#FFxivwrite

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #19: Taken

Submit your entry here: https://forms.gle/jDWjFKfmeaGnH3PL9

#FFxivWrite2024 is underway – a daily writing challenge presented to the Final Fantasy XIV writing community for the month of September. You can join any time throughout the challenge with any prompt number! Entries can be written on any online writing platform (tumblr, Archive of our Own, Google Docs, etc.). Submit the link and be sure that I have reading access. Check you entries here in the Public Spreadsheet

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #19 - Taken

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #19 - Taken

Note: Continuation of this story and this story!

Trigger Warning: Mentions of injuries and being injured/choked.

Briar swallowed carefully, lips thinning as it made his throat ache. He reached up, slim fingers brushing over the bandages still carefully wrapped around his neck. The wounds were healing steadily, but the damage had been done. The chirurgeons had been optimistic and supportive as they tended him. They kept telling the half-Elezen that, with time, the pain would lessen and he would speak again.

Green eyes slid shut as he leaned back on the pillow, breathing slowly. Technically he could speak a few words, but it hurt and his voice was raspy and strange to his ears. It was simply easier not to.

But it was strange to have no voice of his own so suddenly. Briar had never realized how much he valued his own laugh and his ability to voice his thoughts until it was taken from him. Until Zeno had half-crushed his throat, metal claws tearing his flesh. It was a blessing he had not bled to death, but he had not expected to be robbed of something so vital.

Tears stung the corner of his eyes when Briar suddenly thought about what he could not do again. He couldn't call Jack, his sheepdog. He couldn't whistle for his sheep. He couldn't sing 'the morning song' to his chickens.

He could not speak the names of those he cared for.

A thousand little comforts and freedoms were taken from him with one flex of the Garlean prince's hand. A brutal violence done to him so casually and easily that it was unsettling. By a man who called him 'beast'. A man that killed far more casually and callously than any animal Briar knew of.

Yet here he was. Voiceless as any 'beast', robbed of something so vital that many races referred to themselves as 'Spoken' with pride. The half-Elezen wondered if he could be called 'Spoken' when he no longer had a voice to share with others.

Shaking his head with sudden frustrated anger, Briar opened his eyes and wiped them. He shoved messy red curls out of his face, absently tying them back as he moved to stand. He wobbled a bit, still weakened by the injuries but he couldn't stand the walls of the infirmary another moment.

He needed to get out. He needed to breathe in open air and see the sky denied him for days. He needed to feel part of the world again. Even if it was only for a short time. Briar wanted to feel real again. In the quiet corner of the infirmary, he felt like a silent ghost watching the rest go by.

Fortunately for him, there were enough wounded to keep the chirurgeons busy which allowed Briar to slip from his room unnoticed. He felt better as he walked, although he still had to touch the occasional wall for support. He breathed a silent sigh of relief as he stepped out into the afternoon sun and felt a breeze against his skin.

As always, Rhalgr's Reach was a bustle of activity. It allowed the half-Elezen to make his way toward the river in the middle, finding a quiet corner where he could slide down to sit on the short grass and lean against one of the warm stone walls. He closed his eyes and simply breathed, focusing on the sun and the wind, on the warm earth beneath him and the quiet water beside him.

Briar wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, not sleeping but almost dozing, simply trying to quiet his mind before a voice startled him. It was sharp in his ears and close enough that he jumped, eyes snapping open as he turned to look at the white-haired Elezen marching toward him with intent. His ears tilted back in a bit of worry.

"Briar!" Alisaie said as she halted in from of him, hands on her hips. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting!"

Briar opened his mouth to answer, but the effort made him grunt with pain, hand to his throat. He shook his head and just gestured around with helpless frustration. He rubbed his neck and patted the ground beside him, attempting to convey what he meant. What he needed in that moment.

For a moment, Alisaie simply glared at him, blue eyes narrowed. Then she studied his face and sighed. "I suppose I understand," she huffed, suddenly dropping to sit beside him. "I hate convalescing as well." She looked at him a moment, frowning. "How are you?"

Briar shrugged, rubbing his throat again, feeling the tingling itch of healing from the claw-marks. He attempted a smile, but he suspected it was shaky given Alisaie's expression.

"Right," she murmured. "Stupid to ask. You can't--" She looked a little stricken for a moment. "You can't yet. You will. It'll heal, Briar. It will."

Briar couldn't help but smile at Alisaie's determined voice. He wasn't sure he was as certain as she was about his voice returning. Still, if Alisaie Leveilluer wanted something to happen, it was very likely to. She was too fierce and stubborn for it to be otherwise.

Alisaie studied Briar's face and blew out a breath, reaching over to rest her hand on his. "It's going to be all right, Briar." Her fingers curled around his firmly.

Briar turned his hand to squeeze hers back. He might not be able to speak, but he did mouth 'thank you' to her. She nodded and leaned her shoulder against his as they settled against the wall in companionable silence.

[laspocelliere]

Day Twenty: Duel

A lifetime in Ishgard had prepared Aymeric for colossal, impressive rooms. When he stepped into the palace of the Dawnservant, however, he couldn’t help the way he looked up, and up, and up, the enormous receiving chambers seeming to have no ceiling at all for how high it went. Torchlight flickered against the warm stone walls, and at the far end, the Dawnservant himself had sat, comfortable and patient, waiting for his invited guest to approach.

Gulool Ja Ja was a calm, authoritative figure on his throne, fingers drumming absently on the armrests, waiting with a bemused, parental smile as Aymeric came forward. A far cry, to be sure, from the cold, ultimate power that his father had once held in Ishgard, and the long, sharp shadows that he cast upon his unwanted son.

The Dawnservant, by contrast, seemed to look at him fondly, even without knowing him.

“So, stranger,” Gulool Ja Ja began, spreading his hands out in welcome. “I hear you have come to our shores in search of my daughter’s champion.”

How strange, to have her referred to in that way, Aymeric thought to himself as he tried to collect his words properly. The woman he had devoted life and limb to, the one who had his sword and his heart in equal measure, summed up in a manner that addressed neither her accomplishments nor her life at all. A handful of words that had nothing to do with her, and the impossibility that she was, and yet – it was all that anyone here knew her as. 

That, at least, was by design. Before she’d left for Tural, they’d discussed it at length. There was a new danger that came with her reputation after Ultima Thule; in particular, her apparent resurrection following the deliverance of the Star. Threats may have been eliminated, but that type of legendary status meant an open door for another instance to try and eliminate her now that she had, in theory, ‘let her guard down’. 

She would go, but she wouldn’t fight. She would watch, but she wouldn’t interfere. She needed to keep an eye on proceedings, that much they agreed; but nothing in Tural was worth the risk of drawing attention to what – and what – she really was.

Aymeric met the Dawnservant’s discerning gaze, and didn’t falter. “I am.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, like sunlight breaking over the sea, the Head of Resolve’s face broke out into a toothy, crooked, delighted grin.

“I see you, stranger,” he said, laughing merrily around his words. “No stranger at all! You are her consort.”

Bemused, Aymeric bowed before Tural’s exalted ruler. “I don’t think I’ve quite heard it put that way before,” he said, straightening. Amusement danced in his bright blue eyes. “I don’t dislike it.”

“She never said a word!” The Dawnservant slapped his knees happily, pushing himself to his feet. “I would have had a proper welcome for you, had I known.”

Aymeric’s smile softened, and the expression that had given him away to the sharp-eyed ruler was back when he spoke of his wife. “She’s not one to speak of her personal life.”

“Nor you either, I reckon!” Gulool Ja Ja looked down at the elezen man, seeming to size him up anew. “I am very curious to meet the man who our lauded champion has aligned me with.” With the light of a new idea, the Dawnservant’s toothy smile twisted ever-wider. “You know, I got to know her by challenging her to a duel.”

“Is that so?” Aymeric took stock of the leader before him; his power, his legacy, his considerable strength. “And did she land you on your back?”

The Dawnservant’s laughing guffaw was so boisterous, it nearly hit the rafters high above. 

“She did at that!” He admitted cheerily. “Not in my lifetime have I come across such a worthy opponent. She is strong and capable, your warrior.”

“Wife.” Aymeric’s correction was quiet, but the pride he held at being able to hold such a word in his mouth was something he couldn’t hide. “She’s my wife.”

Gulool Ja Ja’s smile didn’t falter, for all that it softened.

“Well then,” he said, slamming his fist into his opposite palm decisively. “If that is the case, I think you and I will need to duel as well, stranger. I have grown rather fond of our champion, you see. I would need to see that she has chosen herself a worthy consort.”

The delight in the Dawnservant’s tone was contagious, and Aymeric found himself smiling. “I would be honoured.”

“Wonderful! I will summon you again, and mind you bring everything you have; I will be holding you to a very high standard, stranger.”

“Aymeric,” he offered, bowing once more, Ishgardian courtesy running deep in his veins. The Dawnservant chuckled, and ducked his head reverently in return.

“Until we meet again, Aymeric.”

[ahollowgrave]

Steer (verb): to direct the course of.  A young nun far from home. Some waterway of Vylbrand.

Wooden plants creak in protest as the ferry glides through water pushing the opposite direction. The ferryman whistles a tune as he gazes forward, his work second nature to him. You marvel at it. Watch as his arm flexes and the ferry effortlessly pivots past an outcropping of bright white stone. The canyon river is narrow and winding and he knows it well. His eyes - a velvety brown - catch yours and his big mustache bends with a smile and a wink.

You look away, embarrassed.  Lean over the edge of the boat. The water here is impossibly clear and you can see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Schools of fish drift by, and minerals and rocks glint in the afternoon light. You spot and identify several useful water plants before the flow of water begins to make you dizzy. 

You could not bear to catch the ferryman’s eye again. Your stomach clenching at the mere idea. Thankfully, the ferry is full. Farmhands lean against one another, hats pulled low as they doze. Their hands are weathered with dirt packed under the nails, in the knuckles. They breathe in sync. A trio of adventurers in the front have a map out; they’ve been arguing in hushed voices since boarding. They talk over each other in familiar patterns. A child leans over the edge of the boat, their mother’s fingers clutching the back of their tunic. She points out a turtle sunning itself on a rock. Their laughs match.

A sharp, green shoot of yearning sprouts along your rib, pierces the soft muscle of your heart. 

Your pack rests solidly against your legs. A short but effective wall between the seat you claimed and the rest of the passengers. It isn’t personal, you try to say with your expression, you just need your space. 

The ferryman’s hands pull the rudder and the boat responds in a graceful, slowing turn. It comes to a stop with a gentle bump against the dock. There is a chorus of rough laughter from the bow and as you watch the adventurers clap each other on the back, share long-lived grins. They’ve had that argument before and they’ll have it at least twice more before it’s done. The mother and her child are the first ones off, carefully aided by dockworkers. The child squeals with laughter as a worker pulls a flower from behind their ear. You rub at your chest. Falling in behind the farmhands you shoulder your pack. You will lose your fellow passengers soon -- to the crowd and to their paths. You don’t know their names and only some of their faces yet still you grieve these minuscule relationships.

Laughter and song pour out onto the street from an open door. An tavern, bustling and busy in the middle of the day, bards reciting old favorites. From the street you glimpse skirts flaring in the steps of a spirited dance; flowers blooming with each turn. It would be easy enough to slip inside, find a corner to claim, build more tiny relationships between strangers.

The letter you carry -- carefully folded in your chest pocket -- is time-sensitive. And the address it bids you travel to is far from this harbor town. Isolated. You linger. You could delay your trip for a day, perhaps two. 

You leave the open door behind. Guided, as always, by the chilled hand of your most holy bride.

[spotofmummery]

Are you participating in FFXIV Write this year?

You can share your writing on this community just for FFXIV Writers - open to join!

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite24 Entry #6: Halcyon

FFxivWrite 2024 Prompt #6: Halcyon It was a lazy summer day like any other in the Black Shroud, humid heat hanging heavy in the air outside the Covington manor, a marvel of tall, white marble and manicured gardens that stood in stark contrast to the wild woods surrounding it, either a bastion or a blight of mankind among the expanse of nature. Faye rested upon a bench outside her home, a half-emptied and forgotten cup of tea sat surely now cold beside her as she focused on her embroidery–or tried to, anyway. It was a quiet afternoon, only the birdsongs and the ambient buzzing of insects breaking the silence. That was, until Zularti had found a long, skinny stick and decided to pretend it was a spear. He paced around the garden, thrusting the stick this way and that, adding in sound effects and striking occasionally at a nearby tree, fighting off invisible foes. Faye did her best to tune him out, quite accustomed to his antics by now, and kept her focus on her needlework and the piece of fabric in her hands. Suddenly, however, her attention was stolen away as the boy suddenly exclaimed. “Guhhh! I’m so boooored!” He easily snapped the stick over his knee, tossing the two halves aside and wiping away the sweat that matted his dark auburn hair to his brow before he dramatically collapsed onto the grass. Faye heaved a sigh, giving up on her task and setting her embroidery hoop aside. “You could try doing something useful for once,” she offered helpfully. “You could try shutting up for once,” he muttered in a mockery of her own tone, squinting up at the sun bearing down on him from the cloudless sky. Perhaps she should have appreciated those days more, when life was simple and everything was peaceful, when all the horrors of the world were far away things that happened to other people and there was no cause for pain or want. But the truth was, she was bored, too.

[umbralaether]

FFXIV WRITE 2024

Day 4: reticent

Erenville was a man of few words.

He preferred being straightforward— saying what you mean, when you mean it, all feelings aside. Feelings were messy, a distraction from your work so he hid them deep within and moved forward. It had worked just fine for him for years.

Then he met Eisha, the warrior of light who's very gaze could pierce through the walls he'd put up. Perhaps it was the healer in her, the way she could pinpoint an injury with focused precision. He hadn't anticipated the scale of her empathy, and his reticent nature began to unwind itself when in her presence.

He had been… unkind, when she came to him in Living Memory. She'd had that look of worry on her face ever since they'd arrived in Yyasulani, and the deeper they dug into this wound, the more horror he'd had to choke down.

His home was gone.

His mother was gone.

Everything he knew was gone.

Erenville, I—

Don't say it, Eisha. Just go.

Curt, barked out words were the only thing he could think of that would keep her away and still she hesitated before returning to the others. He knew as soon as she walked away that being alone was not what he wanted after all.

Now, sitting on the deck of his cabin alone, he ached. A hollow kind, deep inside.

Rain sprinkling from the storming clouds above began to pick up fervor when he heard a voice from behind.

"You'll catch a cold sitting in the rain like that," Eisha says. He turns his head to see her standing a few fulms behind him, arms crossed.

"That is an old myth, one mothers say to their children to keep them inside." He's certain his own mother had said as much, at least once.

"I like to call it 'your local healer's recommendation' but you might be on to something." She makes her way over to sit next to him, close but not quite touching.

They sit in silence for a moment, before eventually she speaks again, "You're not okay. This is know, and yet I stayed away because you told me to."

He stays silent, thinking and not thinking. He had gone to the celebrations, paid his visits where he needed to. She came to his door every night, and he sent her away each time.

"I think you deal with everything by yourself because you've had to, and then you didn't know how not to."

He stops breathing for a second, caught off guard at how easily she reads him. He looks over to her, her soft aqua eyes an ocean of concern.

"I want to be there for you, Erenville. I care about you, and I'm not going anywhere."

She reaches for him, and before he can stop himself he falls into her embrace— letting himself come undone. He clings to her as the tears fall, and she runs her fingers through his wet hair as the sobs wrack his body. She hugs him tightly until he has nothing left to cry, empty but no longer aching.

He pulls away just a bit, "Thank you, Eisha. Words cannot express—" He's interrupted by a violent shiver, their clothes now fully soaked through from the rain.

"Shall we go inside, get dried off?" She asks, lacing her fingers with his own.

He nods, and they make their way inside. While she rummages through the cabinets for towels, he comes to a simple conclusion.

Everything hurt less, when she was around.

[elliewiltarwyn]

I've decided to take a particular spin with this year's entries and emphasize the fact that i titled this blog "the personal journal and scrapbook of Elilgeim 'Ellie' Wiltarwyn". hopefully that will make the creative juices flow easier, especially since i'm post-surgery and in painkiller hibernation so that's a pretty severe debuff lol. sooo:

FFXIV Write 2024 | #1: Steer

Word Count: 436

Fourth Umbral Moon, 23rd Sun

Cid stopped by the house today - surprising, and welcome with how long it’s been. Even more surprising was the vehicle he arrived upon: a prototype magitek bike that runs off a “twin-bank ceruleum” engine, whatever that means. Somehow he had convinced Jessie to have me be the one to test-drive it, put it through its paces. They seem to think I’d be the one most likely to wring the most potential out of it, and he also alluded to Jessie determining I’d be the most marketable person and therefore the best candidate to show it off.

I must admit, even after all this time, I still don’t understand Jessie’s business acumen and I’m not certain I wish to. That being said, when I took it for a spin later that evening, with Mia as passenger holding on tight from behind… it was an amazing sensation, like those manacutters but without the pesky third dimension. The thing (Cid says its model is called the Garlond GL-II, but I’m thinking she needs a sexier name than that) can outspeed chocobos, and feeling the wind in my hair as we sliced a path through the Lominsan plains posed a thrill I haven’t felt since well before Ultima Thule.

Every day, I’m grateful for these peaceful times we fought so bloody hard for - for the chance to engage in fun times like this, testing inventions by good friends. Some days, I still wonder how I ended up in this position of trust for so many, with someone as famous and genius as Cid Garlond entrusting me with his prototype vehicles of dubious safety. I mentioned this to Mia when we stopped for a break near Red Rooster Stead, and she just smiled and pointed out that I’ve done a lot of work to ingratiate myself with so many influential figures. “Which is funny, considering how rude and standoffish you were when we first joined the Scions,” she teased as well. “You certainly put in the effort to become a much more agreeable person overall.”

Couldn’t let her get away with that - “You know that that’s your fault,” I shot back at her with a grin, “you steered me along those paths to become that person - away from the whole ‘reckless brute’ thing you kept calling me back then.”

She looked stunned by the idea, but smiled back eventually in that coy-yet-comfortable manner that arrests my gaze every time. If she insists I’m such a good person, then she should get to feel good about helping me reach that point too. For being that person in the first place.

[irisopranta]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 1: Steer

“Baurendouin de Haillenarte? But the man is known to be a hot headed oaf.” Estelle de Durendaire scoffed that she was to marry such a man. “He is barely fit to steer his house to glory that everyone seemly thinks he can do it.”

Lord Charlemend sighed. He was newly appointed to his position in the house. “I understand my sister, however, we can’t find another suited for you in your station. And” he trailed off “Well, he is likely to fight quite well to bring glory to Ishgard and I want you to have a good life from that.”

Estelle could only sigh “Well I guess I can steer him to not destroy his house.”

[sealrock]

01. steer

cw: graphics depictions of injury and death word court: 744 words

The droning blare of the car horn seeped into the darkness of his waking mind. Slowly, the boy registered intense, blooming pain throughout his body. His left eye, or what remained of it, was nothing more than an orifice for free-flowing blood, the sticky warmth caking onto his mangled, cold face.

His tongue was heavy, the taste of copper staining his teeth. A shard of glass, most likely from the windshield, flew directly at him during impact, his jerking frame landing sideways for the shard to strike him on the left side of his face, embedding itself within his young flesh. The boy could only cry out in pain the more he wiggled about, unable to free himself from this prison of metal and burning ceruleum.

It was freezing outside, the silent snowfall of the night drifting into the gaps of what was once the humble and somewhat rickety family car, a "fine piece of homemade Garlean steel," his father once quipped, meaning it was all he could afford on his meager salary. Where was he going… He couldn't remember. His nose picked up a scent of growing decay, and the boy realized he wasn't alone. In the dimly lit interior, thanks to the soft glow of blue flames from the engine, he could see silhouettes of his mother and father—their bodies frozen in place. His father, once a tall and proud man who loved to carry him atop his shoulders, lay wrapped around the steering wheel, his torso halfway through the windshield. The boy smelt the tinge of burning hair. His mother's crumpled body was stuck on the dashboard, her unbound russet locks stiff like she was.

Try as he might, the boy couldn't manage a single word that wasn't choked with pain. The right side door was busted, the lock jammed and he had not the strength to force it open. With great effort, he wriggled out of his seatbelt, not taking a moment to realize he was crawling on top of the bloodied corpse of his younger brother, the weight of his hand pressing into his pale face decorated with cuts and bruises. He looked as if he was sleeping, his dark hair tousled and spattered with blood.

His ears were ringing. His ears were bleeding. He couldn't breathe. His neck hurt. He was partially blind. He had no feeling in his legs. How long did he stay there unconscious? Why was he the only one to survive?

Falling out of the car door, the snow-covered ditch met his bruised hands first as he braced himself. Images flashed through his head then: panicked screams from his parents, the screech of the car tires as they braced for impact, the sight of the large oak tree in front of the headlights, and the explosion of glass and the sickening crunch of metal before he blacked out came rushing back to him.

On this desolate stretch of road, cloaked in darkness and blanketed in white, the boy could only stand there in shock, gripping onto his torn overcoat gifted to him by his mother as a lifeline. He caught a glimpse of his father's lacerated face, a snapshot of terror in his final moments. Eyes wide and unblinking, his jaw locked open in a perpetual scream, arms splayed atop the hood of the car. The boy couldn't look away. He wanted to. But he couldn't. Something compelled him to continue staring at the last remnants of his family, knowing that he'd never see them whole and hale again. No boy his age, just ten winters old, should witness this.

His ears picked up sounds from the main road, shuffling footsteps crunching the gravel above and the slam of car doors. Torches shone down on the wreckage, blinding his one good eye as he tried to gain his bearings. Shielding his face, he could only see outlines of bodies covered with insulated coats, the light obscuring their faces. One made his way down the ditch with little effort, and the boy could see he was a soldier. What would the military be doing out here?

Without warning, the man grabbed his arm and began leading him back to the others. Unable to form words, panicked shouts and whines fell from his mouth. He walked into the light, but it had no warmth. It wasn't gentle, it was harsh and judging. He came to fear the light since then, for all he experienced was pain.

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #21: Shade

Submit your entry here: https://forms.gle/jDWjFKfmeaGnH3PL9

#FFxivWrite2024 is underway – a daily writing challenge presented to the Final Fantasy XIV writing community for the month of September. You can join any time throughout the challenge with any prompt number! Entries can be written on any online writing platform (tumblr, Archive of our Own, Google Docs, etc.). Submit the link and be sure that I have reading access. Check you entries here in the Public Spreadsheet

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[makiokuta]

A makeup prize for FFXIV Write of @eva-cybele ( @dawnslight-aegis )'s beautiful Au ra, Kaede.

Thank you to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast all your hard work on this event!

[ahollowgrave]

Tempest (noun):  1. A violent windstorm, frequently accompanied by rain, snow, or hail. 2. Furious agitation, commotion, or tumult; an uproar. A warrior of light and a scion The Pendants, the Crystarium

The storm squatting over the Crystarium does its best to make itself known. Rain lashes the window, wind whistles through the cracks of the frame, lightening presses its luminous face to the glass. Jealous and demanding. Desperate to be acknowledged. But you’re not watching the storm outside. You’re not even listening to it.

No, your eyes track the storm currently rampaging through your inn room. It wears the skin of a girl -- a girl you know very well. Prudence Dubois always paces when she’s truly agitated and now she’s walking corner to corner, back and forth, kicking things out of her way. She’s screamed and cussed and sworn violent, ugly oaths. She’s thrown the same chair from one side to the other, splintering it and now carries one of the legs to further emphasize her many points. She’s beautiful. Her freckled face is usually frozen in a frown of perpetual disappointment. Now it is twisted and red and spittle flies from her mouth as another string of curses leave it. Prudence rakes her shaking hands through her short hair. Sweat slicks it back. An improvement  over all, you decide, out of her eyes at the very least. 

Prudence wheels on you, suddenly, the dark of her eyes burning like coals. You become a target. All her anger and hurt and fear all shaped like you. You’ve never minded. She’s beautiful. Throughout this outburst you have sat quietly, hands folded neatly in your lap -- moving only to nod your agreement or voice some vague sound of sympathy. The catalyst remains a mystery to you. She was already storming when you arrived home and her words come in a flood; you’ve picked out the Exarch’s title and Emet’s name and decided you need not pry further. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the door crack, opening silently, and a white-haired head pokes itself in. Then a second. Two too-curious twins. You expected them earlier. You shake your head and as the door swings shut your shoulders release some of their tension. It all goes unnoticed by the stormcloud. Prudence will tire herself eventually. She will come to you, crawling on hands and knees, lay her head in your lap. She will not apologize. She will not acknowledge the outburst at all. And you will forgive her, threading your fingers through her hair, taking all of her unvoiced guilt and shame in your hands and swallowing it. And she will be beautiful.

[darcar]

FFXIVWrite2024 - Day 4: Reticent

The Tenth Moon was always going to be a front.

It is so much easier to conduct business from an actual business, and while Dar would have preferred to stay fully away from the public eye, there were reasons to stay connected. A bar able to house her library would do well enough, and Ul'dah asked few questions as long as enough coin was on the table.

At first, those reasons were purely transactional - a favor for a book once held by the Thamauturge’s guild, a well brewed elixir for a bottle of wine slipped past customs. Gil for drinks, smiles for hollow smiles. 

It was a simple matter to ignore the voice that belonged to someone she could not remember, someone who had slipped through the cracks that her magic had caused. Go on. Join them.

But reticence turned to curiosity, curiosity into yearning, and Dar found that careful mask of blithe indifference starting to slip. Others, warm and kind, had begun to flit through her bar with unfettered sweetness and she started to thaw. To want something to fill her heart, fill the voids she inflicted upon herself even if it might slowly leak out again.

Perhaps it might even be worth it.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day One: Steer

ryne x gaia. minor shadowbringers patch & eden raid spoilers. written for ffxivwrites 2024. 943 words. ao3 link.

“Not like that—”

“Then like what? I did it the way you said!”

“You didn’t! You must put your paddle on the other side—”

“What other side? I put it where you told me—”

“The left side!”

“I put it on the left side!”

Voices ring out across the Source, breaking the sleepy Lakeland day. A sturdy little fisher boat bobs haphazardly in its waters. It streams away from the shore, pushed to and fro by the wind despite the best efforts of its occupants.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I am listening to you, Ryne!”

“If I am steering from the right side, you must paddle on the left—”

“Ugh…” Wood clatters against wood. “…every time… why must you be like this—”

“Gaia, we’re going in circles!”

“I know—ah!”

Splash. With a sad, despairing sound, the paddle hits the water. Ryne jolts upright in her seat and leans over the side, the boat wobbling precariously with her movement. Gaia yelps, her hands flying out to seize the gunwales, frozen in fear as Ryne slides her paddle over the edge. She presses her lips together, brow furrowed with concentration, and attempts to fish the other out.

A few prods later and she has only achieved the opposite.

“Ah!” The boat rocks as Ryne pulls back, red-cheeked and spluttering. “I can’t get to it.”

Gaia sighs, her hands still holding the gunwales in a death-grip, and carefully peers over the side. “Goodbye, you useless old thing,” she drawls, deadpan. “I knew I should never have brought you.”

The paddle floats away, uncaring, and vanishes into the lake.

The girls fall silent. Small waves lap against the boat, calmly, quietly, the only sound for malms save for the wind and the occasional bird call above. The sun beats down, its rays sparkling across the surface of the water. There was a time in her life when she never knew water could be like this—bright and clear, shimmering like the crystals of the Crystal Tower and brimming with life. She can still taste the putrid scents of her childhood, the stink of stagnant water and rotting fish. The green, stinking waters around Eulmore were where one went to drown. If they were lucky.

Ryne sighs and crosses one leg over the other. “All right,” she says, glancing over the side of the boat. The wind is pushing them in circles and they are moving further and further from Sullen by the minute. At this rate, they might as well be pushed clear into the Isle of Ken. Perhaps they could ask Bismarck for another favour. “I admit… perhaps we… made a mistake.”

Gaia snorts. “A mistake? I thought you said you knew how to handle a thing like this.”

“I do! Or… in theory, I do. I haven’t… actually. Done this before.”

Gaia glances over her shoulder, her dark brows drawn together. She would look angrily ferocious if not for the way her lips were moving as if she is about to laugh. “Surprising. You don’t say.”

A small laugh bursts out of her and Ryne slaps a hand to her mouth. Flashing her a grin, Gaia twists around in her seat and stretches out, fluffing out her hair behind her as she settles in to bask. She closes her eyes and throws one leg over her knee, her foot bouncing back and forth. The polished stiletto heel she insisted on wearing glints in the sun.

Ryne smiles, soft and quiet, and looks away. “Regardless,” she says, dipping a hand into the lake, letting the cool waters flow through her fingers. “This is nice, isn’t it? The sun is out, there’s a nice breeze, we have food and water…”

“Spinning in the middle of the lake doesn’t sound very nice to me,” Gaia says. Despite her irritable tone, she is already deeply relaxed. “I’d have rather stayed indoors.”

Ryne raises her eyes, staring across the lake to Sullen’s docks. Villagers mill to and fro, some fishing, others swimming, and moreso out to the enjoy the nice day. Their bright clothing makes them visible even from this distance. Would any notice if she stood up and waved her arms?

A pang squeezes her heart. “Did you know Urianger tried to walk on water once?” she blurts out.

Gaia yawns. “Where?”

“There. Stepped right off the dock.”

Gaia’s eyes open. Slowly, she pushes herself up and twists around, following Ryne’s gaze to the distant shore. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she declares.

Ryne makes a face. “You don’t believe me—?”

The boat rocks. A warm hand slips into hers. A familiar weight presses into her as Gaia rests her head on her shoulder.

“You miss them a lot today,” she says quietly. No judgement, just simple acknowledgement.

“I miss them everyday.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know when Aureia will be back. I don’t know if Thancred has gone and done something stupid. I don’t know what books Urianger is reading, what theories Y’shtola is pursuing, if Alphinaud and Alisaie are…” She lets out a soft breath. “I’m sorry. I wanted today to be nice.”

“You’re here. How could it not be?”

Sullen fades into the distance.  

“Gaia?” Ryne asks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Do you think this will ever end? Feeling like this? Feeling like I’m grieving the worst before I know it’s happened? I’m so worried about them, some days I can barely breath.”

“I don’t know the answer to that.” Her hand squeezes hers. “I don’t think anyone knows. But I do know what it is like to feel alone and…”

“And?”

“You’re not, Ryne. You are never alone.”

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #06 - Halcyon

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #6 - Halcyon

Note: A story from Briar's past when he met a very unusual Viera as a small child.

The whispers called and Briar turned, green eyes wide and fascinated. The five-year-old half-Elezen giggled, leaning a bit to glimpse the faint voices that seemed to be beckoning him. Briar pouted, pushing his reddish curls out of his eyes and chewing his lower lip as he glanced at his mother. Saule was humming to herself as she scrubbed the laundry against the stones by the creek. His tall, beautiful Elezen mother was focused as she worked, not noticing her little one's growing interest in something beyond the trees.

Briar hesitated briefly, aware he wasn't supposed to run off. He'd often been told that he should stay where Maman could see him. Still, the tingle in the air and the gentle whispers urged him toward the trees. The child fidgeted for a minute before giving Saule a final glance and darting toward the trees.

He expected to hear his mother calling, but the only voice he heard was the sweet murmurs before him. As he entered the shadow of the trees, he gave a delighted giggle to see little glowing will-o-wisps. The small lights whirled around him before darting away, flashing behind the trees like a game. Briar laughed as he chased them, unaware he was getting further and further from home.

Time passed as Briar chased and danced with the little whispering spirits, going deeper and deeper into the Black Shroud. Eventually, he found himself near ancient ruins, once white but now covered with moss and vines. The half-Elezen gave a sound of wonder, still following the wisps that drew him closer. Oblivious to the dangers that still haunted Amdapor, Briar wandered, delighted in the new place.

He did finally stop when the wisps led him to a little clearing and the dark shape within it. It looked much like a man and Maman said he should be careful of strange men, but this one had long soft ears and a fluffy tail. He looked like a shadow until pale glowing eyes turned toward one of the wisps and a sharp, strange giggle filled the quiet.

"Oh? Oh? What did you find-- Ahh, I see." The strange man turned and glided toward Briar, who stayed in place, looking up at him with innocent confusion.

Briar twisted his hands nervously as the cloaked, shadowy man leaned over him, head tilted at an odd angle. "…Are you a bunny?" the child asked, voice hesitant but curious.

The Viera blinked and grinned, white teeth a sharp gleam against his ebony skin. "Of a kind." That odd giggle sounded again as the Viera straightened, tilting his head. He went so very still for a moment, so still that Briar felt a little twinge of nerves. Those long ears twitched and tilted and the look he gave Briar after made him squeak.

A quick step forward and the Viera leaned sharply, face almost level with the tiny half-Elezen. "Can you see them?"

"T-them?" Briar whispered, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt.

"Yes, yes, little one. Them." The Viera made an impatient gesture around them.

"…The lights?"

"Yes! Yes!" The Viera grinned, happier this time and giggled as he spun before freezing suddenly and looking over his shoulder. "I don't suppose you can hear them too?"

Briar blinked, lips twitching in a nervous smile, glad the stranger seemed happy but the interaction was unnerving. "Yes? N-not always a-all the words, but their voices… They said come play."

"How interesting," the Viera mused, twisting slowly to face Briar again. "What a special little creature you must be then." He squatted on his heels near the child again. "Where do you live, hmm?"

Briar blinked, puzzled but turned to point in the direction of the cottage he'd been born in. Maman had taught him long ago how to use the line of the mountains and the river to at least find the direction, although he couldn't have explained much more. "By the creek."

The Viera gave a hum, absently drawing little patterns on the soft ground with his fingers. "I see. I see. And what is your--" He paused, ears shooting up.

"Briar!" The child gasped as he heard his mother's voice, loud and distressed. "Briar, mon coeur, where are you?!"

The Viera stiffened and that strange smile showed again. "Is that you?" He hummed as the boy nodded, looking into the trees. "Well, best go to her, little briar rose," he giggled. "She sounds worried. Off with you."

Briar turned back, startled when he was alone. There were a few quick flashes of the wisps as they disappeared, but not a sign of the strange man with his long soft ears. Briar was still looking around when Saule appeared, distressed and panting.

"Briar!" the Elezen woman gasped, rushing toward him and scooping him into her arms to hug fiercely. "Sweetling, where have you been?"

"There was a bunny, Maman," he whispered, hugging her back and glancing over his shoulder again. "He was talking to me…"

"I'm sure, mon coeur," Saule murmured, shaking her head and looking around the clearing a moment, dismissing his words as a child's fancy. "but I have told you about wandering off."

"I know, Maman," Briar whispered, exhaustion heavy now that he was being held, and carried back toward his home. "But the lights wanted to play."

Saule bit her lip in a worried way, shaking her head. "I know, sweetling, but you shouldn't listen to those lights. You should listen to me."

"Yes, Maman. I'm sorry."

Saule sighed, patting his back as she walked rapidly. "It's all right, Briar. Just be more careful, please."

"Yes, Maman."

Arne (the mysterious Viera fellow) belongs to @midnightmagicks!