#Tircolas Flow

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #17: Sally

"I don't like it," Ragga said.

Ragga had not liked any of their plans thus far - but in fairness, nearly all of them involved her daughter taking up the vanguard.

And Tircolas' youthful optimism was doing her no favors. "Come on, Baba!" she pleaded. "Hrjt will be right behind me the entire time. It'll be-"

"If you say 'perfectly safe' one more time-"

"-the best way," Tircolas continued, "of making sure the Blades and the Doman contingent stay safe from Mama."

The machinist shook her head from side to side in a gesture of irritation that Hrjt had come to know well over the past week alone. "She won't fall for it."

"She won't have to," Hrjt chimed in. "Whether or not she suspects the ruse, she'll be last line of defense between us and the Dalriada."

With that, their course was all but settled.

"Right," Ragga sighed. "Tir, lovey, go and prepare us for priority deployment. Hrjt-" Ragga beckoned to her with a single clawed finger. "A word, if you would."

Tircolas proceeded onward to the gate of Camp Vrdelnis; though the girl appeared to be deep in thought at the edge on her chakrams, Hrjt noticed her ears twitch back in their direction.

"If we do this," Ragga murmured, "my wife won't stay her hand." She locked eyes with Hrjt with an intensity that momentarily discomfited her. "Not even against her own daughter."

A sudden gust of wind picked up across the plateau, bolstered by the chaotic ambient aether, and Hrjt did not know what to say to the machinist in response.

"I won't claim to know how it was with you, leaving your birthplace." And now Ragga simply appeared sad - not only for the task that awaited them, but for far older, deeper hurts. "But those two - they shared a bond I'll never fathom."

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Ragga cast a glance over to Tircolas, and the girl, seemingly sensing the hint, went over to speak with another of the Bozjan fighters. Only then did Hrjt reply, "I believe she already knows what awaits us."

Ragga's jaw fell open, if only for a moment. Then, she nodded. "Aye. You're right."

"Just as she knows that no matter what the two of them shared," Hrjt added, "her mother chose Gabranth instead."

A flash of anger settled over the Bangaa's face, and Hrjt wondered if she had spoken poorly - but once more, her words were merely an admission of a painful truth.

"She's your daughter," Hrjt said, a little more softly. "In all the ways that matter." She still could not fathom the choice that had been put to the girl, and at such a relatively young age, but her own mother had always been odd by Viera standards: Arjt had admitted, if only the once, that she would sooner have left their village than give her only child to the rangers. Hrjt saw far more of her in Ragga than in the IVth's veteran summoner.

Ragga gave a rough sniff, but curtailed anything else she might have said as Tircolas came bounding back up to them, already twirling her chakrams around on her fingertips. "Right! We're all set to go!"

With one last meaning-filled glance over to Hrjt, Ragga drew in a deep breath. "To the Dalriada, then."

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #11: Surrogate

Tircolas Flow was not supposed to have seen the face of Nevembya Votyasch.

There was one memory crystal left that bore her image - not as she had looked in antiquity, but as she had appeared when summoned by her descendant. The same crystal contained the last moments of Gunnhildr's Blades, and it was kept under strict supervision as a result. Tir had first picked it up by accident while trying to find something conducive enough for her baba's latest prototype; instead, she'd found only herself sprawled on the dirt floor of the command tent, tears running down her cheeks as a nascent grief tore through her.

Above all else, she recognized the fear in the young goddess' eyes. With it came an understanding of a sort Tir knew intimately: she would not be the last to wield such power.

No matter how hard she prayed, no matter how valiantly she fought, the story would continue with another as its keeper.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #4: Off the Hook

Throughout her travels, Tir had met adventurers from all walks of life, those who could speak to deeds great and small. Many had seen wonders she could only dream of or terrors she was grateful remained beyond her comprehension.

Since her arrival to Eorzea, she had never heard of anyone getting detained by the Gold Saucer's security.

Even the holding office kept to the theming of the rest of the facility. They had been brought to a room little bigger than a closet, with only a wobbly bench covered in threadbare upholstery - and across from where they had been made to sit, a painted portrait of the founder hung on the green wall. The man depicted bore an imperious, somewhat disapproving stare behind circular red spectacles.

"This is eerie," her co-conspirator remarked.

They waited together in that room for what felt to Tir like an eternity, though it was likely no more than half a bell. At one point, the young man stood and walked closer to examine the portrait.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just looking," he replied, far too innocently. He made to lift it from the wall and it did not budge. She must have made a face at him that he did not appreciate, because he shrugged and sat back down beside her.

Only a few minutes later, the Elezen guard who had apprehended them returned with a clipboard and pen.

"Your names?" he said. "And don't lie - we'll be checking your Grand Company references."

"Sihtric Selsson," said the boy at her side - then, more pointedly, "Warrior of Light."

"Tircolas Flow. Mother Superior of the Kiltian Priesthood."

The guard squinted between the both of them, as if trying to determine whether she was making some sort of reference he didn't understand, or a joke at his expense. When she and Sihtric remained straight-faced, his frown only deepened. "I'd have expected a Warrior of Light and a… whatever it is you are to be much more respectful of others' institutions."

At that, Sihtric gave a strange noise, and the guard rounded on him. "Can't speak for her," he said, "but… I think you maybe don't know many Warriors of Light."

He wasn't exactly helping their case.

"We're very sorry," Tir chimed in.

"Yes," Sihtric continued. "We're very sorry."

"You broke a Cuff-A-Cur machine worth nearly half a million gil."

"It was an accident!" they said in unison.

The guard sighed and shuffled through the papers on his clipboard. "Yes. I can imagine you didn't know that the objective was to punch the plush Gilgamesh - not obliterate the entire machine."

"It's my first time here," said Tir. "And I've never met Sihtric before. I just wanted to give him a little… boost. More for good luck than anything."

"Eyewitnesses reported you letting out-" Again he checked his notes. "'An unholy screech,' and 'convulsions like you meant to level the heavens.'"

"It's a traditional dance from Lea Monde - adapted from the teachings of Saint Iocus, meant to facilitate concentration."

"Worked pretty well, too," said Sihtric. "And to be honest, it sounds like we aren't the ones who need to be respectful of others' institutions. She wasn't 'screeching' or having 'convulsions' - it's her culture, and it's in danger of being eradicated thanks to the Garleans. The least people could do is treat it with respect."

Tir glanced sidelong at Sihtric. In spite of his grave words - or perhaps because of them - he was only barely keeping a straight face.

"That's right," she added. "I am… extremely offended."

"And I don't think Ashelia Riot, Eorzea's ambassador to Dalmasca, would be pleased to have to tell Lord Manderville about the disrespect a Dalmascan dignitary was afforded in a place meant to provide entertainment to all."

The guard dragged a hand over his face. "Right, then. You're clear to go. Both you. But you-" He pointed to Tir. "No more dancing here unless you're on our payroll. And you-" He pointed to Sihtric, much more seriously. "You're already on our watchlist. No, no-" Sihtric opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but the guard cut him off. "You know what you've done. I would make yourself scarce here for the remainder of the year, if you know what's good for you."

Sihtric bounded up from the bench and held out his hands to lift Tir in turn, while she still sat grappling with this turn of events. "Right," he said, with the conversational air of one departing a friend's residence. "We'll be off, then. It's been a pleasure, as always."

He practically dragged her out of the security office; when they rounded the corner and returned to the bustle of the aetheryte plaza, he asked her, "You've still got it?"

She tapped her right foot upon the carpet, then the left. Both pant legs jingled with bags full of their illbegotten MGP. She reached down, untucked the left bag, and passed it to Sihtric.

He saluted her with mock solemnity, tucked the bag into his own waistband before another of the guard patrols could pass them by, and set off toward the airship landing. "Pleasure doing business with you, Tircolas Flow."

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #25: Call it a Day

The machinist holstered her gun, the better to hold up her thin, clawed hand to block out the sun as she made to survey the horizon. More IVth Legion soldiers were streaming in from the west, but far more worrisome to her, the aether in the vicinity surged and roiled. A quick check of her aetherometer confirmed her suspicions: strong emotions, unique to the rage and pain and hope of the Zadnor fields, clouded the readings for up to a quarter malm around.

"Bah!" She smacked its screen half-heartedly, though no amount of abuse to the device would dull the telltale ringing in her ears. To the rest of her squadron, she called, "SUMMONING COMING!"

Sólja shouted back "ACKNOWLEDGED!" and began speaking into her linkpearl, confirming their retreat with Bajsaljen in as soft of a voice as the chaos of the battlefield would allow.

If it was a Lucavi, it would be the most powerful one the Bozjan Resistance had seen on the battlefield to date. The machinist stowed the aetherometer in favor of her keeping both her hands free, to lob bombs or set up poison traps in case such a preparation would help the others escape. Twelve years as a sapper, and mostly she was relieved that she had finally found a team who trusted her aethersense implicitly - even when she herself had her doubts.

In fairness, it had almost never led her astray.

The last of the IVth Legion reinforcements crested the pockmarked horizon, and with the sun directly behind at their backs, the machinist could not see who it was who led them - until the wind gave lift to a distinctly un-imperial pashmina shawl.

"EVERYONE OUT!" Sólja cried.

The aether came to life in that moment - not from the west, but from behind them, from Camp Vrdelnis. Its power thrummed in the machinist's ears in a simple, steady beat already engraved in her memories.

A lone figure took to the field, draped in robes and bearing twin chakrams, and the IVth Legion soldiers made to surround her.

Sólja gripped the machinist's shoulder, screamed her name, made to turn her away by force from the last light of the setting sun. "WE CAN'T WAIT HERE FOR THE BLADES! WE HAVE TO RETREAT!"

The machinist shook her captain's hand away. "That's my fucking daughter," she said, and made to join Tircolas in her charge.

[onwesterlywinds]

Bluesky Character Thread: onwesterlywinds

🌠 Ahtynwyb Eynskyfwyn (she/they)

(a) Warrior of Light

paladin/astrologian

born in Quarterstone, now travels the star

novice sailor and writer

Titania's consort

Hydaelyn's biggest lesbian

Azem name: Sappho

🌹 Ashelia Marco Riot (she/her)

leader of the Riskbreakers, an anti-imperial task force

representative of Ala Mhigo's Undercity

can sometimes "hear" others' innermost desires

warrior/machinist

loves children, rolanberries, griffins, and her dorky husband

Azem name: Hypnos

🏚️ Walker Rosenheim (he/him)

formerly Mad King Theodoric's royal guard dog

escaped Garlean test subject

weapons expert

can take on the appearance of anyone he's killed

needs a vacation (according to his daughter)

loves fresh bread, wine, and long runs

Azem name: Thanatos

🪐 Hrjt of the Graylands (she/they)

void witch and summoner

formerly of the Snowfly Forest

has bested Noah van Gabranth many times (he still can't pronounce her name)

in a pact with Beatrice of Troia

gets Weird™️ when the sun's out

loves storms and behemoth steaks

Azem name: Circe

🌊 Tircolas Flow (she/they)

Viangaa

dancer-priestess of Lea Monde

has memory loss from prolonged exposure to Ultima auracite

banned from the Gold Saucer

ally to Bozja and straight people

loves red chocobos and, tragically, Garlean dubstep

Azem name: Tethys

🗡️ Sigrid Keane (she/her)

sky pirate captain of 30+ years

reaper/lancer

former Ala Mhigan gentry

touched by death

liberates masterpieces looted by Garlemald

"cousin" to Radlia; menace to Leofard

loves fireworks, ghost stories, and sunrises in the Diadem

Azem name: Nemesis

[onwesterlywinds]

Livvy's #FFXIVWrite 2023 Wrap-Up Post

Hi all! First and foremost, I want to thank everyone who's engaged with the stuff I've written for what is now my FIFTH consecutive year of #FFXIVWrite!

For the past few years, this challenge has been the primary vehicle for the XIV writing things I've always said I'll get around to writing - I went back to check and ten of this year's prompts include interactions or scenarios I've had in my head for multiple years! So as always, thank you SO much to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for creating this beautiful event. It's truly become one of my favorite parts of being in this game's community.

I wish I could say I had things I learned about myself, my writing or my characters this time around - but to be honest, the biggest thing I've learned is not to tempt fate by saying "I have completed this challenge in past years in spite of various life crises," because oh my god, y'all. Oh my fucking god. (Everything is fine but I am so tired.)

(Actually, okay, there was one common trend: I wrote way more NSFW material this year than in past years. Which I'm honestly really glad about, because this is an area I've always felt has not been one of my strong suits as a writer!)

So without further ado, below are my prompts for this year in their entirety, organized by character in order of frequency! I've bolded the pieces I'm especially proud or fond of.

If I get a handful of likes on this post, I might post some of my drafts - I had way more this year than in past years, so it'd be fun to share them now and see if folks are interested in me continuing any of them!

Livvy Ahtynwyb

#6: Ring | #10: [EXTRA CREDIT] | #13: Check | #22: Fulsome

Ashelia Riot

#1: Envoy | #12: Dowdy | #16: Jerk | #21: Grave

Ashley Rosenheim

#7: Noisome | #15: Portentous | #27: Sole

Alma Malheur

#2: Bark | #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Ingvald Bloodhound

#3: [EXTRA CREDIT] | #17: [EXTRA CREDIT]

Hrjt Brotin

#14: Clear | #28: Blunt

Marco

#18: Fish out of Water | #24: [EXTRA CREDIT]

Sappho

#8: Shed | #23: Suit

Astodan (a character I hope you all will learn more about soon!)

#9: Fair

Blackram

#19: Weal

Élodie Fiel

#5: Barbarous

Ludo Swiftwind

#26: Last

Lyhe Il

#30: Amity

Sigrid Keane

#20: Hamper

Stella Riot

#29: Contravention

Tircolas Flow

#4: Off the Hook

Tircolas Flow's Baba (whose name I'm 99% sure I know but don't want to reveal in case I decide to retcon it later)

#25: Call it a Day

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #1: Cross

Most of their fellow travelers had left Costa del Sol earlier that morning, when the unabating sun had at long last given way to the cooler temperatures of early autumn. Tir didn't mind the faint chill that had picked up, especially once the sea breeze brought in a glimpse of a star-strewn sky later that evening. She sat out with Auhdri on some forgotten beach towels and surveyed the half-dismantled shells of the giant wooden structures adventurers had so nimbly ascended only bells before.

She breathed in deep of the ocean air, held it in her lungs, and sighed it out. Something about this stretch of beach at night reminded her of home, even though she had all too rarely spent time at Lea Monde's seafront, having always preferred to linger instead by the river that was her namesake. If she thought hard enough, she could vaguely recall a cold, stormy shore comprised of dark sand and towers of slate, and a woman who tended to her there. The memory and its strangeness filtered through her senses like something out of a dream - just one more detail she could not be certain had ever actually happened to her.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered to Auhdri, not entirely knowing why she was whispering.

"Of course," Auhdri whispered back.

"Don't tell a soul?"

Auhdri reached up with a finger and traced an X over her chest - and although Tir did not understand the significance of the gesture, she could grasp its solemnity.

"I think I like Eorzean Tir a lot more than Dalmascan Tir."

"But-" Auhdri pouted, staring up at the ribbons of galaxies beginning to bloom in the dusk sky above them. "You're still the same you from who you were. Aren't you?"

She was not so certain anymore, but that fact felt a little too cumbersome to put into her own words. "My baba said once-" She blinked, in spite of herself. She could no longer recall if she had ever mentioned either of her mothers to Auhdri before. "-most of how we think about ourselves depends on where we are and who we're with. That our environment shapes how we act just as much as our choices do." She'd said as much on one of the rare occasions when Tir had asked her why her mama had gone back to the Wood. She only realized after the fact that she had been distant in the days leading up to her departure, and that it had made her baba sad, even if they had both acted normal again once she'd returned.

"I think I know what you mean," said Auhdri. "And I think... I think I like adventurer Auhdri more than villager Auhdri." Then she shuffled around and turned herself over onto her side, the better to gaze up at Tir. "What do you think you'd be doing right now if you were back in Lee Monde?"

Tir didn't correct her friend over the mispronunciation. "I don't know," she admitted. Despite herself, she wasn't sure she wanted to think about it, especially when the first idea that flashed through her mind was of a glinting, bloodied knife. "Though it's probably morning in Dalmasca right now, so... I might be doing my warm-up stretches. Checking my equipment." Checking to make sure the stone was still present, that the brothers had not finally taken it during the night.

But again a strange, hazy memory filtered through - this one of a Viera clad in purple bending over her to pull a fur blanket up to her chin, and to bestow the balm of a kiss upon her forehead. Despite her present uncertainty, despite the comfort of her present company, Tir snuggled a little deeper into her coarse towel.

With a bit of luck and a lot of work, her travels would make her better fit to greet her erstwhile caretaker.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #14: Commend

Despite his regular insistences that he "wouldn't be around long," Tir had managed to successfully locate the captain of the Misery three times in a row at his favorite port overlook. This visit made for the fourth, and by now his advisors were by no means surprised to see her - nor even the guest she brought with her to their little alcove.

"Well, look at you," said Carvallain, in reference to the axe strapped to her back. "A maiden after my own heart."

"You like it?" she asked. "I decided I didn't want to use knives anymore, so marauding it is."

Auhdri was lingering behind her. Auhdri was rather accustomed to lingering, because her alternative was often getting lost amid Limsa's busier crowds. Tir stepped back to give Carvallain an unobstructed view of her, and vice versa. "Anyway, I wanted you to meet my new friend Auhdri. Auhdri, this is my friend Carvallain. He's a pirate!"

Auhdri's ears perked up as she gasped. "I've never met a pirate before!" she squeaked.

"Yes you have; we cleared out Sastasha earlier this morning."

"Okay, but those were mean pirates. I've never met a nice pirate."

Carvallain gave some gesture with his hand had she could not interpret, and a smile that Tir couldn't be sure wasn't at their expense. "Sastasha, hm? You're practically full-fledged adventurers now."

"That's right!" said Tir. "Though we've got a long ways to go before the Sanguine Sirens will have us."

"Though I trust you girls will be careful; the rest of Eorzea is not nearly as kind as-" At last Carvallain froze, his eyes wide as her words caught up with his monologue. "Oh, hells no."

Tir and Auhdri burst out in unified laughter.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #7: Speculate

Hrjt came across the girl while walking away from the shoreline. So rare was it that she ever ventured out past the sand without a definitive destination in mind that had the girl wandered to the coast on any other day, she might have died a mere malm from Hrjt's refuge without either of them knowing. As it was, Hrjt dragged the girl back to her seaside hideaway beneath the cliff, lit a stronger fire than usual for them to share, and put down all other obligations as she nursed her back to health.

She gave the girl some water from the little stream that cut through the black sand beach, and that roused her better than anything else she tried.

She was young at first glance, and looked younger still as she sat up, whimpering, from her nightmare - practically a baby in the eyes of their kind. She stank of stone and death and change, but behind her eyes, there raged a calm stillness of a sort Hrjt had never thought to see in person.

"Be at ease, daughter of Müllenkamp," she said, and the girl calmed at once. There was still something left of her, then, inside her exhaustion; the Seraph had not completely subsumed her with visions.

Nor would Ultima have a chance to do so again, Saint willing. In between mouthfuls of seaweed soup, the girl babbled about the Virgo Stone - Demonia, she called it.

"I bore it for years," she whispered. "And every day that passed with it, I could see more. More, but also less. Like... finding out the world is made of so many more colors than you thought, only then you stop seeing blue."

Hrjt nodded, more in an effort to encourage the girl than out of any true understanding.

"I could look at a cornerstone and see when it was laid, and when Müllenkamp leaned against it, and when the big quake is going to crush it, all at once. Like how the Garleans weren't in Lea Monde, until one day they were. And then my mama was gone. And then my baba was gone. The brothers from the capital were there for a while, though. They took Demonia. They need it for the resurrection, and I wasn't worthy. I wasn't..."

That word froze something in her as surely as the winds of Greylic's Bend. "The resurrection?"

"'Blood for the Seraph,'" she quoted. "'Blood for the Lady. Blood for the resurrection and the forgiveness of sins.' That resurrection. You know." It was the first she'd spoken directly to Hrjt in all her rambling; Hrjt glanced up to find her staring with single-minded focus. "The brothers taught me how to make the sacrifice. Gouge and slice, gouge and slice."

For one small mercy, if what Hrjt knew of the Seraph and her "gifts" was true, the girl would remember none of this.

"Have you seen my mama?" the girl said suddenly. "You look like you'd know her."

Hrjt seized on this newfound topic. "Is she a Viera?"

She nodded. "She's tall, and she's green the way you're purple."

A fair assessment. "What else can you tell me of her?" The likelihood of having seen her on her rare visits to Rabanastre was minimal; of having seen her during her stint in the oubliettes of Nalbina, much more so.

"She makes the sign of the Kiltian cross at just about everything. She worships the Dark, but not really like you."

"Hm." It was almost nothing to go on. "You also mentioned your... baba, was it?"

The girl nodded. "My other mom. She's a Bangaa with rusty red scales. She'll come back, though; she's traveled a lot, and she always comes back with something to make things better."

How strange for her to have been so inundated by the Seraph's histories that she did not even recognize the scope or scale of the war broiling around her. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"I'm going to Ala Mhigo."

This she spoke with as much surety as if she spoke of walking into the brush to relieve herself. If it would get her away from the IVth, and from whichever brothers had tormented her... "Stay here tonight," she insisted. "And tomorrow, I can help you plan your course to wherever you seek to go next. What is your name, little sister?"

"Tircolas Flow."

Hrjt knew the name well. The river had beckoned to her during her first and only visit to the holy city. She removed her Scyllan furs and draped them over Tircolas Flow's thin body; the girl nuzzled into them at once, like a child being tucked into bed, and Hrjt did not want to speculate just how long she had been without her beloved mothers under the Seraph's brutal timekeeping.

[onwesterlywinds]

Shelter from the Quake

In the heart of the great temple, she danced in time with the earth. Though absolute in its might, the quake faltered her steps scarcely at all; the subterranean refuge shook, stone and marble and bedrock threatening collapse, and still she continued in the very movements the saint had committed to doctrine so long ago.

Only during her exit did she come to understand that this was no ordinary quake, as she passed toppled pillars, cracked foundations and caved-in doorways. When she arrived at the surface and sunlight again kissed her face, she emerged into the streets of Lea Monde and found them empty.

All was silent, save for intermittent birdsong: there came neither cries of rapture nor lamentations for the dead. The city itself remained untouched by the monumental quake, and yet there was not a soul to be found. Every inhabitant and every invader had vanished, as though they had never been there to begin with - and yet if she reached out with all her heart, she could swear she could feel them, somewhere on the knife-edge of her memory-

And when she opened her eyes, a Garlean prodded her hard in the back with the pommel of his sword. Sounds flooded her ears: the market bustled with activity, and behind her, a magitek vanguard whirred out its rotation. She blinked twice, and the scene remained unchanged; some few passersby had turned to watch her, perhaps to ensure her safety. With one last shout of a warning, the Garlean soldier shoved her away, and she hurried home in her threadbare dancing shoes.

When she descended into the temple the next day, the tremors arose again, and she understood.

The quake had happened long ago. The quake had only recently come to pass. The quake would happen soon. The quake would happen in an age to come.

***

Her mothers had named her Tircolas Flow, after the bright blue river whose journey was circumscribed entirely within the walls of Lea Monde. Its spring came from under the old quarry, deeper than anyone had yet to chart. Its course ran parallel to the streets and cut through the town center, past their little house, until its reached the Valnard Sea at its mouth.

Her Viera mother had long insisted on the significance of such a name. She had been the one to adopt the faith on the family's behalf; she had taken great stock in omens from the land and had always been quick to respond to potential misfortunes with the sign of the Kildean cross. She had never spoken of what had driven her from the home of her birth, at least not to Tir - and yet her devotion to Saint Müllenkamp, cast out of the Light for her supposedly apocryphal teachings, conveyed what words never could.

Her Bangaa mother had been a skeptic by comparison. When Tir had started to speak of her dreams of the quake, she had taken out a book of geology and shown her where Lea Monde lay on the precipice of two disparate sheets of earth - tectonic plates - which moved against each other to cause tremors. And yet her reverence for the land had by no means been lesser. She had constructed all sorts of devices to measure reverberations deep within the ground and placed them like talismans upon the dining table. She had known everything about the world, or so it had seemed to Tir; in her youth, she had traveled as far west as Ala Mhigo, though she had not left the ship during her journey for worry of how they might treat one with a face such as hers.

The city had loved both her mothers, and they had returned that love by granting their only daughter the name of its life-giving river.

The city welcomed every soul into its walls.

***

The brothers had come for her long after the quake, or else when the last of its tremors had faded. By then, all the others of her order had long since disappeared or died, whether by the Garleans or the plague or the earth itself. She had simply assumed each of their duties, just as they had trained her for, and she had danced for so long with only traditions to guide her that perhaps she had thought herself special for it - had come to think of her solitude as a sign of her own divinity. The brothers came as if to disabuse her of that notion, and yet she had been so alone in her faith that she had welcomed their company.

They were from an old family in Rabanastre, and like her, they had been tasked with the keeping of Müllenkamp's legacy. The elder brother was tall, straight-backed and cleanshaven, with a loud and haughty voice he employed for rebukes and holy magicks alike.

Yet his younger brother was the true threat. He was the one with the knife, and the one who asked her questions about the auracite.

The stone had been given many names, but her mentor had called it Demonia. It shimmered like an opal even in the darkest underground halls, and legend held that Müllenkamp had drawn upon its power to dance for a week without rest and had thusly saved the city from invasion.

Tir had held it but once, to dance those same sacred steps, and still the Garleans had entered Lea Monde's walls. It was through no fault of her own, her mentor had explained thereafter: she was so young for one of her kind, and still untrained, and thus could not reasonably be tasked with the welfare of two thousand souls.

The brothers had disagreed with this, particularly the younger. For all they learned from her teachings and shared their own in kind, they berated her often for her failures. Any true priestess of the saint would have known to give a life for the city to keep it out of imperial hands - if not her own, then that of another.

When the older brother taught her how to make such a sacrifice, the younger brother taught her not to look away.

Blood for the Seraph. Blood for the Lady. Blood for the resurrection and the forgiveness of sins.

And when it was done, they took Demonia from her safekeeping.

***

She left her mothers' little house, left the occupied city, and walked further than she had ever walked before under the cover of night. Her legs ached in brand-new places by the time she reached the port city of Valnain. Only one ship not flying imperial colors was bound for the west: a tiny vessel on its maiden voyage to Radz-at-Han. She tried to smuggle herself into a crate of wine bottles but would not fit, and so she bundled up in bolts of silks and prayed through her hunger, not knowing if the saint had already deserted her for her sins. For a mercy, the sailors discovered her only when the last of the cargo had been offloaded at its destination, and by that point any threats of throwing her overboard were somewhat moot.

She relied far less on grace for the next leg of her journey, and treated directly with Lominsan traders. The captain of the Misery had the good grace not to laugh when she told him she was bound for Ala Mhigo and that he could simply drop her off along the way. By way of fare, he demanded only one of her earrings and her mother's flintlock, which she handed over with effusive thanks. He even encouraged her presence abovedecks once they were well away from shore, and he indulged in her company by pointing out landmarks throughout their two-moon journey.

On the night before they were due into port, she asked Captain Carvallain why he had been so willing to ferry her to the other side of the world. It could not have been for the Bangaa pistol, for it had not seen use in decades and would likely send its wielder to a fiery grave. Carvallain smiled with great patience, laid a hand on her shoulder, and informed her that he knew all too well the look of a child who had but one chance to change her fate.

By the time she awoke in the next morning, the Misery had made its way to port, and Carvallain had already departed for his next venture. Tircolas Flow disembarked at the docks of Limsa Lominsa, a city that neither knew nor loved her, and set out in pursuit of new histories.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #26: [EXTRA CREDIT]

Auhdri had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout their journey in the Twelveswood. Auhdri was often timid, but never quiet: Tir had always known her to remark at their surroundings under her breath, or else hum a little tune when her mind was otherwise unoccupied. On that day, she hardly made a sound.

Tir might have attributed her silence to their being near to her home; she'd been given to understand that many Keeper Miqo'te hailed from areas of the Twelveswood which few others had ever laid eyes upon, and their travels had taken them to places so forested that Tir often had the sensation of being watched. But Auhdri herself seemed to know little of her surroundings, and was just as likely as Tir to get lost (if not more so). Or perhaps her pensive mood came from their morning stop in Quarrymill, and the conversations they'd had with the Ala Mhigan refugees there. Auhdri never did like seeing people despondent, much less in dire need, and Tir imagined the idea of people being displaced from their homes might be a novel and unwelcome concept for her.

They stopped at midday to take a break, eat their packed lunches and take stock of their supplies. As Tir knelt in the stream to refill her canteen, Auhdri finally said, "Hey Tir?"

"Hey Auhdri."

"I was thinking about something you said earlier."

"Oh." Immediately she racked her brain for anything she'd said that might have caused offense.

"Back when we were talking with that Ala Mhigan leader, uh..." Meffrid, she meant; Auhdri still was not the best at keeping track of names, nor could Tir fault her for it. "You said the Empire took away your home, too."

She had said that, and now she regretted it. It had been silly to compare what she had been through to the Ala Mhigans' experiences of being destitute and on the run without any aid from others.

Particularly when she could remember so little of how and why she had left her home to begin with.

"Where are you from?"

She stood from the stream and set the cap back on her canteen before answering. "A city called Lea Monde, in Dalmasca." In response to Auhdri's quizzical stare- "It's across the ocean, halfway-ish between Radz-at-Han and Doma." That, too, did not help, and so she attempted to trace out a world map with squiggles in the air. "If this is Eorzea, and this is Ilsabard-" She made a sweeping motion over the top of her head to indicate the northern continent. "-and this is the Near East, then Lea Monde is right about here."

Audhri nodded, as though she understood perfectly now. "And... the Empire took over Lea Monde."

That question, at least, she could answer with certainty. She could recall so many centuries of Lea Monde's history as if she had seen them with her own eyes, but the invasion had left a stain upon the city in ways that clearly delineated a before and an after. "...Yes."

"You never mentioned," Auhdri murmured.

"Because..." Because then she would have to share the timeline of her life, of which not even she was certain. "Because... I didn't want you to worry. Not for me, and not that the same thing might happen to us here."

Auhdri hugged her knees close to her chest from atop the nearest rock. "So that's where you learned to stab people. You mentioned that too."

Tir wondered if perhaps she should stop talking altogether. In the meantime, she hoped that this would fall under the parameters for a pleasant lie. "Yes." It was partly the truth, since the brothers would not have come to Lea Monde if not for the IVth Legion driving them out of Rabanastre.

"Okay," said Auhdri, but an uncertainty lingered in her voice - and Tir was not at all surprised when she spoke up again. "What's the one thing you miss the most?"

"Dancing," Tir replied at once.

"Then you should dance again!" Auhdri's eyes were all aglow at the prospect. "Once we're back in Limsa Lominsa, we should find a nice spot on the upper decks - you can dance, and I can hold out one of my hats for people to drop their gil into! I bet we could even fill my big pointy hat!"

"Most of my dances aren't good for that, though, Auhdri," she protested. "They're... sacred, I guess."

"You could learn some new ones!"

There was that. She could also adapt some of the dances she knew best, change them just enough to ensure her movements did not evoke any adverse effects from the people or the land nearby.

"Let's see..." Tir set down her canteen, unholstered the axe from her back, and took a breath to straighten her posture. Auhdri grinned with anticipation from her rock. "I guess I can show you this one. It's a dance to inspire confidence. Saint Müllenkamp danced it for her first allies over two thousand years ago."

On one hand, it would be hard to mimic pointe in her steel-toed boots; on the other hand, she doubted her friend would recognize the difference.

[onwesterlywinds]

character facts meme! biggest and smallest short term goal for tir (also long term if you feel like it), predominant emotion for rosenheim, religious views for ashe, one way to lose ingvald's trust

Tircolas Flow: biggest and smallest short-term goal

Her biggest short-term goal is to find a connection in Eorzea that can help her keep tabs on Lea Monde. She doesn’t know that a prior contact (Hrjt Brotin) is currently in the East Shroud, fighting off aggro from Aoife Mahsa’s void-touched fat cat, or that the last person to possess the auracite she referred to as “Demonia” runs a certain anti-imperial task force out of a bar in the Sandsea.

Her smallest short-term goal is to find a nice leather jacket. Both her mothers had one, and she’s thinking she’s of an age where she should have one too.

Ashley Rosenheim: their predominant emotion

Probably regret. He’s carrying a lot of it around, and it gets even more pronounced the longer he spends in Ala Mhigo.

Ashelia Riot: their religious views

To others, she tends to refer to Nymeia, but this is mostly out of a force of habit from her years as a radical monarchist, considering Theodoric’s affiliation with the Spinner. On the very rare occasions Ashe prays, no more than once or twice a year, she prays to Nymeia and Rhalgr equally. More often than not, she would consider herself agnostic - though she will choose to raise her children with knowledge of both deities’ teachings.

Ingvald Bloodhound: one way to lose their trust

This one’s tricky, because distrust is very much his default state! He has come to think of lies, broken promises and hidden secrets as a normal part of life. Probably the one thing he won’t abide is gossip, or sharing the secrets of others: in his time, even before the Empire, such behavior could have gotten someone killed.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #7: Nonagenarian

She was called the Spinner's Daughter - a type of spider native to Mor Dhona. The name was an acknowledgement to her great age, and the fact that none yet living could recall from where she might have hailed before she had settled her way into one of the Undercity's deepest reaches. She might well have come from Nymeia herself, what with her innate tendency to know precisely everything about everyone who crossed her path; so too did her visits often correspond with an abrupt change to one's own fate, to the point that only the foolish now sought her out in her flickering passage.

Élodie Fiel slowed her approach out of respect, not bothering to quiet her steps. The woman's face did not change, even as she crept well into the firelight; her only concession towards a greeting was a curt, dry cough.

"I'm back," said Élodie, quite needlessly.

"You're back," the woman echoed.

Élodie had no time to weather sarcasm. "I had one more question for you about the time of Gylbarde." She fluffed out her skirts and sat herself down, much as she always had, to the evident chagrin of the elderly woman before her. "Is it true that his ranks included hundreds from the Undercity - not only monks from aboveground?"

The woman let out a single huff. "Of course it's true. My own cousin went off to fight in the Autumn War. Didn't come back, of course."

Strange, Élodie thought, not to hear about the exact time and place and manner of his death, as was so often customary for Undercity folk. What must it be like, she wondered, to die under an open sky? That was if he died at all; this cousin might just as well have left the soldiering life and gone off into the woods on a whim. Nevertheless, she jotted down a few more notes in her most recent journal. "Was that the first time the Undercity cooperated with Ala Mhigo proper, then?"

"Hardly." Before Élodie could so much as take a breath, the woman snapped, "That pouch at my feet. Open it."

She obliged. It was hand-woven with a drawstring, tied too tightly for what she imagined were knotted and arthritic hands. The contents within rattled and gave off a scent she could not immediately recognize, but she handed the pouch over for the woman without bothering to look inside. The woman immediately dipped her hand inside, and withdrew between two knuckles a pair of what appeared to be the bleached vertebrae of some unknown beast.

"They're a dragon's," she clarified at once. "A gift from my own father."

Were Élodie any more foolhardy, she might have asked with a quip if her father were Rhalgr himself.

"When he was still a boy, he and his sister were called upon to put the beast to the sword. It landed to the southwest, over in Demilune - shattered both its wings. They set out with a pair of knights from above, called on by name, and together they protected the palace roads. That's how it's always been with us: brothers in arms. Less so now, what with the imperials swarming everywhere they see fit-" She spat down toward her slippered feet. "-but you'd do well to write down that the ones above us used to give us the time of day for more than just whatever murders needed doing."

Élodie tapped a finger against her nose while she thought. "Dragon-slaying, war... sounds quite a bit like murder to me."

"I've answered your fool question - now will you leave me be?"

"Yes, of course." She would not enjoy the walk back up to Tircolas Flow in her heeled boots, but even she knew better than to push her luck too far with the Spinner's Daughter.