laeorinel - Tumblr blog

[laeorinel]

Sorry for dropping off the face of the internet after the end of FFXIV Write. Lots of stuff going on irl, and not all of it is bad. Long and short of it, I've made the scary decision to completely change jobs and attempt to start my own business. It'll likely be a little while before I can get it off the ground proper as I'm still figuring things out but I'm planning on selling resin based crafts and other things. Fingers crossed I'll have something more to share about it soon.

I'm currently trying to figure out how many FFXIV themed items is a reasonable amount to stock...

[laeorinel]

Got to do replacement art for Bigby Presents: Glory of the Giants. :)

[laeorinel]

>_> Let's see if this is too much spice for tumblr.

[laeorinel]

Getting back into art after a massive art block has been nice, even if all the AI bs is kind of killing my desire to get back into commission work. I like to believe there is still a market for it and most people want something made by a human rather than regurgitated pixels from a machine, but given how much I'm seeing lately I cannot help but wonder...

But enough of my bitching and complaining. Have a look at my tiefling Bard, Whisper. One of my oldest RP characters finally given a nice little glow up.

[laeorinel]

Getting back into art after a massive art block has been nice, even if all the AI bs is kind of killing my desire to get back into commission work. I like to believe there is still a market for it and most people want something made by a human rather than regurgitated pixels from a machine, but given how much I'm seeing lately I cannot help but wonder...

But enough of my bitching and complaining. Have a look at my tiefling Bard, Whisper. One of my oldest RP characters finally given a nice little glow up.

[laeorinel]

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 29 - Contravention

Today was a real struggle to get this done, but it's done. If I find time in the future I may rewrite this because I'm really not happy with it.

Major spoilers for early Endwalker, since I have a few friends who sitll haven't got to this point.

Thancred sighed with relief as he saw a certain Au ra off in the distance. The last few hours had been frantic, all of the Scions scattering to try and find their wayward warrior. As the hours ticked by and with little to show for their search, it had become harder not to begin to consider the worst-case scenario. He held himself back from charging off to meet her; G'raha Tia and Alisaie could have that honour. He would like to say it was because he wanted to protect the outward look of stoicism and professionalism, but in truth, the feeling of relief had lurched violently towards foreboding.

It all felt wrong. For her to disappear in the blink of an eye, dragged away to Gods knows where by their enemies and then walk back into camp no more than a few hours later with no injuries or looking any worse for wear? All of his training and experience said this was too easy, too convenient; this had to be some enemy ploy and not fate looking kindly on them for once. Every instinct he had was screaming at him. He could not place what caused it exactly, but something about her visage in the distance filled him with dread. And he was not alone in that feeling. With the exception of G'raha tia and Alisaie, the rest of the Scions had not moved an ilm.

"And so our wayward hero returns, and without injury." While Alphinaud sounded relieved, the way he spoke did little to hide his suspicion.

"So that is indeed our friend?" Y'shtola muttered, a hand reaching out towards Urianger to steady herself. For once, she was genuinely blind, her aether sight availing her little in this frigid hellscape.

"Is her visage not reflected in thine eyes?"

"Their aether is…different. Clouded and murky. I can scarce tell the difference between their aether and the surrounding environs."

Thancred and Estinien shared a look before glancing back towards Samara. The two people who knew her best placed her under scrutiny. The feeling of dread settled in Thancred's stomach the more he noticed what was wrong. The way she walked, her mannerisms, the lack of expression on her face as she saw two of her friends approaching and the lack of a visible weapon. None of it added up.

"It's not her." Estinien growled, taking up his spear and setting off towards 'Samara' at full sprint, not waiting to see if anyone else followed or answering any questions.

"G'raha! Alisaie! Get away from them!" Thancred roared as he charged off after Estinien. As he got closer, he saw the twisted grin on the imposter's face, warping the features of the woman he loved. His stomach dropped as he saw a flash of red, a large scythe materialising in the imposter's grasp, the first swing of the wicked sharp blade coming perilously close to catching Alisaie across her chest. They would not be fast enough to stop the second swing. Fate, however, had a different agenda as a sword soared through the air, the point aimed at the imposter's head, forcing them back a few steps away from Alisaie, the edge of the blade catching on skin and scale. It gave them enough time to regroup, each of the Scions readying themselves for a fight, except the imposter's attention was more on the Garlean soldier half crawling towards them.

The bloodied and broken Garlean soldier crawled forward, little more than a walking corpse. It was a miracle he was even standing, much less attempting to fight. Blood seeped from gaps in his armour, open wounds on full display, splintered bones breaking through skin and cloth with limbs twisting in abnormal directions. Nothing but sheer willpower, hate and stubbornness were fueling him now. Laboured breaths broke up their words; every word said clearly a struggle.

"Ze…nos…get…away…"

"Impressive. I did not expect you to arrive so soon."

Thancred's skin crawled as he heard the imposter speak. It was Samara's voice, but the pitch and tone were all wrong.

"You have discarded your weapon. What exactly do you intend to do? Your friends will not strike you down; how do you intend to stop me?"

The soldier reached for something on their belt, a standard issue pistol given to every Garlean soldier. The sickening crunch of bone filled the air as the soldier pointed it to their head.

"I die…you never…get your…battle…your…choice…"

"You expect me to believe you would end it here and now? To leave this world in a flash of gunpowder rather than steel? To leave your mission unfinished just to save them?"

Her answer was to squeeze the trigger. The soldier finally fell to the ground, dead once and for all. The Scions all stood there in stunned silence. They barely noticed the flash of red coming from Samara's body, but none missed the taunting voice of Fandaniel.

"Not to worry, your hero is alive. Returned safe and sound to her body. Thank her for me, will you? Her antics have been most entertaining." said the Ascian as he floated in the air next to Zenos's nightmarish form.

"Monster! How can you not baulk at this contravention of nature?!" Alisaie screamed, already mid cast as aetheric blades formed around her.

"Oh my dear, if only you knew…this entire world is a contravention of nature." muttered Fandaniel as he and Zenos disappeared through a portal before the blades could connect.

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 28 - Blunt

Minor Shadowbringers spoiles.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I am going with you." 

Samara sighed, her head falling back in frustration as she looked up at the sky. "We have been over this a dozen times, Alisaie. You and the others are staying here. None of you are fit enough to return to the field, much less venture halfway across the world to a warzone." 

"And I am saying you are wrong. I am perfectly fit and healthy." Alisaie crossed her arms, tapping a foot impatiently on the floor as she watched Samara load the last of her supplies on the airship heading to Doma. 

"And how easily do you tire? How quickly does your aether diminish?" Samara returned to carefully loading up the extra healing supplies Tataru had set aside from the Scion's stock. 

"All irrelevant questions if the enemy is routed before that happens." 

"If you can defeat them. You realise we are not fighting small units of soldiers but an entire Legion, yes? And unlike Doma and Ala Mhigo, reports are that most of the fighting is done in trenches rather than large fortifications." Gods, how many times had Samara said this exact same thing to Alisaie over the last week. Ten times? Twenty?

"All the more reason you should not go alone. Even if you oppose us taking to the frontlines, we can render aid back at the resistance camps. A few more healers could make a difference." Spoke up Alphinaud, sounding a bit less combative than his twin but equally as stubborn. 

"Even you Alphinaud? And here I thought you would be a voice of reason. You would only be useful until you keel over from exhaustion."

"While I understand your concerns, have each of us not proven fit for the task? We have faced far, far worse than Garlean's and walked away alive."

"Says the man who had a literal death wish as part of your grand master plan..." Samara sighed, turning to look at the trio of stubborn Scions. "This has nothing to do with past victories. This has to do with the here and now. None of you are fit to fight a war. Take yourself, G'raha. Your aether may not be as thin as the others, but your body is weak from the time it slumbered away in the Tower." 

"That does not mean we cannot help!" protested Alisaie, her foot stomping on the ground for extra emphasis. 

"That is exactly what it means. I will be blunt. You will be nothing more than a liability should you follow me. Not just to me but to every soldier in Bozja. They need hardened soldiers, not recovering scholars wanting to be the heroes of the story." Samara hated how cold her words sounded, but if there was one thing she knew, it was war and conflict. She had seen too many lost too soon because of stubbornness.

"What of the rest of you?" Samara muttered, glancing towards Thancred, Y'shtola and Urianger, who stood far behind. 

"Tis likely the three of us are of one mind." Said Y'shtola, glancing at her fellow elder Scions. Urianger nodded in return. "We will remain behind and pray for thine safe and swift return." Thancred's gaze lingered on Samara a bit longer before he sighed. 

"Indeed. You already know my thoughts on the matter. I know where I want to be, but what I want matters little in this case." Thancred could understand the twin's desire to help, but he was one of the few who at least had some idea of how bad things were in Bozja. "One wrong move could be perilous. You will have a hard enough time watching out for yourself. You can ill afford to be keeping an eye on anyone else." 

"We do not need to be watched over! We need to be helping her! How can you claim to care for her and not-" Alisaie paused mid-tirade as she heard Samara yell out in frustration. 

"Enough! If the three of you will not listen to reason, I propose a test. You can follow me if you manage to land a single strike on me. However, should I put you in a situation where you would be dead to rights in the field, you are to remain here. Do you accept?"

Her answer came in the form of the three of them taking up their weapons. With a sigh, Samara changed her weapon and armour in a flash of aether, the heavy plate and mail of a warrior changing to a monk's light leather and cloth trappings. 

Thancred raised an eyebrow at that. Was she going to fight them close quarters? He knew she was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but he was also reasonably sure she was out of practice with her monk training. He only ever saw her fight in this style during spars, never in the field. It would also increase the odds of her getting hit...unless that was her reasoning. If the three of them could not land a hit on Samara at her weakest, what hope did they have on the battlefield? A crude way of showing the twins and G'raha Tia how far they had to go to recover fully, but he could hardly say it would not be effective in humbling them. 

As Alisaie and G'raha tia prepared the first volley of their spells, Samara charged forward and jumped above the trio before bringing her leg down to the ground; large amounts of aether built up in her lower limbs, increasing her strength to a frightening degree. The ground shattered beneath her foot, earth and stone splintering, scattering the trio in different directions; the dust kicked up, obscuring each of their views. Poor Alphinaud did not even have the time to summon his carbuncle. 

Samara shot out from the dust cloud, grabbing Alphinaud by the back of his jacket and forcing him to the ground, the tips of two fingers pointed at a pressure point along his neck. 

"Dead," Samara said before her head shot up, letting the boy go and dodging the oncoming barrage of aetheric blades, weaving between each blade as she pinpointed their direction. 

As Samara broke through the dust, she saw Alisaie close the distance quickly, striking out with her rapier and trying to find a gap in Samara's defences. Samara dodged and weaved each attack, watching with a neutral expression as Alisaie's strikes grew more sluggish, quicker than the young woman would like. Samara jumped back away from Alisaie, watching the young woman breathe heavily and tilt forward uneasily to try and catch her on the retreat. Shaking her head, Samara could see her worst fears confirmed. Alisaie's stamina was nothing compared to what it was on the first, despite her protests. A prolonged battle would only end in one way. Samara charged towards Alisaie again, dropping low to the ground and sweeping the young woman's legs out from underneath her, catching the rapier as it fell from Alisaie's grip and holding the tip to her throat. 

"Dead," Samara said calmly, ignoring the muttered string of curses from the young woman. Setting the rapier down beside its rightful owner, Samara turned back to look for G'raha Tia, the dust finally settling and revealing him standing still across the clearing, his staff replaced by a shining sword and shield. 

The Miqo'te took up a defensive stance as he waited for the oncoming attack. He watched Samara take an attacking stance, aether collecting in her fist before she briefly disappeared from sight, moving at a speed that was hard to track. She stopped right in front of him, her fist stopping just an ilm in front of the shield. Even without contact, the speed and force behind the punch was enough to force G'raha to take a handful of steps back, the shield buckling under her strength before eventually dissipating, more dust, dirt and stone being kicked up all around him. He ungracefully fell to the ground, staring up at the warrior with eyes wide. He knew he was not at full strength yet, but he still hoped he could do something against her. If anything, this proved the divide between their power was so vast...

"Dead," Samara said with finality, turning to look around at the trio on the ground, vaguely aware a crowd had gathered to watch the display, a crowd Thancred was now trying to disperse with limited success. 

"Rest and recover. Bozja will not be the last war we fight or the hardest." Samara said to the three before she turned towards the waiting airship, departing for the East alone. 

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 27 - Sole

Another day of struggle writing done.

Shadowbringers spoilers aplenty.

As Samara lurked around the upper walkways of the Crystarium, she occasionally glanced down at the people below. There was an excited buzz in the air; word had spread of the night sky returning to yet another area of Norvrandt. It had been a while since she had seen The Wandering Stairs so busy. Drinks flowed freely, and she would not be surprised if the partying continued all through the night. She would spot her fellow Scions every so often, darting through the crowds to either get their own drinks and join in with the revelry or moving onto somewhere else.

She spotted Ryne off to the side with Thancred. While it was hard to make out all too much from the distance from what she could tell from their body language, both of them were at peace and, for once, looked comfortable in each other's company. She did not miss, however, the occasional glance from one or both of them in her direction.

A part of her wanted to join them, but it was safer for her to keep a distance. She did not want to worry them further, especially now that hiding the changes the Light was causing was becoming more complicated. She knew Ryne would offer to share the burden of being the host to the Lightwardens aether. She would not let that happen.

No, this was how it had to be. She had the sole responsibility of keeping the Light at bay. She would not condemn the young woman who had only just carved out a name and place for herself to this fate. Nor would she condemn the man so dear to her to lose another one he loved. If her life was the price that needed to be paid to save this world from destruction, then so be it, but that did not mean they needed to see every moment of her decline.

The physical changes were becoming harder to disguise. Her hair was becoming more brittle and paler as the days went on. At first, it was just a few stray hairs tinged a horrid pale bright yellow; now, most of her hair was tinted white at the root. She could easily cover it up with various dyes, but the changes to her eyes and scales were harder to conceal. She doubted the others had not noticed the changes in her attire, with every shred of scale and skin hidden beneath cloth, leather and metal. Her eyes she could do little about.

Still, the external changes paled in comparison to the ones happening inside. She was partly keeping herself separate from everyone else because she could feel herself coming undone at the seams. Her emotions were harder to keep in check, and her already tempestuous anger was always a hair's breadth away from being unleashed on anyone for even the most minor of things. Then there was the paranoia. The First had changed her friends; how could it not? Regardless, she still trusted them. Or did. Now, there were moments when she questioned their motives and wondered if they were friend or foe. On more than one occasion, she had found herself reaching for a weapon, ready and willing to fight any or all of them. It was a feral state of mind she had not felt in years, and to say it unnerved her was an understatement.

Then there was the hunger. She would need to go out hunting again soon. It was easier to hide the increase in her appetite that way, though she imagined sooner or later someone would come across the string of animal corpses felled across Lakeland or catch her mid-hunt or feast. That is assuming none were aware already. She knew the Exarch had a means of keeping an eye on her. Not to mention, a certain ghost was never too far away.

"Yet again, I find you alone. Want some company?" as if one cue said ghost made his appearance. Ardbert made his way over to Samara, taking his place by her side at the railing.

"Are you saying that more for my sake or yours?" Samara did not take her eyes off the crowds below as she spoke.

"Does it matter? How are you feeling? You're looking a little pale."

Samara sighed, leaning heavily against the railing and staring vaguely toward Thancred and Ryne. "Before, when I thought of the Light, I thought of the sun, a force that nourishes life but could also snuff it out in an instant of fire and flame. Compassion and fury in equal measure. I was wrong. It is cold and unyielding. I feel like I am in the middle of a snowstorm, the cold robbing me of my senses with each passing moment until nothing is left but the still of winter."

"Not good then. I assume you know what is happening?"

"That I am becoming a Sin eater, or that I am dying?" Samara idly picked at a patch of off-colour scales. She tried to not dwell on it, even if they were starting to turn a discomforting shade of gold.

The question went unanswered, with Ardbert quickly changing the topic. "What will you do?"

"Keep fighting for as long as I can. Pray whatever scheme the Exarch has in mind works, and if not…take matters into my own hands."

"What the hells does that mean?"

"If I fall to the Light, both this world and the Source are doomed to calamity. However, the calamity the Ascians wish to bring about can only happen if I, or something harbouring this damn Light, exists."

"So you would return to the Source before you turn. You realise that could cause what is happening here to repeat there. The aether would pass onto another, and then two worlds would be full of Sin eaters."

"Unless the aether was destroyed or absorbed in a single moment." her gaze turned up to the night sky. She knew it was not Nhamma up in the inky black sky, but it was a comfort all the same.

"On the Source, the land I hail from is known as the Azim Steppe. There is a sacred place up in the mountains known as the House of the Crooked Coin. Inside, you can find a fragment of the Dusk Mother, Nhamma, one of my people's deities. People from Tribes all over the steppe travel there when…when everything becomes too much. We throw ourselves at Mother Nhamma's mercy. Literally. Everything a person is, was, or could ever be is destroyed."

"That's your plan? Suicide?"

"What other choice is there? I either live and am freed of this burden or become the doom of this world and everyone on it. I refuse to let the latter happen. Not if I have a way of stopping it."

"Except you don't! You have no way of knowing if your plan will work."

"It is better than the alternative. What sounds better? Guaranteed destruction or the faint hope of averting it? I'm dead either way."

"I just don't want to take everyone down with me…"

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 26 - Last

Today was a struggle, not going to lie. The creative juices were not flowing at all and the brain fog was real. Not exactly happy with this but it is done at least.

Endwalker spoilers and a bit of wolcred to save my sanity

Thancred sighed as he counted the last of his cartridges. All of his preparations were complete. He could do nothing more, even if he still had that nagging sensation of forgetting or overlooking something. Even he, the one who tended to prepare for and assume the worst, could not prepare for all eventualities. None of them knew what awaited them at the edge of creation or what horrors the source of the Final Days would unleash on them. All they could do was wait until the time for their departure came. The rest of the Scions were finishing the last of their preparations and tending to matters should the worst come to pass. He was aware of what most of them were up to, at least.

The twins were with their parents, all grievances pushed aside, if only for tonight. Tonight, the Leveilleurs could be a typical family, and the twins could be children once more instead of the young adults their adventures forced them to be.

Urianger was spending as much time as he could with Moenbryda's family, likely regaling them with stories of his and Moenbryda's antics in their youth and the adventures he had been on since their last meeting.

If he knew Y'shtola as well as he thought, she would not be found in Sharlayan tonight. She would have made her way to Gridania briefly to see her Sister before venturing onto the Dravanian Hinterlands at her earliest convenience. It was only fitting she spent time with the woman who practically raised her.

He last saw G'raha Tia with Krile at the Baldesion Annex. From little he had overheard of their conversation, the Miqo'te had made some requests of the woman. One day, if Sharlayan found a means to travel to the First to deliver a message to Lyna if he could not do so himself. What else the man intended to do with the night was a mystery.

He had spotted Estinien at the docks earlier, speaking with Lucia briefly and handing over a few letters. He could only assume their contents, but whatever was said between the pair ended with Lucia saluting him before returning with the rest of the Ishgardians.

The one he had little idea about was Samara. He had not caught sight of her all day, yet given how easy it was for her to traverse great distances with her plentiful aether, she could be anywhere between Sharlayan and the farthest reaches of Othard. Maybe she had returned to the Steppe to sort matters out among the tribes in the event she-…no, he was not going to entertain that thought. Out of all of them, she would return from this alive. He would make certain of it.

Shaking his head, he admittedly felt a bit lost now. While there were old friends and mentors he could try and see before dawn, he had already said what needed to be said to them. There were only a handful of people or places he would wish to visit now, but the lack of time or means ruled them out. Gods, what he would not give to be able to see Ryne just once more. With little else to do and the knowledge sleep would not come to him easily, he let his feet guide him through the streets of Sharlayan, eventually leading him to one of his old haunts. A small outcropping atop the hills overlooking the bay. He would always come here when he needed time away from the stifling halls of learning in the city below. Few knew of it, and fewer still could reach it, yet despite that, he should not have been surprised that a certain warrior found her way there.

She cut a lonely figure overlooking the bay, legs stretched out before her as her gaze turned towards the moonlight sky. Samara gave no indication that she noticed his approach, but he did not try to hide himself as he moved over to sit next to her. As he sat down, he saw her hand reach out to take his own and intertwine their fingers. That single gesture quietened his mind. Thinking back, it was moments like this that made him fall in love with her long before he dared acknowledge it. Moments where they just sat in comfortable silence, not expecting or wanting anything from each other. Moments where they were not their titles or had to put on a show to fit in.

He had long earned his place in Sharlayan, that he would not deny, but even after earning the marks on his neck, he never felt as though he truly belonged. While he could talk, act, and even debate just as well as any native Sharlayan, that little voice in the back of his head would always remind him that he was little more than a Lominsan wharf rat that was granted a new life in a twist of fate and charity. He had to keep earning his place. So the mask of the ever-dutiful workaholic Archon fell into place as easily as breathing, much like Samara's own mask of being the stoic and unbreakable warrior of light.

Both wore these masks to blend in among people they did not truly belong to. Now, though, even if he did not dare say it, they belonged to each other. She never cared about what mask he wore, nor did he care about hers. She accepted him in whatever way he presented himself, flaws and all, even after his monumental mistakes.

As he lifted her hand to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the scarred scales, he knew there was nowhere else on Eitherys he would rather be. What better way could he spend what was potentially his last night in this world than in the company of the one person who accepted him without exception?

[laeorinel]

Today is one of those days where I hate everything I'm writing. I've tried rewriting todays prompt 3 times and I don't like any of it.

[laeorinel]

the random notes not showing up properly is so scary. if we can’t trust the activity feed who can we trust at all. how many mutuals have i ignored. how many silent cries have been lost to the abyss

[laeorinel]

There are so many things I could list here...but since you only asked for one I'll pick one of the more finicky design details about Samara.

When she was part of the Mol tribe she was being trained alongside a few others to be the next Ugdan whenever Temulun passed. As such she was trained as a shaman and lived by the rule of wearing all white and not taking the life of anything. That ended when she had a vision/echo dream of an old friend being attacked by a rival tribe. She was forbidden from intervening because of the whole "will of the gods" ideal of the Mol but ignored Temulun and went to her friends rescue. Things did not go the way she wanted and her friend died and come dawn of the next day she returned to the Mol tribe with her white robes now stained blood red after hunting down her attackers. This led to her being exiled from the Mol tribe until she returned to the Steppe in Stormblood.

However, she doesn't look back on this point in her life with any regret. She stands by her choice and to this day it doesn't matter what job she is doing but there will always be a trace of red somewhere on her clothing/armour/weapon, but especialy on healer jobs. I tend to have her wearing the Star velvet himation of healing for most healer jobs for the perfect balance of white/red. It's also part of the reason behind the red face/war paint.

WoL/FFXIV OC Question!!

Kinda, today's a freebie lol

What's one cool/sad/fun/etc. fact about your WoL/OC that you don't get to bring up often, but are just dying to ramble about?

Could be about lore, design details, abilities, anything!

[laeorinel]

wolcred week day 2 |  memories & shadows

too many photos to put in one post lmao ⬇️

Keep reading

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write - Day 25 - Call it a day

Minor Endwalker spoilers.

Samara was already fully awake as the first few slivers of dawn filtered through the small holes in her yurt. Already dressed for the day of work ahead and sipping down a cup of freshly brewed tea, she looked over the few fragile sprouts that would need to be planted once the ground had dried enough from the recent storm.

Farming was not something her people did on any grand scale. Most of their ways of agriculture were based around livestock. The land of the Azim Steppe was not well suited to grow most things. What vegetables, fruits and plants could be foraged were entirely wild rather than cultivated. Naturally, this led to a rather steep learning curve once she set foot on the island. Establishing a small plot was easy enough, but ensuring the tiny sprouts did not die within a week of planting was not. The first batch of produce she had grown without much help from the mammets was an accomplishment she was proud of. It was the start of her embracing this new way of life on the island, and it was all horribly domestic. 

Collecting up the small tray of bright green sprouts, she carefully made her way out of her yurt, perched atop the highest peak surrounding the growing settlement at the base of the cliff. To see it take shape was a point of pride for her. This was her home now. One she had made herself. The sense of peace that gave her was one she had never really felt. To her, home was the open road. It was the campsite she made whenever she felt like it, resting beneath the open sky. It was the old dodgy inn on a barely travelled back road that was held together by little more than a few rusting nails and the hopes and prayers of the innkeeper. Home was something that was never the same thing every night. Until now. 

Maybe it was no surprise that she now entertained a thought she had not considered all too often. Calling it a day on her life as an adventurer and wanderer.  

It was a thought that had crossed her mind on a few occasions in recent months. In the aftermath of the Final Days and Ultima Thule, it took many months of healing before she was fit to do much of anything. Multiple healers all cautioned her on returning to her old ways of fighting, some even going as far as saying she couldn't do it anymore. Her body had been through too much. Even some of her fellow Scions cautioned her on returning to the field. It was something she and Thancred had butted heads about on more than one occasion. It even led to them parting on less-than-better terms when he ventured east with Urianger. The rift that argument caused still had to be repaired. As Samara made her way towards the farm on the far hill, she could not help but recollect. 

That argument was still something that unsettled her. It had become such a big thing. What started as a falling out between the two of them soon encompassed all of the Scions to varying degrees. It was not her proudest moment. Still, her thoughts were valid as far as she was concerned. How could she not feel as though she was just being discarded when they were all scattering to the winds and leaving her behind? It was like it had always been. They only ever had use for her as a warrior. Now that her status as one was in doubt, she was no longer needed, and they knew it but refused to say it. They knew she was little more than a liability in the field, and she could hardly help with the more intellectual pursuits in Sharlayan. She had called each of them out on it in various ways, and some more unkind words were said. She had not lingered to hear any of their responses. She did what she had always done when she felt she had overstayed her welcome anywhere and ran. Ran as far as her still limited aether could take her. 

The next time she heard anything about the Scions was when Tataru mentioned her agreement with the Admiral about the island in the Cieldalaes. The Lalafell said the others had gone their separate ways and nothing more. Exile to 'paradise' was a fitting end, she supposed. It was far more palatable for the bards to say the Warrior of Light ended their days in peace than bloodied and broken on some far-flung battlefield.

The only problem was she was alone now, or well, mostly alone. Mammets were a kind of company, even if the ones on the island were all workaholics. But contact with anyone outside of the island was fleeting. Even Tataru only visited sparingly, and letters from friends or allies were just as irregular. 

As she reached the farm and moved over to one of the freshly tilled plots with her tray of tiny sprouts, she felt the uncomfortable prickle behind her eyes. She had shed enough tears over this. Over them. She remembered the faint hope she had on joining the Scions years ago. The hope that she had finally found a place to call her own. A weird sort of tribe that would accept her at long last. A family that would not abandon her. What a fool she had been. 

As her tears fell to the earth as she planted the new sprouts, she hated how her heart still ached to see them.

[laeorinel]

And update, I am not even disappointed we have the Scions again as our "group". They deserve to not be in an apocalyptic situation for one cinematic at least.

[laeorinel]

Samara technically has no home as such. She's still very much a nomad and prefers sleeping out in the wilds somewhere. However, she does IC'ly have an apartment/workshop in Limsa. I keep on meaning to actually make a start on her workshop in my apartment in Mist or I might save that for my room at my FC's house.

I have however made an attempt to turn the small house I got into a kind of yurt, though it's still far from complete. I kind of imagine she has it set up on the outskirts of Mor Dhona semi-permanently for most of the game.

WoL/FFXIV OC Question(s)!!

What does your WoL/OC's living situation look like? Do they have an apartment or a house or something else? Where is it? How is it decorated?