musesofawolf

[musesofawolf]

wuk lamat

[musesofawolf]

“📂“

A random but completely useless headcanon?

Oh boy do I have two for you!

Let's start with Bryn. This stoic Hyur prefers a firm floor over a soft mattress. He can sleep on either, but his time living in Limsa, either sleeping in a hammock or the wooden planks of docks and boats, he grew accustomed to it. Totally useless, but might explain why he winds up on the floor if the bed is too soft.

And Kaleh'a. Ahhh the funny little archer. He has a penchant for finding and collecting mushrooms. Not to grow, but to eat, either in food or on their own. He is careful to only eat it in small doses, and he has found a few combinations he enjoys, either for flavor, or relaxing.

[musesofawolf]

[ OBSERVED ] for sender to kill someone in front of receiver.

CW: Blood and Death

There was something about seeing a life taken by someone else's hands that told you far more than any amount of talking could. And what he was seeing...

Beauty.

A whirlwind of beauty and red, the spray of ichor as her scythe met flesh, and her dress flowed around her. There was rage painted across her face, but all he saw was the underlying softness, the swiftness of her kill. She was a weapon, but mercy. A reaper, yet still a dancer.

Mercy because she knew he was okay.

As the body crumpled, the eyes already lifeless, he wasn't looking at it. Bryn was looking at her, as he slowly stood, brushed off his pants, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know I had him."

And the smirk of a smile he got from her only made his heart flutter more.

[musesofawolf]

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

[musesofawolf]

send [ WITNESS ] for receiver to kill someone in front of sender.

send [ OBSERVED ] for sender to kill someone in front of receiver.

[musesofawolf]

everything looks like a nail when you've got a hammer and every song is actually about the character when they're on your mind 24/7

[musesofawolf]

Day 7 - Infinite

@daily-writing-challenge

It wasn't very often that Bryn and Kaleh'a actually had a chance to sit down and talk to each other, the two of them across from each other over a campfire as Kaleh'a whittled something with his knife into a soft piece of wood. Bryn watched, his hands idle, enjoying the warmth and the night, but after a long moment, he looked up to the archer's white tipped hair, and asked, "Tell me about Menphina."

Kaleh'a froze, the knife in his hand frozen against the wood as a shaved piece of wood fluttered to the ground. He knew Bryn, and he knew the man had a healthy distrust of anything and everything related to the gods. So to hear him ask that... He grinned, and he returned to whittling, before gesturing up at the sky. "When you look up at the sky, what's the first thing that you see? Especially on a clear night like this?"

Bryn looked up, past the canopy of tree branches, staring right at... "The moon."

"Correct!" He nodded, and applied the knife to wood again, as he hummed softly. "It's the biggest, most prominent thing in the sky, and the representation of Menphina, the goddess of the moon." He smiled, blowing off a bit of sawdust before continuing. "When I see her light, I get this warm, pleasant feeling, one of infinite love and life. Which, makes sense." He chuckled at that, and Bryn raised an eyebrow.

"Love?"

Kaleh'a nodded, and pointed at Bryn with the knife. "Love. All love. Familial love, romantic love, that tingly feeling you get when you see someone you're going to fall for. She is the embodiment of it all." He placed a quick curve around the edge of the wood, smiling at it. "Menphina also is the nicest to us. The kindest, doesn't really like fighting, simply a lovely goddess. Or a love goddess. Either way!"

Bryn shifted and frowned, before he gestured towards Kaleh'a. "But why do you worship her? Is it just because you're a Keeper?"

"Two reasons!" The knife lifted, tapping the locks of hair in his bangs and around his ears that were bright white, almost seeming to glow in the moonlight. "The first is that I'm a living breathing piece of proof of Menphina's love. I was born on the night of a full moon, and my hair since birth has always had white tips. 'Moon kissed', my mom called it. It's definitely a good conversation starter!" He chuckled again, returning to his whittling, before lifting it to eye level, turning it and tossing it at Bryn.

He caught it, slowly holding it to the fire, and finding a perfect rendition of a quarter moon. "The second," Kaleh'a continued, "is that my life has been full of love. From family, to lovers, to friends. I have her to thank for that. So I pray, and worship, and believe. Plus, Keeper culture."

Bryn grunted, eying the fire, then the moon in his hand, then...

He pocketed the small moon, folding his hands together in front of him, and sighed. "For all her infinite love...I would appreciate if she sent a little normalcy my way."

"Probably the wrong god to pray to for that," Kaleh'a said with a laugh, and Bryn rolled his eyes.

[musesofawolf]

Day 6 - Relic

@daily-writing-challenge

Kaleh'a was perplexed.

This was not his usual type of job or interest, but the possibility of what lay under this unassuming pool of water...

He was a Keeper of the Moon, by heritage and faith, believing and worshiping the goddess of the moon, Menphina. That meant that on the off chance he heard an interesting tidbit about the goddess of her supposed possessions...he bit.

Which led him here. Hands on his hips, bow and quiver leaning against a nearby tree, stripped down to just his shirt and small clothes, ready to dive into the deep, deep, deep water and hopefully retrieve what some claimed glimmered on a night of the full moon.

Which happened to be tonight!

As he watched, the moonlight slowly spilled across the top of the water, and his eyes widened, grinning wide. Sure enough, there was a glimmering silver something at the bottom of the pool, and his tail flicked excitedly at the prospect of finding this relic. All he had to do was hold his breath longer than anyone thought possible.

He's got this!

He didn't want to give himself more time to think about it, jumping straight up, executing a flawless dive into the water, and splashing into the water arms first.

One minute of silence on the surface passed...

Another thirty seconds...

Two minutes...

He burst out of the water, yelping in panic, a silver half moon tucked under one arm as the other floundered for the shore, and his feet kicked out at something under the rippling water.

"Back! Get back!" He scrambled out of the water, dripping wet, his hair and ears plastered to his skull as he rolled away from the water and bounced into a crouch, panting wildly as he stared at the water surface...

And three, beaked heads poked out, the snapping turtles that had made the pool their home glared at him balefully. One by one, they slipped back under the water, leaving Kaleh'a on his own on the grass by the water, and he flopped onto his side with a relieved sigh.

Lifting the fragment of the moon up in his hand, he marveled at the silver sheen of the metal, and as he peered closer, he could see what looked like part of a face on it. He had it! He had really found it! A relic of Menphina!

And that was right when the baby snapping turtle decided the tuft of his flicking tail was the perfect snack. Leaping up, he yowled in pain, the silver moon arching through the air as he threw it in a panic, trying to shake off the stupid turtle as he heard the distinctive plop of something sinking below the surface again.

Thal's Balls!

[musesofawolf]

5/22/25

How would your wol(oc)'s younger self react to your wol(oc)'s partner(s)?

[musesofawolf]

Does your wol(oc) have any siblings?

[musesofawolf]

— Jay Vespertine (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[musesofawolf]

Day 5 - Restless

@daily-writing-challenge

FF Elu @the-crimson-rose

Spoiler Warning: The uh...majority of the FFXIV story line?

Ala Mhigo. Where it all started. His home, his birthplace, where his birth family had lived. Maybe they still did live there, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. Not now, not ever. But it was the start.

Then Limsa Lominsa, the city of ships and sea, the heart of the Maelstrom. Where he had fled, his first steps outside of his home, out of necessity. Where he considered more of a home than his actual one ever was. That was where he had grown up, where he had become a man. Learned to fight, learned to live for himself, learned to survive.

He couldn't recall the number of places he went to and fought at with the Maelstrom, across the seas and in Eorzea itself. It was all a blur, a blur of rage and held back pain, until that fateful day.

The one he wouldn't forget.

Mor Dhona, Dalamud, the fall.

That's all he would think on that, he knew himself well enough now not to linger. He would remember, but he would not dwell.

Then five years of listless wandering, five years of traveling from city state to city state, doing what he could. He had felt broken, inside and out, even if the wounds on the outside were healed. But slowly, the one inside healed too.

Ah Ishgard, with it's towering stone walls, the buildings spiked against dragons, the war that would never end. Where he found himself again, realized he could turn away from war, could change, could show mercy, and understanding. Where he reconnected with old friends.

But the star under his feet still turned, and threw him back into battle, one he couldn't ignore, one he stood on the front-lines in, fighting for his land, his people, his home. Oh how it had pained him, that brief journey to the East, to leave the homeland so close to being free. But the necessity of it, the need opened his eyes to something he hadn't expected, where he met a group of people who understood him better than himself.

Then a lull in the fight, at least here, forced to stay behind as friends traveled elsewhere, instead shoring up what little peace they had on their little star, making new friends, befriending old enemies. And a house, gifted to him, one that opened new doors.

A door that he now sat with, her head laid against his shoulder, the waves crashing gently on the beach, in front the very place they had run into each other. It was funny, how here, with her, his restless bones didn't ache to move again. How even knowing that his friends were returned safe, and off to another adventure, he didn't feel the tug to go. No, not with her, with her he was content. At peace.

Bryn turned his head, kissing the blonde head of Elu Delouche, and smiling. No, here, his restless body was at rest. Here was home.

[musesofawolf]

Day 4 - Dangerous

@daily-writing-challenge

The bubble of the tavern was a loud undercurrent to individual conversations, and Kaleh'a's ears flicked about like little satellites designed to catch interesting tidbits of information. That wasn't to say he was ignoring the company before him, a group of fellow hunters who had decided to hang out in the tavern together after a week of jobs, but he was always alert, ready, just in case.

"Alright alright!" The round of mirth that had rippled over the table was dying down, and a few eyes were glancing towards the young Miqo'te, his turquoise eyes flicking between faces as he tried to remember what they were discussing. He was almost certain it was a crass joke about the Ziz and their long necks, but that didn't warrant the sudden focus on him. Especially since he hadn't told the joke.

"What? Something on my face?" He shot to the group, and they laughed, the leader shaking his head and waving a hand in the negative.

"No, no. We just have a question we ask all the younger hunters." Kaleh'a blinked, looking between each one of them slowly, and then shrugged with a grin.

"Alright! Ask away!"

"What was your most dangerous hunt?"

He blinked, his eyes widening, and he let out a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table with outstretched arms. "Most dangerous hunt? Oh that's a tough one...nahhhh, I'm kidding!" The table laughed, and he leaned in, his ears flicking atop his head. "Most dangerous hunt was an accidental hunt, an Alpha Ziz." A few of the hunters whistled in surprise, and exchanged glances, glances Kaleh'a knew meant they were doubting him. "I know, I know, how many hunters have tried to take down an Alpha Ziz and failed, barely escaping with their life, and now you are hearing that a little ole Miqo'te felled one. Well, I have proof!"

The ooos and aaaahs from the table continued as he leaned down, still speaking as he plucked his hat off the floor where it had fallen, brushing it off. "I ran across it on accident, my first time in Thanalan after all, and when I saw that monstrous beast rushing me, well, I thought I was dead." He shivered, his tail shooting out straight, then relaxing. "I won't lie, I was terrified, utterly, as it reared its head back and I saw the dripping poison on its breath, but my body? It just...reacted."

Plucking the feather from his cap, he placed it on the table, the short feather a bright, vibrant red, with a green spine down the middle of it. "I had an arrow knocked, aimed, ready to shoot in a second, and as it lowered its mouth to spew its poison...I released. Straight into its mouth, up through the upper jaw, and out its feathered head. Crumpled, on the spot." The feather was picked up, passed through different hands, and finally handed back to Kaleh'a with a bit more reverence. There was no denying what the feather was, and what beast it had come from.

"Lucky shot," one of the hunters grumbled, and Kaleh'a nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh absolutely! That was the luckiest shot of my life! I would never wish that situation on anyone ever, and I doubt I could repeat it again! But that lucky shot got me here, and talking with you all, so I'll take it!"

"Fair point," the disgruntled hunter relented, and then pointed his finger at the young man. "But only if you buy us a round of drinks!"

"Done!" And the cheer that went up had the Miqo'te laughing.

[musesofawolf]

Day 3 - Linger

@daily-writing-challenge

Spoiler Warning: FFXIV Pre-ARR and Binding Coil of Bahamut alluded to.

Why was he back here?

No, he couldn't be, it was impossible.

Over five years had passed since that red moon had disappeared from the sky, five years since it had wrenched his life in a direction he loathed. Yet when he looked up again, shielding his gaze, it was there again.

Looming ever closer.

Around him he could see them, shadows of former lives, some in uniforms he recognized, like the yellow of the Twin Adders, or blue of the Immortal Flames. Glancing down he recognized his own uniform, the blood red of the Maelstrom, and across his back...

His hand closed around the long handle of a familiar axe, his axe, the one he had carried with him all those years ago just in case, even if it meant extra weight. He couldn't stop the shiver of fear that shot through him, that had his stomach rising into his throat, a too dry mouth breathing in scorched air.

Hot. Too hot.

The shades were gone, replaced with fire, with raging flames all around him, the field cracked and broken from the blasts of hellfire from the fiend above. A fiend that glowered down at him with eyes that could smite the soul. A presence pressed at his mind, clawed at it, sought to bend him to it's will as a ragged scream ripped from his throat.

No. This wasn't how it happened. This was not-

The heat was burning his skin, the pain making him double over, his axe melting, his rifle clutched in his hands, his clothes in tatters. He had lived. He had lived. A dream, a nightmare. Not real. Not real.

Bahamut opened his mouth, the glow of fire in his throat, his eyes locked on Bryn's, locked on the soldier as he found the strength, somehow, someway to push his arms up, to level his rifle, to point the aether charged weapon in the direction of the being ready to Temper him, or kill him, and slowly squeeze the trigger.

"You...", he gasped out, his throat impossibly dry, voice raspy, "...are dead!"

Yet even as his rifle cracked, and the dream shattered around him, he swore he heard the menacing laughter of the massive dragon, as if somehow mocking those words.

He shot up in his bed, clutching at his chest as he dragged air into his lungs, silver eyes gleaming as he felt that vicious thing inside him snarl and roil, ready to be released and fight the unseen threat, even as Bryn's breaths turned steadier, calmer, more focused as he reminded himself again and again. Just a dream. Just a dream. He was in an inn, an inn room, straw mattress, rough sheets, cheap but good enough. No fire, no dragon, no eminent death. And the beast calmed with a snarl of disappointment, and a sigh of relief from Bryn.

He had lived with them for years now, replaying that day in his head on sleepless nights, but this one... It was different. It wasn't a simple replaying, a memory. That dream contained things that had never occured. Bahamut had never tried to Temper him, he knew that for a fact. In fact when the dragon burst free of its prison, the initial rain of fire and debris had sent Bryn flying, knocked him unconscious, and left him barely alive. It was a miracle he had lived.

So why had he just dreamed...?

His eyes widened, and he shook his head. No, impossible. It could not be. Yet he remembered the words Y'shtola had imparted, about how she could tell he had awoken his own Echo. Hear. Feel. Think.

If he was right...if he was even remotely right...

Laying back down, his head thumping against the pillow, he mulled over his thoughts, the impossibility of it, but even as he drifted back into fitful sleep, he couldn't help but hear the lingering laugh of the Dreadwyrm in his mind, a laugh that sounded far too familiar to be right.

[musesofawolf]

i am not immune to the "character's eyes glow when they use their powers" trope

[musesofawolf]

Day 2 - Placate

@daily-writing-challenge

"He's a damn Keeper, and a hunter!"

Kaleh'a bristled visibly at that slight, his straw-blonde ears snapping up at attention as his turquoise blue eyes narrowed dangerously, already palming the hilt of the long blades knife at his hip as he eyed the Wood Wailer with disdain. How many years had it been since he came to Gridania? And how many times had he heard those exact words thrown at him like an accusation? His tail lashed about behind him, the darker lion's tuft at the end cutting through the air like a whip as he made a pointed effort to lift his hand away from his blade and cross his arms over the leather vest on his chest.

"Yes, I am." How he managed to keep the anger out of his voice he wasn't sure, but he did know that it was a good thing with the guards. Flashing a small smile at the Wailer, he only got a grimace back, a twist of their lips under the wooden mask all of them wore. Uniformity, he supposed, but by the Twelve did it make them look dumb. Plus, how could you see to shoot a bow and arrow with that on? Maybe that's why most of them wielded spears, have to get close enough to actually see their target.

Now he was smiling genuinely, but for completely different reasons.

"So how do we know you aren't a poacher?"

And there it was. Given the sigh of the other Wood Wailer guarding the entrance to the city-state of Gridania, he knew the answer to his partner's question, and Kaleh'a couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for the man. Clearly he was the older of the two, but the ranks must be flip-flopped. One of many reasons he had chosen to not join a militaristic organization of any kind and make a living as a hunter. Or runner, he was a good tracker and mail carrier! Plus the money he made to travel the known world?

He couldn't help himself, giving the younger guard a smirk and lifting an eyebrow at him, before opening his mouth...

...and closing it, rethinking the sarcastic drawl he had almost defaulted to. Not the time, or place. He had a fresh catch over his shoulder, a neatly tied bundle of six hares for chef, and he didn't want to waist time having the guard check each one. Appeasement was better here, no matter how much it ruffled his fur.

"I have the request for the hunt in my pocket, including the requester, agreed upon fee, and how much they needed. Here." He shoved his left hand into his linen pants, brown as the bark of the trees he climbed in the Black Shroud, and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, handing it pointedly to the older guard. He needed a calmer head to look at the request and confirm it before the younger guard tried to pick it apart.

He waited patiently, the guard calmly reading the request, checking his catch against the number required, and then grunting. "It says here five. You have-"

"-six, yes. As per hunting regulations," he shifted one of the three rabbits draped over his chest, to reveal a decidedly...gnawed on hare, "one of my hunts found its way into the jaws of a predator. I hunted another to make up for the lost meat." That grunt a sneer from the younger guard, as if sensing a way to deny him entry, snatching the paper away, but not before Kaleh'a heard what he wanted to hear.

"Looks good to me." He breathed a sigh of relief at those words, his ears flicking up and down in a silent thanks to the more level-headed guard, and he got a silent nod back in response. Yep, placation was the way to go today.

Despite some grumbles, and some rather intense peering at the paper for a "faulty signature," ultimately the request form was handed back to him, and Kaleh'a gratefully took it as the two guards stepped to the side, one clearly a bit more incensed that they found nothing than the other. "Fine, you're free to enter. But I'm watching your kind!"

He was level with the guard when he said that, and Kaleh'a whipped his head towards his fast enough that his white tipped bangs scattered down over his eyes, and he couldn't stop the low, gutteral growl in his throat fast enough. But the look of panic on the Wood Wailer's face? Worth it.

"You know what," he said carefully, biting back the growl that wanted to enter his voice. "You do that. And let me know when an actual poacher walks up to your gate with their catch over their shoulder. Then we can pretend this stop wasn't what it was."

He didn't hear either of them say a word as he turned away from the cowering Wood Wailer and strode into the bustling hub of Gridania, his tail still lashing about angrily. He would probably regret that later if he ever ran into the guard again, but the truth was he didn't care. He had seen and taken enough of Gridania's misplaced hate to be fed up with it. He sighed, rolling his shoulder to reposition the hares and walked on, muttering under his breath to himself.

"So much for trying to placate things."

[musesofawolf]

Day 1 - Cruel

@daily-writing-challenge

Cruel.

That was what he was supposed to be.

Bryn supposed that perhaps that was what all soldiers were supposed to be, but reality hardly fit what it was supposed to be. He shifted ever so slightly, sliding his hand down his side, to his hip, and gently brushing down his shirt, covering the slightly exposed skin that the snow was chilling uncomfortably. It was one of those things where he had to weigh the danger of moving and being spotted versus the danger of leaving it be and having it chill him enough to shift at a worse time. Since he was yet to see or hear the convoy of Garlean supplies, or their forward scouts, he had decided to risk it, taking the time to settle back into the snow and letting his white patterned uniform blend him seamlessly into the white snow.

Cruel. It was a good word to describe war in general, or particularly the Garlean Empire. How many innocents had they killed? Kidnapped? Experimented on? How many countries had they taken over and ruled with an iron fist? And now, now as they crumbled from their own civil war, they wanted...mercy? He glanced to his right, at the old, wooden Allagan rifle under his right hand, and carefully shifted his hand to brush snow over the brown stock, working his jaw as he took a deep breath, and settled back into waiting.

It was amazing, he mused to himself by thought alone, that he could hide his six foot frame so well with just some well thought out patterns and clothes, all the way down to his white boots, and sometimes, he still worried the camouflage was not as good as assumed. Yet every time he used it, he remained unseen. And seeing was believing.

The convoy was late. Typical. But it gave him more time to think. He frowned, mulling that word over in his mind again. Cruel. Was he as cruel as the enemies he fought against? The beast tribes that summoned their gods, the Garleans, was he any better than them? Or was he just a soldier like them, killing for a different side? He didn't like that thought. He decidedly disliked that thought.

There was a difference between cruelty and necessity. And the deaths he dolled out were not cruel, they were necessary.

That was what it meant to be a scout.

The first hint that the convoy was close was the vibration of machinery and hooves through the frozen ground, and the scout's silver eyes widened. They were close, and he shoved his face into the snow, hiding his face, his breath, and leaving just a sliver of his eyes to watch between the snow and his cap. And just as he did so, he caught the glimpse of black armor as the convoy rounded the corner.

Yep, they had machines with them all right. Those two legged walkers, flanking the lead cart, ready to sprint with their weird winged sides despite their inability to fly, and mounted gun that would tear him to pieces if he was spotted. It would be quick, at least, but that was hardly a consolation. Bryn wanted to live, which was exactly why he was silent, and didn't move a muscle. Besides, he wasn't interested in the heavy machinery. No, he cared about the supplies.

They had learned a few things about the way Garleans' handled their convoys, how certain wagons of goods were covered, or how ammunition was left open to the air. His silver eyes scanned each one, keeping a mental tab as the foot patrols on either side of the carts strode by, their uniforms pressed to neat perfection, and the hauling machines that pulled each cart churning along without a care. They pulled a lot more than a chocobo could, that was for sure.

Five carts of food, three of ammunition. A standard shipment. He had even made a note of how many foot soldiers and attack machines there were. It would be simple for the ambush squad to take. He just had to get to-

He froze. Had he twitched? Had the snow shifted? He wasn't sure, but he could see the Garlean soldier, rifle over his shoulder, staring towards him. Over him? It was hard to tell. He didn't even breath, didn't dare move his eyes from where they were locked on the man's face, as he stepped off the path and stumbled through the deep snow towards Bryn.

Shit.

It was a boy. The closer he got, the more obvious it was, and Bryn felt bile rising in his throat. He couldn't be older than fourteen, fifteen, his eyes flicking about with nervous energy, wearing a uniform a size too big in a way that tugged at his shoulders, and tripped him around his ankles. He knew they were desperate, knew they had conscripted men from their captured lands as young as thirteen, but to see it?

And for a moment, he saw himself in that fearful gaze, recognized it for what it was. Remembered the terror of turning thirteen in Ala Mhigo, the threat of being forced to fight for a country he had no ties to, and the drive to escape. Bryn had run, and when he ran, he swore vengeance for the lives stolen. Yet here, in front of him, drawing every closer, was a stolen life.

The black boot crunched down into the snow two paces away, and still, Bryn didn't move. It would be a simple matter to surge up, to grab him by the throat, break his neck before he could make a sound. The convoy was already past, the distant rumble of their armor droning ever quieter, and yet, Bryn didn't move. He waited. He watched. He stared up at the kid as he shuffled closer...and then suddenly turned, muttering something, and jogged to catch up with his squad and convoy.

Two steps, and Bryn wouldn't have had a choice.

Two steps.

Ten minutes later, as he rose from the ground with achy limbs, brushing off the snow from his clothes and rifle, he stared down the road towards where the convoy had disappeared, and he sighed softly.

That was the difference between cruelty and necessity. Two steps. And maybe, maybe he had waited to prove something to himself, to be able to say something about himself. Taking off his cap, he shook off the snow, his short cropped black hair spiked from the hat, and he looked back towards the convoy with a grim expression.

Brynhorn Fiske was not cruel.

And he sighed, turning to wade through the snow back towards the rendezvous place, knowing full well that his report would likely get the kid killed anyway. War was cruel.