the glow of the stars and moon now, not the paltry, wavering light he conjured in his left hand.

The dim, wavering light sputtered as Krick tried to spend little of his precious, limited aether making the ball of aether glow. Knowing he was in some sort of stone maze, the only sound that filled the dead space was the sound of him cutting notches into the maze’s corners mark his passing.

Slowly onward into the dark labyrinth he went, cutting corners and hoping that whatever he found inside these dark halls were things he could kill with blade and fang.

Or overcome with his mind.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #4 Extra Credit: Trial

Rise of a Desert Stray Part 4 Days had become weeks as Crate and Krick slowly traveled north.  Their path was a winding one and slowly the lands shifted from the deserts of Thanalan to outskirts of the Shroud.  Crate said the two of them would not be welcome inside those hallowed halls of tree trunks and ensured they only dipped in briefly for food and aether. as they slowly circled the Shroud.  Eventually they began to climb the cold but green slops of Coerthas and then deep into mysterious, lost hinterlands. Krick was in awe.  He’d spent his entire life in Thanalan.  Desert, sand, and harsh desperation were what he thought life was.  So when he saw how much WATER these other regions enjoyed, he felt like a king as he awkwardly splashed away in shallow pools.  He rolled in the water, splashed it over himself, laughed even. But other than these water-induced moment of mirth, the two spoke little.  Crate mostly kept to himself and occasionally asked Krick random questions.  Krick was growing frustrated at the silence because he wanted power and every time he asked what he was going to learn from Crate or where they were going, the white-haired man just droned on about patience being a virtue. But that patience was rewarded.  After over a moon of traveling, they finally arrived at a small, secluded stretch of mountain where Crate lead Krick into a cave.  There, before a set of stone doors built out of the wall, Crate turned. “This is where we part.”  Crate said quietly.  He waved his hand and the door opened to a black tunnel beyond. ��What?” Krick looked at this and pulled a knife.  “This is the ‘Door to Destiny.’  Beyond this is a trial that will test your limits of mind, body, and power.  Should -any- of those be lacking, you’ll die.  But, should you have the required attributes, you’ll come out the other side to become my apprentice.” “Shouldn't I train for this?” Krick snorted derisively at Crate.  “Oh, without a doubt!” Crate laughed.  “But I am a busy man and don’t have time to spend cycles training someone who will just fail this test anyway.  I’m tired of putting effort into failures.” “We just walked for over a moon and you complain of wasting time?” Krick blinked. “I was watching you and testing you in my own way. Had you ever bored me or made me doubt that you have a sliver of a chance to survive, I would have killed you along the round.” Krick swallowed. He had attacked Crate several times along their journey and Crate had defeated him in seconds every single time.  Crate’s power was immense and there was a emptiness in Crate’s eyes that told Krick taking a life was nothing to the white-haired miqo’te in the floppy hat. Krick looked at the dark maw behind the doors and flicked his tail. “And if I refuse?” “I kill you now.” Crate flicked his tail in return.  “Death is behind you. Death is before you.  Pick how you will meet it.” Krick snorted. “Not really much of a choice.” The barbarian muttered as he ran a hand through his blond hair. He growled and surged forward, the muscles of his powerful frame rippling beneath the animal hides he wore.  He stepped into the dark and the door shut behind him. Crate looked at the doors and suddenly he exploded into his cloud of purple smoke. --- When Crate returned to the world as a solid being, he was in a chamber of grey stones. Blue light emanated from runes craved onto the walls.  In the middle of the room was a large, round table whose center glowed and teemed with a  mysterious light that emanated from within.  Around the large table sat nine chairs.  Crate casually walked over to the table and ran his hand over the smooth surface.  He could feel the power within.  He grinned to himself.  Only he truly knew what lurked inside the table.  Not even the arch-deacon of his order knew the truth. But why should a puppet know the truth? “It’s been awhile since we’ve seen you Crate.”  As if on cue, the arch-deacons voice floated out to him.  Crate flicked his ears before he turned to give the speaker a bow. “My work is never done, Speaker for the Dead.”  Crate glanced up to see a tall woman wearing grey robes and a mask made of mirrored glass.  White hair flowed behind the mask as she strode gracefully across the room towards him.  Behind her followed two others, dressed in grey robes as well though they wore no masks.  One was a young-looking hyur man.  The other was an ancient and shrivel lalafell woman.  Crate recognized both as members of ‘The Council of Nine’, the ruling body of this ancient order.

“No, but you also only return when you need something.  So,” the tall woman known as ’The Speak for the Dead’ came and sat down in a chair, her blue eyes watching Crate as she and her colleagues seated themselves.  “Why are you here?” “Well!”  Crate clapped his hands together.  “I just put a new candidate for membership into the Trail.  Should he live, I intend to make him my apprentice.” The three whispered among themselves. “How long have you been training this individual?”  the hyur asked. “OH I haven’t.” Crate shrugged. “You just threw him into the trial with no training?”  The Speaker of the Dead inquired. “Yup.” Crate nodded. “Then he’ll be dead soon.”  The lalafell snorted.  “You are such a  fool, Crate.  Proof the Nymian culture deserved it’s fate.” “Is that so?” Crate gave a dangerous smile towards the lalafell as his eye twitched. “It is so!” the lalafel shot back.  “You may enjoy wasting your time but stop wasting ours.  I was excited to hear you finally took an interest in a candidate after two decades of finding no one worthy of you.  But now you play this foolish game?  You have been slipping slowly into madness and childish antics. I’m growing bored and annoyed by you.” “Both of you, enough.”  The Speaker of the Dead waved a tired hand.  “Crate, we train our potential disciples for cycles to past the test and become true members of our order.  You know this.  So why just throw the first person you see with potential at the trial without training?” “Two reasons.” Crate replied, sticking his tongue out at the lalafel woman.  “First, I am not wasting any more of my valuable time on training someone that will fail that hellish tribulation.  It is a matter of willpower more than anything and that is not something you can train quickly.  Second, I think this candidate already has the willpower and the ability to endure it.  And a special power that should, if he is clever, survive.” “And if he dies?” the hyur male asked. “Then I go back about my business.”  Crate shrugged.  “Is this really so hard to grasp?” “No.”  The lalafel woman snorted.  “But it’s foolish and idiotic.” “Then I will make a wager with you, Anon Nonnon.”  Crate looked at the lalafel woman. “When he survives this trial, I will train him to one day kill you and take your seat on the Council of Nine.”  “Ha!”  the lalafel woman gave a wicked sneer.  “I will happily murder this whelp of yours.  Too bad he will be dead before dinner.” “Anon. Tyr.  Leave us.”  The Speaker of the Dead ordered calmly.  Both looked at her in surprise but rose and bowed respectfully before leaving.  Crate looked at the Speaker of the Dead, his unknowing puppet, and cocked his head. “Crate. You have taken less apprentices than any other during this order’s history.  And most of those died.  The few that lived either serve as our most capable agents or as part of your personal operations.  So I know this selection of yours must mean something.”  The speaker folded her hands into her lap.  “May I ask why?” “Honestly, my lady, I can’t totally say.”  Crate chuckled.  “He’s got an ability that could prove useful. But there is a will of iron inside his eyes.  He’s a broken, shattered ruin of a man.  He’s impulsive.  Boisterous.  Haughty.  Yet clever.  Strong-willed.  And...” He shrugged.  “He’s never once bored me.“ “I will allow you to make him your apprentice should he survive.  And should he kill Anon, he can have her seat.”  The Speaker sounded amused and Crate was reminded why he liked her.  Puppet though she may be, she was clever and capable.  In another life, Crate could have truly obeyed her orders without selfish gain as the motivating factor. “But.” The Speaker of the Dead said with a raised hand and Crate raised both eyebrows.  “In exchange for granting you this pupil, the desire to defeat Anon, and forgiveness for your cycles long absence, you will take the empty seat on the Council of Nine.” Crate frowned. “You haven’t filled that still?”  Crate glanced at one of the chairs.  “It’s been half a decade.”  “And there is no one else worthy of the seat in our ranks.”  The Speaker said, sounding regretful of that.  “The Order of the Radiant Dawn has made several successful offenses against us in these last few cycles and any possible candidates were slain.” “Be that as it may, I do not desire the seat.  I didn’t desire it the first, second, or third time you offered me a seat.  I still don’t.”  Crate shrugged. “Crate.”  The woman said softly.  “You are the strongest among my ranks.  You can bring your wisdom to this Council.” “My lady.”  Crate said, bowing.  “I do not wish this.  I am loyal to you and this organization. But I have my own ambitions and goals. A seat would only distract me.” The Speaker of the Dead sighed. “Then you may take this applicant as a apprentice if they survive.  But they may not kill Anon unless you take the seat.” “Oh good. I got some time to decide.”  He laughed.  “I’m no fool. I know Krick won’t be ready to kill Anon for awhile.” “Krick?”  The Speaker of the Dead seemed curious.  “How did you meet this rare gem that caught your eye. “Tell you if he lives.”  Crate grinned.  “For now, if I will have your blessing, I would like to shower and rest.  We have a few days until Krick could be done with the trial at best. The Speaker of the Dead nodded. “I have been able to smell you from here so I think that is for the best.  It is good to see you again.” “And you as well my lady.”  He bowed again and meant those words.  Even if she was a puppet, she was a good one. He turned and strolled out.  He had a few days to kill and he’d been away for a long time.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt 3: Temper

The Rise of a Desert Stray: Part 3

The morning walk following the departure from the trader’s camp was silent again.  Krick had never been one to enjoy idle conversation.  That wasn’t how his tribe had raised him.  Words were cheap.  Only action ultimately mattered.  Even his mother, wise and clever as she was, still stressed the value of action over the flapping of one’s lips. Thinking of his mother made him growl and his aether flared.  Suddenly he gasped and clutched at his chest as he suddenly felt weak.  Too much aether had been used. Krick sank to his knees.  Crate turned. “Krick?”  Crate’s eyes glowed purple as he studied Krick’s aether with his own and understanding dawned.  “You cannot generate aether naturally can you?” Krick wheezed and snarled.  He sense the aether in some shrubs near him and he began to reach out and try to suck in their aether like he was some sort of parasite.  He drew and drew until the aether was totally gone from the shrubs.  Crate watched the vegetation shrivel and die as the very life was drained from them to feed Krick’s body.  He flicked his tail.  He had sensed something wrong with Krick’s aether earlier but hadn’t known exactly what the reason was until now. Krick was coughing, still weak. Crate pulled out a stone that glowed and teemed with stored aether and quietly tossed it aimlessly up and down. “What is...that stone.” Krick muttered, staring at the stored aether like a man dying of thirst.  How appropriate the metaphor Krick had used earlier that morning. “A crystal filled with aether.  I create them so I can draw on their power should I need extra aether in a fight.  But it seems YOU need these just to stay alive.  I’ll give you this. If you tell me how you came to have such a fascinating defect.” Krick hissed at the word ‘defect’ and charged Crate.  Crate snorted and blasted Krick aside easily with a surge of power.  Krick went tumbling across the sand and rocks as the energy blast hit him.  “Give it...” Krick skidded to a stop and immediately grabbed a rock as he rose.  He rushed Crate, clearly intent on braining the white-haired man with the stone.  Crate watched the wild barbarian descend on him. He saw Krick’s eyes glow green and green levin suddenly shot from Krick’s left hand.  Crate deflected the spell with a simply flick of his tail.  His face grinned as Krick swung at him.  But the moment before the stone hit, Crate morphed into a cloud of purple smoke that swirled wildly.  Krick, off balance from his attack, fell onto the ground. Krick lay there, panting and wheezing.  He had sent out too much energy with that levin attack and was barely able to keep himself breathing as his stolen aether slowly drained. “Well.” Crate said as the cloud congealed back together and solidified until Crate stood there as before.  “Seems you may be dead soon.  Want to cool your temper and answer my question or die?” Krick snarled and then coughed.  He felt the world growing dark.  He then heard Crate boots walking off and he realized Crate would leave him to die. “Crate!”  Krick wheezed.  Crate was humming a song. “Crate...I...the Amalj’aa captured me and did something to me during a ritual. They broke my aether and now I have to do this.  After I was rescued the Thaumaturges’ Guild kept me alive to run tests.  It’s how I learned to not die okay!” He began coughing blood as the world grew dark.  Krick began to realize he was truly dying!  Krick tried to find something to steal aether from. But in the desert there was nothing that would save him.  Crate was blocking his ability.  Krick hissed and raged in anger. Furious that he would die like this.  Not knowing many years from now the woman who would become his wife would fix this condition. Suddenly life flowed into him.  Aether, more than he had ever guessed could be stored in a stone, poured into him as Crate thrust the crystal into Krick’s hand.  Krick held the stone tightly and just let life come back to him as Crate kept him from Thal’s domain. “You need to get the temper locked down.” Crate commented calmly. Yet he was clearly amused.  “Emotions are wonderful.  But you let them run amock, you’ll fuck up in a moment. Now, stop taking a nap and lets go.  We’re wasting time.” Krick snarled and, with his strength restored, rose and sent another blast of levin at Crate.  Crate deflected again and this time he simply made a stone fly up from the ground and smash into Krick’s manhood. Krick grabbed his now bruised pride and collapsed in a heap of grunts and curses. “Do try to catch up once you can walk.” Crate laughed.  “I’m tired of wasting time.  I see I’m going to have a lot of work ahead of me if I’m going to temper you into a decent weapon. Especially with your temper. HA! I do love a good play on words.”  Crate casually turned to stroll off.  Krick lay there for awhile, growling. He was tempted to just abandon Crate.  But the man had so easily beaten Krick.  Time and time again, Crate had defeated him with powers Krick wanted to learn.  He laid his ears flat, swallowed his pride and began to limp after Crate.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #2: Bolt

The Rise of a Desert Stray: Part 2 Several nights after Krick and Crate had met, the blond found himself at the desert’s edge inside a small collection of tents and shoddy huts.  This collection of temporary structures formed a small trading post that was trying to become a permanent addition to the world.  Hunters carrying basilisk scales and small animal hides would come here to sell their wares for coin and goods.  Meanwhile, merchants from the growing city of Ul’dah would purchase these goods and ship them back to the rising desert star.  After all, with Sil'dih defeated three centuries ago, who was left to withstand their might? The desert wind sang softly and tugged at the sides of the canvas tent Crate had rented for them to sleep in. But Krick wasn’t interested in sleep, even as the stars twinkled down at him.  He was too fascinated by the people.  He watched several women dancing around a large fire as other people drank and spoke. Some played a game on a wooden board.  Life seemed...peaceful here.  Or was it because he now lived in a world free of his father’s shadow? “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”  Crate mused as he returned to the tent and sat down beside Krick.  He offered Krick a mug of cool beer and followed Krick’s gaze. “One of those dancers have your eye?” Krick looked at the beer for a moment and then removed one of his hands from the skull in his lap to take it.  He sipped the drink and perked his ears at the taste.  It was far better than he had expected a beer in a place like this to be. “They all have my eye.” Krick admitted as he finished his sip. “Well, don’t bed them here.  I need my beauty sleep and you seem like a loud one.”  Crate chuckled.  The two had not talked much the last few days. Crate had been quietly studying his find as they had marched almost without stop.  The blond had never once complained about the heat, the pace, or the lack of water and sleep.  He was resilient for sure.  But Crate had many more tests to perform before he’d let himself truly connect with this man.  Crate had seen too many potential recruits die to care about one more. “Before you go.”  Crate said thoughtfully, looking at Krick.  “A question to help me gauge you.  Today, you saw the goods being sold here.  To you, what is the most valuable good here?” Krick blinked at the question.  He studied Crate with instant distrust.  Crate approved of the distrust.  Never trust anyone. “The bolt of silk.”  Krick eventually answered. “Why?”  Crate asked, taking a sip.  Krick grunted and sounded almost annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to know why as well? “Because your answer interested me.”  Crate grinned as he shrugged.  Krick was silent again for awhile as he though, drank his bear, and watched the women dance. “Because it gives me anything I need.”  Krick admitted.  “If I had that, it could give me many things I might need. If I was dying of thirst, I could buy a glass of water with a few ilms of silk.  If I was being attacked, I could use more ilms to buy a weapon or use the bolt as a distraction to seize a weapon.  If I needed a mount, I could buy one.  If I found a naked person, I could offer them the clothe to cover themselves in exchange to them working for me.” “So you see the bolt of silk more as a tool to get what you need, and not a prize?”  Crate was thoughtful. “Water is the only prize that matters.” Krick snorted.  “Everything is worthless to a man dying of dehydration save a glass of water.” “A surprisingly deep answer for such a simple concept.”  “I was raised in a world where you’d kill a man abd drink their blood so you wouldn’t die of thirst.” Krick glared at Crate, feeling judged by the white-haired man.  “Do not think you understand me or my ways.” “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear barbarian friend.” Crate’s tone was mocking and Krick flashed his fangs. “Oh do put those away.”  Crate sighed as he finished his beer and climbed onto his cot.  “I need sleep.  Go do whatever it is you sand-soaked water-lovers do.  We leave early however.” Krick growled, got up, and went to go dance with the women now that he had beer in him ---

The next morning, Krick awoke in the arms of a woman he didn’t recognize and a headache that told him he’d indulged in many more mugs of beer.  the miqo’te shoved the woman off him, even as she complained, and went outside.  He found his clothes outside the tent and had just gotten dressed when Crate walked over to him. “You stink.”  Crate made a face as he caught wind of Krick’s stench of beer, vomit, and musk.  “Remind me to teach you how to take a bathe in water at some point.” Krick rolled his eyes and muttered something in his tribe’s hunt-speak.  He was surprised, however, when Crate tossed him something. A bolt of silk. Krick blinked as he held the valuable item and looked at Crate with confusion and suspicion in his eyes. “I liked your answer.”  Crate replied.  “Consider it a gift from me to you.  The first of many gifts you can use to get all the water you desire in this life.  Follow me and never need water again.  Or stay here and see how long one bolt of silk lasts you.  Oh.”

Crate then tossed Krick a satchel made of hide.  Inside was water, some food, and a silk bag that housed the skull of Krick’s mother. “Let it never be said I do not reward those that follow me.”  Crate winked.  He was playing a part. Luring Krick in with rewards.  He wanted this man to follow him.  He wanted to Krick to survive his tests and be his pupil. Krick thought but before he could speak, Crate was already walking north. “Oi, you slept with my wife!”  came a cry.  Krick looked over at a very angry looking hyur.  “Here.”  Krick tossed the bolt of silk at the approaching man.  “Buy yourself another one. She’s rather used.” Krick turned from the shocked and flustered hyur to chase after Crate.  Crate had handed away water, food, and silk like it was nothing.  He had never shown fear in their time together.  And there was a power and presence to Crate that Krick found irresistible.  What was a bolt of silk when compared to the bolt of power Crate was offering him?

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Prompt #1: Cross

The young, blonde miqo’te male rested with his back against the base of a large cross.  The man looked out at the sun-baked sands before him with dull, unfocused eyes.  The shadow of the large cross at his back covered him and stretched out across the nearby dunes.  The cross was a grim testament to his victory over his father and his father’s tribe.  “It is done, mother.” The blonde man whispered, slowly running his hands over the skull that rested in his lap.  The man couldn’t look down at the skull. It still hurt to know that this grim trophy had once been the smiling face of the woman that had raised him and protected him as best she could against a hideous world and a monstrous progenitor. Wet liquid dripped and the man looked up.  Blood was dripping from the man nailed to the cross.  It was obvious they were father and son.  The son sneered at the crucified and dead father.

“Who is the nunh now you bastard?”  The son slapped the base of the cross made from the bones of his family and looked away from his father’s transfixed corpse.  Making the cross from the bones of his family and nailing his father to it had been his revenge three decades in the making.  Victory had tasted sweet. But now, as he sat against the cross holding his mother’s skull, he realized he had nothing left in his life.  He was alone. Lost. Without purpose, family, or friends. A lone grain of sand among the desert of reality. The son looked down at the skull. “Well isn’t this a strange sight.”  came a chuckling voice. The son jerked his head up and looked toward the place the voice came from. Standing there was a white-haired miqo’te dressed in white and wearing a ridiculously floppy hat.  The stranger looked with his purple eyes at the son and gave a grin as the son rose and made aether flare around him. “Whoa calm down there, blonde.” the stranger laughed at the son.  “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already.  I simply came to investigate the unique aether I sensed last night.  Guessing that was you and your magics I sensed?  Seems your aether is a bit broken.” The son growled and nodded but did not relax as his eyes glowed green. “Well.” the stranger took off his hate and gave a bow. “My name is Crate the Great and I’d like to extend you an offer since our paths have crossed.”  Crate looked up at the cross and the man nailed to it.  He laughed.  “Ha! ‘Crossed.’ That’s poetry right there.”  Crate put his hat back on. “I represent an ancient and powerful group that is always looking for ‘unique’ people that might help us achieve our final ends.  I can’t promise you will survive our tests but you do seem to have what it takes.”  Crate looked at the cross again and then the blonde. The blonde son looked at Crate with a confused scowl as he held onto his mother’s skull.  This was certainly not how he had expected this day to go. “I'm a broken freak that just wanted to get revenge for my mother’s death.  I don’t want to join your organization. I just want to be left alone.” “Well, you’re in luck. I love freaks.  The more broken the better. Ever heard of the Kugane practice of kintsugi?”  Crate asked.  The blonde shook his head.  “It’s where, when something like a vase breaks, you fix it with gold.  It makes the cracks beautiful and makes the broken thing even more unique.  I’ve found that there is beauty in the broken and the discarded.  The foul and the tainted.” The blonde son blinked and met Crate’s purple eyes.  That was one of the deepest and most beautiful things anyone had ever said around him or too him.  Something his mother might have said.  He clutched at the skull and swallowed.  Crate saw that his words had impacted the blonde and had to hide a smile. He had him.  He had this mysterious, broken blonde now.  The power he sensed in the blonde son was immense and would be a useful tool. “What is your name?” Crate asked. “I-” He paused.  “Is your name really Crate?” “What’s in a name?  A rose by any name would still smell as sweetly after all.  It is not my real name if that is what you mean but you will never learn my true name.  Everyone in my organization renames themselves.” The man looked down at the skull.  He had been born as an ‘X’ Tia to his father’s branch of the ‘X’ tribe.  His mother had been one of his slaves. A witch from the ‘K’ tribe.  The blonde son looked at the cross.  Made of the bones of all his kin. And decided in that moment -all- his father’s tribe had died, even his real ‘X’ tribe name was now dead. He would no longer be known by his real name.  The name was dead and his father’s bloodline would die with him. “K’rick.”  He said after a moment of deciding on his new name.  He looked back at Crate.  “I am K’rick. Named after my mother’s brother.” “Well, -K’rick-.”  Crate smirked.  “A surprise to meet one of the ‘K’ tribe here in ‘X’ tribe lands.  But I do suppose it is a small Eorzea after all.  The pleasure is mine.”  Crate bowed and K’rick realized he’d never been bowed to before in his life.  He rather liked it.  “I-”  K’rick paused. “Don’t say anything else.  If you wish to hone your powers and be more than you ever thought, come with me. If you wish to remain here, I won’t force you. But you will never see me again.  This is a rare moment in life where you stand a ‘cross’road.”  Crate chuckled again.  “And will make a choice that will change your life dramatically.  Chose wisely.”  Crate turned, slipped his hat back on, and strolled off. K’rick stood there, clawing at the skull from comfort and support.  He glanced up at the dead body of his father and then at the retreating form of Crate.  K’rick swallowed and then ran after Crate. “You swear you will teach me?”  K’rick asked nervously, feeling his still unknown abilities and broken aether twisting inside him.  Crate turned and suddenly cupped K’rick’s face as he gave the blonde a reassuring smile. “I swear I will try. Can’t promise my training won’t kill you.  But if you do survive, you may just be my greatest creation ever.  I have a good feeling about you K’rick.”  Crate beamed and, for some reason, K’rick believed Crate’s words. K’rick smiled back.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge SEPTEMBER 1st - 30th, 2022

Welcome to YEAR 6 of our annual FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge, folks!

Last year we had 10,390 total entries! Which brings us to a total of 31,556 unique written entries over the last 5 years. That is just incredible! And something that I think that we should be super proud of as a creative fan community.

Once again, a quick thanks to you all for your patience with me last year as I was slow to communicate on a lot of things. I was working full-time, traveling, and very pregnant with my first kiddo - who came 3 weeks early, before I had a chance to wrap up all of the FFxivWrite2021 details. The very belated recap post can be found here if you missed it, and all winners have been contacted.

Now, without further ado, let’s get into how this challenge works!

Here’s the gist:

Runs from September 1st - 30th, 2022. During that timeframe:

Visit sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ once a day at 12:00pm (noon) PDT for the prompt of the day. Convert to your timezone accordingly. All prompts will be one word or brief phrase that you can interpret however you please.

You have 24 hours to write something for that prompt.

Submit the link to your entry post via this Google Form: https://forms.gle/SxFpwkKPLqnUwAYD9

There are no length or skill requirements (short & sweet is fine!).

There will be no 24-hour deadlines for the first week, September 1st - 7th.

Makeup/extra credit days every Sunday.

Every entry posted within its 24-hour deadline will count toward a participation prize raffle at the end.

You can join any time with any prompt #! There’s no need for latecomers to start with prompt #1. Picking up with the most recent prompt is A OK.

If you’re an artist and you would like to volunteer to do a simple black & white illustration as a participation prize at the end of this challenge, you can volunteer here!

RULES & MORE INFO can be found here: https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/

(( a new expac calls for new banner art - by @dantinmikannes ))

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2022 || kofi

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

How did you come up with the characters you play or what inspired you?

So, Anon, got you ask a bit ago but had to think on it because I was genuinely curious about what inspired me for each and hope this is at least a decent answer!

So for Tray, he was made as after a series of chars I made for FF14 that didn't click. I decided I wanted to make a character that was extremely outgoing and social so it would be easy to get rp in game. After that, I wanted to challenge myself and make a bit of a chill pacifist that was more excited about life than most. After that his entire yoga and moko stick was born because at the time I was really getting into yoga myself and felt it was a good trait to give to someone that dealt with a lot of mental issues by abusing drugs to calm himself down and yoga would help. I made him a sailor and drug smuggler because I love all things Pirate and nautical. Of course 'Pirates of the Caribbean' was an inspiration and I think some Jack Sparrow ended up inside Tray but I also grew up reading Patrick 'O'Brian novels and loved the series and all the ocean going adventures so making him a sea-going smuggler just felt fun. Plus I love Limsa so was another great excuse. Now Tray has changed ALOT since I first made him. He's become almost a case study for how power and absolutely warp someone and his mind is rather shattered at this point, though most people don't see his psychotic episodes. But RP is always fun and can change them. I'd say Tray became more defined THROUGH RP than how I started. He was more vague at the start and has become very painted and defined now after five years playing him. Now for Krick. Krick was defined very well AT THE START. See, growing up, I was introduced at an early age to the Warhammer Fantasy universe and setting by picking up a game called Mordhiem randomly at a store. I didn't play it much, but I fell in love with the lore and the Grimdark theme. I'd say Warhammer Fantasy's lore and aesthetic overall influenced my writing more than anything. Grew up reading the novels and C.L Werner is an amazing author that does NOT get enough recognition for his talent with the written word. So my view of necromancers and the undead are very inspired by this world and I had long written necromancers or day-dreamed their adventures so it was a theme I was well versed in. So when I made Krick, I took the flavor of the Warhammer world and found out how necromancy works inside FF14 (Which there is a surprising amount of Lore in-game that I didn't know until I started researching) and found a great way to theme the lore-friendly necromancy with the grimdark I enjoyed. Krick was meant to be an NPC sort of villain and first that's what he was, this scheming villain in the dark shadows of the world, lurking and waiting to ruin the lives of anyone he needed to further the cause of his secret order. He was very easy to slip in and play and write. He was given a awful backstory to help explain his shift to being such a cruel person and it was more in depth than almost any other character I'd written if I am being honest. I'm almost sad most people won't learn about it. LOL. So essentially, Tray was a yogi smuggler meant to get me rp by being fun and Krick was my chance to bring my love for Grimdark necromancy into an rp scene. Hope this answered you question. Also, since some may guess, yes the 'Vampire Coast' is my favorite faction in Warhammer 2 to play as since it mixes my love of the sea and the undead into one beautiful mix. In fact I like the aesthetic so much, I even had a work commission inspired by the faction, inspiration that played a large roll in Krick's back story. So here, enjoy that one. XD

Thanks for the question Anon!

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Best game of CC I've had thus far! 😄 Really been loving SGE in PVP, even though I hadn't played it before CC came out. Honestly only way I would enjoy PVP more atm is if they let you que directly with friends.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Monk was the first class I played way back when I started in ARR and I have leveled it every xpac to max, even though I haven't really played it as my main class since HW. (I went tank and heals for fast ques lol).  I -Really- like how it plays through Endwalker now and honestly I feel that the current version of monk is the most fun I’ve had with the class ever.  So here is Krick as 90 MNK to celebrate! :D

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

😊 What can make your OC smile even when they’re feeling down? What cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your OC genrally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? What about your OC makes others happy?

Finally answered this one. Sorry! LOL Tray is the sort of person that would wear a smile even if his world was falling apart. He just prefers bringing mirth instead of misery if he can and he hides his own impulses and urges behind such a smile. He is a happy person, but alot of that is himself forcing the mirth to bury his sorrows and try to be the man he used to be. These days what cheers him up is moko, his husband, or being with friends and drinking. As for making others happy, he tries to do everything in his power to make people smile. A habit that gets him into trouble as he will participate in a wide range of actions from giving gifts to one person to giving another the hearts of their enemies.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

✂ – How does your muse handle a break-up? Have they ever been dumped before? How do they break-up with a partner?

For Tray that's a tough one cause he's been all over the place in relationships both with other people's OC's and NPC's from his backstory. As a young man, it didn't bother him. Men and women came and went in his dating life and he didn't really mind honestly. He was young and not one to settle down with one person. After he married and then lost his wife, he stopped dating and sleeping around freely and tried to find a more serious dynamic. He feared being left behind and didn't handle breakups well, and they were initiated by his partners. He would take the breakups and internalize them. He didn't show it openly but the break ups with his past two exes both affected him very deeply. One left him because he was gone for a long time and they just couldn't reconnect. The other relationship collapsed due to misunderstandings and confused feelings on Tray's part. He was depressed following these and it took him some time before he felt more like his old self again.