#ascian au

[akirakirxaa]

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑤𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡? 𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒

[made a new banner for the bad end au]

[finalfantabee]

The Advisor and Former Seat of Emmerololth.

Credits: -Blucifer08 for the boots and dress. -Himsshelby for the glyph. -Bread for the ribbon.

[hopeandduty]

Day 22: Free Day [AU day!]

It is an annoyance he almost dismissed entirely. 

Emperor Solus marches through the Garlean palace halls, each footfall reverberating with the weight of his authority and the echo of his power. His Second Legatus has just finished giving a report on the western provinces and his Third is chomping at the bit to give their own on the recent spats of rebellion in Doma when he waves them silent. They’re meaningless enough, too scattered and unorganized to gain true traction. He’s skimmed the papers already; they’ll be stomped out without much effort and they will learn what it means to defy the hand of Garlemald.

A lesson his newest petitioner has learned, if not to the exclusion of all other sense. That some lordling thought themselves of elevated enough importance to insist on an audience bespeaks an inflated perception of their own worth; they’ll learn their place soon enough. 

He dismisses his escort; the guards against the throne stiff in their salutes as he passes and claims the throne. This tediousness is his least favourite of the tasks demanded of an emperor but entertain them he shall. There is greater purpose behind them even as it invites a dreaded pall of boredom. Surely Elidibus could come up with something more entertaining to incite a rejoining or two.

“Let them in,” he waves a hand dismissively towards the entrance and the soldiers pull back the heavy door. 

The man who walks in is utterly unremarkable in every sense. Oh he walks with the arrogance of someone who thinks themselves otherwise, but Solus needn’t see the dull edges of his soul to see through such a swagger. He wears Doman finery, and carries a samurai’s blade, dark red hair bound and greedy little eyes already prepared to make demands that are not his to make. Solus has half a mind to send him away right now and spare himself whatever tedious speech the man has planned, but a second figure follows him in and in that singular moment do years of tedium become overturned in an instant.

It is their colour.

For a moment he is certain he must be imagining it. How many years, centuries, millennia has he searched for it? Spent night after night watching the souls drift about the Aetherial Sea in a haze of colours, but never in the one he wishes to see. He has scoured every province, every country, every world and never has he found anyone even close– 

And now, of all times, they see fit to simply stroll into his throne room? 

How impossibly like them.

Solus is too practiced to betray any interest upon his face, even if his thoughts are too distracted to catch the overwrought introduction the man would lay before him. A Doman Lord, the turncoat helping to oust the rebels… yes yes. He wants to wave away this distraction, that he might better focus on the figure in his shadow. 

She is silent, this Au’ra woman, as the man extols his many achievements, spins tales of rebel war lords and an amassing force of which Solus is already aware down to the number. She is knelt down, her head bowed; only her black hair is visible from his vantage. The shimmer of her soul belies the calm that her posture would present. Its hue wavers with uncertainty, but there is no mistake in its radiance.No one else, for all the countless souls he knew even before the sundering, had ever even approximated that colour. 

“Let us get to the point,” Solus hefts out a sigh when he cannot stand the sound of the man’s voice any longer. “You came here for a reason, what do you want?” 

“I but wish to gift to Your Radiance a Doma free of rebels,” the man, Sadayo or somesuch, claims. “My father feigns loyalty while leading those who would stand against your wise and just rule; I would see such foolishness extinguished. With the resources and connections that the Imagasha family possesses, under a wiser leader they could do much for the glory of the great Garlemald.”

“If that is true, then what are you doing here? “ It’s a child’s performance and he has not the patience for it. Not today. “If you can so greatly contribute to Doma’s stability, what are you doing in the capital?”

The man hitches, she remains motionless. “I– my attempt to correct the error of my family’s ways was unsuccessful, too few were willing to acknowledge your Radiance’s rightful rule. However, I will not be so easily dismayed. I know their secrets; I know where they meet, where their forces gather. I will see their efforts unmade and with it unravel the Doman rebellion and I will lead them on the correct course. If your Radiance would but grant me the men to see it through, I will bring you a victory.”

Another whelp hungry for power; easily manipulated if nothing else. There is no worth in having him lead, but Solus will grant his inside knowledge may save him a headache or two in dealing with those pesky rebels. None of this holds his interest, and now it is wasting his time. Better to get to the point.

“And who is this?” Solus nods to woman at Sadayo’s side and she shifts for the first time since entering the room, but her head still does not rise. “Clearly you trust her to have brought her here.” 

“She is no one,” Sadayo shakes his head. “My retainer; a tool for me to use, no more.” 

“Is she skilled?” 

“Her blade is sharp to be certain, but a tool is only as useful as the hand that wields it.”

The woman’s frame tenses but she utters not a word; he, on the other hand, has half a mind to pitch this fool from the balcony. He has heard tell of this tradition in the Far East, families sworn into the service of others from birth. He did not think them merely glorified slaves. As if they would ever accept such chains.

A hefty sigh.

“Very well,” he speaks with careful consideration. This is more than likely going to be the biggest mistake of his rule as Solus and the worst headache he’s had in a century but he’ll be damned if he lets this chance slip through his fingers. “You may have your force, two squadrons, no more and you will place yourself under the Twelfth Legatus’ command until such a time as you have fulfilled your promise. However, I would have something from you, as well.” 

“Anything, Your Radiance!” 

“I have use for a sharper blade or two. I will have her serve me here, as I will be sending good men with you.”

“Of course!” He does not so much as consider it for a breath. “She is yours, Your Radiance.” He pulls some manner of ornamental dagger from the fold of his robes and tosses on the ground at his feet. The thud echoes with a particular finality across the otherwise silent throne room. 

“My lord–!” 

Finally she looks up. The eyes he has longed to see are wide with shock and not the bronze colour he remembers. Disappointment, but it is its own reminder of his foolishness. She is not they– but he would see more of her all the same. Her calm countenance has finally shattered and her expression is twisted in a pain as clear as though he’d driven the dagger through her instead.

“You heard him,” Sadayo says with about as much consideration as he held for dust upon his shoes, regards her as though she a slave to be traded away for his perceived riches. “I renounce your oath and your ties to me. You belong to his Radiance.”

“B-but–! My lord, I–” Her voice cracks; she is still lost between shock and heartbreak and the rawness upon her face makes him uncomfortable. 

“Silence!” Sadayo snaps, his arm raised. “I am your lord no longer, you’ll not refer to me again else–” 

“Enough.” Solus needs only stand to cow the man back. This place is his and his voice takes to every corner echoing his authority back from its fringes. “I’ll thank you not to be laying a hand on my help.” 

Sadayo steps back and away from the girl. “Of course, Your Radiance.” His salute is sweeping and arrogant in his victory; he’ll last no more than a day under the Twelfth Legion and Solus is only sorry he won’t be there to see it.

“Escort our guest to the Twelth Legion’s briefing chamber, and see that he is brought up to speed on their efforts.”

“Yes! Your Radiance!” One of the guards salutes before moving to escort Sadayo from the room. The man follows without so much as a single look back at the person he has left upon the ground. What miserable souls, these sundered.

“You are dismissed as well,” Solus commands the remaining guard. “I’ll be seeing no more for today.”  

“Shall I inform Lady Vergillia?” 

“Yes, yes do as you will.” He waves the soldier away and waits for the latch of the door to echo across the room. 

She is still upon the floor, her careful kneel collapsed and posture as broken as her spirit. She cradles the dagger in her hands as though it a corpse, her tears making the colours sharper as they sweep rivulets of dust from its surface. He knows little of Doman custom, but it is not difficult to guess what such an exchange meant– what that dagger meant– to be returned to her as it was. 

“What’s your name?” Solus asks without the billow of his power or the edge of his authority. It comes out with annoyance, but there is a gentle edge he cannot shear from it. 

“I… no longer have one.” Her shoulders curl in upon herself. 

“Nonsense. You must have been called something.” 

“Our names are given to us by our lords, are left behind with our oaths should they be broken. You may call me whatever you wish… Y- Your Radiance.” 

She stumbles on the honorific; something tells him she was not quite so eager as her lordling to throw her lot in with Doma’s conquerors. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; freedom was always their wont, after all. 

But she is not Azem. He reminds himself, for all the good it does him when she’s all but radiating their colour. It is not as bright or crisp or clear, but it is unmistakable all the same. So then… it begged the question of just what she was. 

She is not the twilight after which they had been named but perhaps…  

“Ciardha.” It seems to fit once the word finds his lips. Her attention is snared by it, tear stained eyes catching his face for the first time since entering. “It means ‘black’ in case you were wondering.” She is the shadow that comes after, the depth of the night empty of hope. Maybe this will help him keep his head on straight about it all. 

“Ciardha…” she repeats it to herself, acceptance and surrender in the same breath. “Very well, Your Radiance. I shall graciously accept.” She clutches the dagger tighter against her chest. 

“What is that?” Solus nods at her grip, and feels almost bad when she flinches.

“It… It is the symbol of an oath given from a retainer to their lord,” Ciardha explains quietly. She has retreated from her emotion in her attempts to save face, but her tones still crackle like too much paper. “Returned to them, should that oath be renounced. If it is given back, it is expected to be the tool with which we end our lives, for our purpose is only in our service.” 

“What utter nonsense. You may give that to me.” Solus holds his hand out. “And before you mistake it, not as some silly Doman ceremony. I’ll not have you using it in such a way, I have far better use for a life such as yours and I’ll not have you entertaining any foolish ideas.”

She hesitates for a second, but she surrenders the dagger to his grip. Solus has little and less use for it, but he tucks it away within his armour all the same. She watches this, and Solus can see her mind trying to process it all through the shock that still holds her in its vice. He expects she’ll need time to grow accustomed to the idea of her new circumstances before she can– 

He sighs. He’d not even considered what he would actually have her do. Why was it everything concerning them always left him with such a mess to clean up? If it isn’t one thing it is another when it comes to Azem. 

Even their pieces, it would seem.

“Unless you instead to sleep on the floor, you may stand.” Solus huffs with impatience. 

“Of course,” she hurries to her feet and keeps her head bowed low and already he can feel the headache starting to skirt the fringes of his mind.

“There is a lot of work to be done.” 

“Yes, Your Radiance.”

[spitfire-mehn]

Ascian AU? In the Co-WoL AU?

Would that make it an AU of an AU, or just an entirely different AU of it's own?

I'm gonna go with the first one because I like to overcomplicate things :3c

Lizard belongs to @duskmother

[crimsonamber9999]

:|| a bit of thoughts about ascian au Calypso..

Their very much and unfortunately perhaps to the dismay of those who genuinely cared, a blank slate.

They can express emotions but are very much repressed and confused alike, for very much who they are and the entirety gravity of the situation and the sundering as a whole.

Depending on how it goes, they’ve been brought back (through some miracle) missing a shard or two.However, a lot of ‘Calypso’ is missing. Their able to use their strings and see the Aether brought upon them at will, yet their entire existence is just…there.

Like a puppet they themselves guide, they obey the orders given unto them by their superiors. Though unfortunately much to the dismay of the others their often found wondering into Eorzea without so much as a thought to being exposed as an Ascian.

They have been told how dangerous it is to wonder around in their clothing, yet because they’re very much unaware at all times they truly don’t realize the gravity of doing those actions. So sometimes, their told to stay which them gloomy.

[nights-at-crystarium]

⊹ ˚ . ★ WE ARE ANGELS ★ . ˚ ⊹

[starryscale-art]

haven't you made quite a mess of things, young Hades~

since jai isn't the wol but is still the one who takes the lightwardens in the place of the WoL in me and my friends canon, emet gets a most unwelcome visit from jai's ancient..who may not be Azem, but was definitely Still A Part of the Convocation

[sealrock]

the four horsemen.

[cantspelldragoonwithoutgoon]

what if...

(how is she not breaking her neck you ask?)

tippy toes.

[uldahstreetrat]

Mayncient - 26. Ascian

"There are terrible things yet hidden in the depths of Azys Lla - pray they do not come to see the Light."

[ubejamjar]

“My parents adored one another and they loved me. The world was never kind, but we had each other and that made everything alright.”

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 18: Fish Out Of Water

Rating: T

Word Count: 635

Warnings: None

Summary: Akira made a bargain with Emet-Selch that ended with her joining the Ascians. But despite the fact that no one has made her feel unwelcome, in the hours leading up to her official induction she still feels as if she doesn't belong. [Ascian WoL AU, EmetWoL but only a little]

Master Post

The dark realm where the Ascians made their home was…comfortable. The darkness was ever present in the air, weighing heavy over everything like a blanket. Akira wandered the halls of endless doors, peeking in a few as she passed. Some refused to open; she assumed those must belong to individuals, their own little sanctuaries. Some opened to show libraries, offices, training halls, just about anything one could need. After a while, the realization settled in that the doors were magically repeating. Satisfied that there was nothing more to see, or at least not while she still was just a ‘guest’ anyway, Akira let her mind wander as she walked the halls aimlessly, just needing to move.

Regardless, Akira still didn’t feel like she belonged here. Every breath said this wasn’t where she was meant to be. No matter how comfortable. No matter how polite the other Ascians had been. No matter that the animosity between her and Emet-Selch had softened into something…else. She felt like a fish pulled from water and commanded to breathe and walk. And, against all odds, she did. She breathed. She walked. But it was all wrong.

“Well, Hero,” she heard a familiar voice from just behind her. “It’s just about time.”

“This is wrong,” she mumbled, knowing it would make no difference. “I don’t belong here.” But she had made a deal. She wouldn’t go back on it, and he knew that. Emet-Selch moved closer and pulled her against him, draping himself over her in an overly friendly manner she’d long since adjusted to. She didn’t understand it, but his proximity soothed a part of her soul she didn’t recognize.

“That’s just your Mother still hanging on. She never was a graceful loser.” He meant it to be soothing, but it only turned her stomach over. Why had Hydaelyn so thoroughly abandoned her? Hadn’t fought for her at all? Akira was constantly listening, hoping to hear what she should do next, but only silence greeted her, over and over again.

“I don’t know about that,” Akira shrank into herself, shoulders hunching up. He turned her to face him, taking her face in between his clawed hands; ceremonial, he’d called them, when she commented that the robes she’d seen Ascians wear looked so different from the one they had provided her.

“You’ll see,” he insisted. “Once you have your memories and your title, you’ll see you belong as much as any of us.”

Not her memories, of course. Akira knew he was referring to who she used to be. The person he seemed so intent on getting back. And despite the constant assurances that she would still be herself, just more, she couldn’t help but fear that this was an even more permanent end than if she’d just allowed herself to die.

She supposed she would find out shortly. She tried to call on the courage that had served her so well against Primals and Lightwardens alike, but in this unfamiliar realm and minus her usual abilities, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. No matter how much she was told that she would be far stronger than she’d been before. She rested a hand over one of his, and fought against the fear clawing its way up her throat. Emet-Selch pulled her against his chest, holding her close like she was something precious. Something she couldn’t understand, as she’d been repeatedly told.

“Come now, Hero,” he rumbled lowly. “You’ve gone through far worse than this. It’ll be no worse than one of those Echo visions of yours.”

She nodded — it was easier than arguing and there was no changing it now — and let him lead her away, one hand on her lower back. She wasn’t sure if it was out of fondness or to make sure she didn’t try to run.

[galehowl]

try again, maybe it'll work a second time

[hopeandduty]

"I'll only rest for a moment..."

[azems-familiar]

WIP Wednesday

Here's a bit from the next installment of the Ascian Azem AU!

-

It has been two weeks, approximately, since they returned from exploring Coerthas and the revelations of that trip. Since, the Lord Speaker has sent the Scions an official request to know more of the magic that restored summer to one small corner of that ice-crusted land, which had required informing everyone else what happened…and then a long discussion on what to do about it. They had asked Azem for their opinion. Azem has yet to give it.

The Lord Speaker’s message had been…desperate. Couched in flowery, political language of necessity - a language Azem recognizes, despite how long it has been - but desperate all the same. You have saved us once, in the part you played in ending the Dragonsong War and aiding us as we stumbled down the thorny path to peace. Yet Ishgard’s troubles do not end there, not when the very land turns against us, our children freezing in the streets and our coffers dwindling as we struggle to bring in enough food to support ourselves. If you know anything - anything at all - related to this magic that might let us expand its effects, I offer a formal invitation to discuss the terms of what the Scions might receive in turn for such invaluable information.

They could offer their expertise, certainly, and maybe even it would be enough, despite this not being their actual area of study. But that would be intervening, and if Elidibus thought adjusting Coerthas was necessary to restore balance to the Source, he would already have set out on that path. But- something about those lands covered in unseasonable snow keeps sticking in their head, the cold so familiar after their long millennia of grief. Corrain and Alisaie had helped them melt the ice.

Azem blinks at the ceiling. Corrain had promised them as long as they needed to make a decision, and had promised that their involvement could be kept a secret (though his face had twisted and he’d grumbled something about Emmanelain when he said that, so perhaps not). That they had already given enough knowledge for the Scions and Ishgard to figure it out themselves, if there was anything they could do. They…don’t know how to answer, even so.

It had been a good trip, despite the people, despite everything. They had…liked talking about aetherology, and Alisaie had been kind, and Corrain…he still looks too much like Helios, sometimes. They had not wanted to see him so sad. He had cried into their shoulder for a long time, standing in the new patch of summer they’d made together, and they had held him, eventually, running fingers along the furred edges of his ears until he settled. Alisaie had smiled at them, and hadn’t tried to hug them, but had thanked them quietly later on their return to Dragonhead. Had said that Corrain has been struggling with this grief for years now, and she’s never seen him seem to cry through it like that before. Azem hadn’t known what to say; they’ve never worked through their grief either.

(They might have managed to, once. But then Hythlodaeus had gone, and the star had shattered around them, and that pain weighs as heavily on their shoulders as the souls of the lost do on Elidibus’s. There is nothing to work through to. Just- the cold, and the endless years of struggle, until they can finally save their people and do their duty.

And yet…Corrain has Helios’s eyes, but his smile is his own, and no less bright for it.)

-

tagged by @thewitchofelpis, thank you! :D

tagging @sunderedazem @feralkwe @thelittlestancient @akirakirxaa and anyone else who wants to do it

[crimsonamber9999]

:|| ascian outfit au idea ft this cool crystal I made for practice