#but gelmorra will be safe!

[tallbluelady]

"You seem rather forlorn for a bride to be." "It's hard to be aught else with a groom like Zenos."

A continuation of this AU.

[soulshards]

FFXIVWRITE 2024, PROMPT #7: MORSEL tw: none • words: 366

a small piece or amount

Beneath the towering trees of the Shroud lay the old, ancient city. Gelmorra. Though many paths and homes long since lay to ruin, the Duskwights who resided here took great care of their homes that were still liveable.

They made sure their streets were clean, that everyone had what they needed, in order to continue a life that had been long forgotten by many - those who ventured out into the Shroud, no longer fearing the Elementals wrath. Now that some semblance of sanctity and peace had been gained in the overworld.

Not everyone was so willing to let go. Not everyone was so willing to forget their history, who they are, where they come from. Many Duskwights wished to remain beneath the soil, where it was cool and safe.

Though, safety was no guarantee.

The people were bundled together in a street, parents, children, strangers, neighbours, all coming together to wait - to pray. The heat around them grew, causing stray drops of moisture to sink down the mossy walls. The noises that echoed through the caves, their city, were terrifying; shrieking metal, deep impacts in the earth. Dust and particles shuddering from the stone above as they hoped it would not cave in atop them.

Kiros stood near the edge of the street, where a great tree’s roots had burrowed through the earth and created a canopy in the centre of what was their market. A small amount of light would slip through, a morsel of the outside world, as mismatched eyes peered up into the darkening sky above; a red hue building as fire graced the earth. Dalamund was falling.

Their tunnels collapsing, their people in fear - just like the rest of the world, really.

His hand would rest upon his sword, staying low, ignoring the cries and whispers of the panicked people behind him as he kept his gaze on that slither of sky that slipped by the tree roots. His focus on that, and that alone, so he could tell everyone to run if they needed.

Because there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. They could only hope they had a home to return to, once the sky had finished falling.

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #16: Third-rate

Bloody, dirty, and sore, Locke marched across the room and dropped the pouch full of Gelmorran flowers on the counter. Even cut from their roots and taken from their garden, their blue petals pulsed, flashes of scarlet light leaking from the pouch’s opening. “Rough go of things?” Odranne asked, though her face only briefly showed concern. It soon dissipated, replaced by a smile as her eyes fell upon the pouch. “Not so rough you didn’t return with the flowers, it seems. Well done.” “Only just.” Locke dropped into a chair and groaned softly. It was immediate relief for his feet, even if it did nothing for the rest of him. “Don’t think you should send anyone back there though. Whatever you’re doing, make it work just with what I brought back. Dangerous down there.” “What did you find?” She looked back up from the petals, seemingly curious. “An annoying but chivalrous ghost.”

Odranne lifted her eyebrows. “Oh?” “They kept mentioning ‘Her Highness.’ We robbed a dead princess, I think.”

“Long-dead,” Odranne said. “Centuries ago, back when Gelmorra had monarchs and nobles and, well, people. But her garden endures, fortunately.”

“In large part because of her knight, I think. They were more than happy to kill to protect it.” Locke ran his hand through his hair, brushing bangs stiff with sweat and dirt back from his face before rubbing his eye. The headache still throbbed behind it. Experience told him it was there to stay, at least until he got some food in his belly and a good night’s sleep.

“You dispatched this annoying but chivalrous ghost then?” Odranne asked.

“Nah. Not really suited to killing ghosts. Blades and bullets don’t work so good. Fought them to a draw instead.”

A draw was a generous interpretation of their duel, considering the knight had made him look like a third-rate swordsman, but they weren't present to argue that fact. Locke wondered if they had managed to save the garden, but only for a moment, then he shoved that worry to the back of his mind. It wasn’t his problem.

Odranne nodded wordlessly. Was that disappointment there, in the gentle downward turn of her mouth? Or a trick of the light? It was gone when she looked at Locke again.

“Oh, well. You brought back more than enough flowers. With a little luck, this will be all I’ll need. We can call this a success.” Odranne rose from her seat and retrieved a package wrapped in brown paper and a coin purse the size of Locke’s fists held together.

“This,” she said, holding up the parcel before handing it over, “is our friend’s medicine. Do be careful with it.”

Locke wrapped the package up in his cloak and set it at the top of his bag. Barring another woodland incident, it seemed safe enough.

“And this is your pay.” She set the purse on the table; its contents clicked and jingled pleasantly. “You seem accustomed to, ah, shall we say less than ideal conditions? I expect you’ll make it last.”

Locke tilted his head to one side, unsure of what to make of Odranne’s comment, but in the end he decided it didn’t matter. After a quick peek into the coin purse — it was, in fact, real gil — he stowed it away in his bag and stood up.

“Pleasure doing business,” Locke said, though he didn’t think he meant it.

“Likewise. Safe travels, delivery boy.”

Locke nodded and made his way across the workshop. Behind him, he heard the clink of glass bottles and the click of a pestle and mortar as Odranne assembled her equipment. He opened the door and stepped through, leaving her to her work.

He walked through Gridania, head down and eyes forward, avoiding crowds when possible and pushing his way through them when it wasn’t. He briefly entertained the thought of visiting the botanist’s guild and bartering for a bit of wood, but his tools were in the nook he’d found for himself up in Ishgard. Fixing his prosthetic meant heading north again or wasting money on a set of tools in Gridania. Anything of quality would cost him coin he wasn’t willing to spend.

It was Coerthas or rebuild his arm with shoddy equipment.

In the end, he chose neither.

Locke set off southward, back in the direction of the old hermit’s hut. Were he rested, fed, not suffering a clairvoyance-induced headache, still in possession of a functioning left arm, and in the mood to potentially be hunted by a wolf-like thing with too many mouths, he’d have chosen a shortcut through the deeper parts of the forest.

Instead, he did the sensible thing this time and stuck to the road.

Not a bell before nightfall, he found himself approaching a ramshackle little inn. Grimy lamps stood guard over a worn down sign just outside, the name illegible to literate travelers, the little picture above the name eroded by time and weather until it was illegible to Locke. He ventured inside, reserved a bed for a pittance, and purchased a meal of watery vegetable soup with a chunk of stale bread on the side.

By the time he’d dunked his head into a shallow basin, wolfed down his dinner, and passed several ticks listening to two old stablehands argue about chocobo racing, he should have been ready for bed. The previous night had been long, spent delving into Gelmorra’s halls and journeying back to Gridania, and everything ached. He needed, and wanted, rest.

But before he knew it, his feet were carrying him outside and off to the side of the inn. A gentle breeze ghosted across his skin, the light chill a relief against his newest wounds. It was a clear night, perfect for stargazing, though he hardly spared them a glance as he shed his outermost layers and drew his sword.

He had eyes only for the memory of the Gelmorran knight who’d bested him.

[corgibardballads]

Foulques, man. He was my first taste of what FF14 was going to do to me.

Foulques. Holy shit. Foulques really changed my outlook of Final Fantasy 14. MMO stories usually play it pretty safe when it comes to characters. For story longevity you don’t really want to have to hard commit to big character decisions. So I was pretty shocked when, at only level 30, they committed to killing a character that felt like was being set up as a much bigger story. Really? At level 30? I guess the game is really gonna fuck around and find out with my emotions then. It set the tone of the story for me, I started going into every quest with the thought that no character other than my WoL was safe. But I’ll backup. I think most people can agree that the story quests for the initial classes are… uh… well they exist. I can hardly even remember most of them. Generally I only see people actively remembering two: Rogue and Lancer. The rogues’ guild was quirky, but I honestly didn’t think the actual story was great. It was more the theme and dialogue that made it memorable. The Lancers guild story was unique in that it felt more connected to real world problems than other guilds. Right outside the darn guild you see how Gridanians treat Duskwight elezen of darker skintones. Gelmorra is so destitute that Duskwights resort to thievery. Too proud to ask for help from those they feel abandoned by and too poor to try and turn it all around on their own. A stereotype. A bad reputation. And Foulques just embodies the result of that hatred. Now this is all just wild speculation and me replaying it 20 times and being sad. Foulques doesn't even seem to really know what he wants. He claims he wants control of the Lancer's Guild but he doesn't really have any endgame. He boasts and berates all to hide his fear. But you? You immediately embody what he wants to be. That fearlessness. A mere novice but even Ywain is starting to respect you. So he takes you as his most promising "student". It seemed like it had no purpose. So it always made me wonder if really he was begging you without asking to help him. Frantically trying to prove to you that Ywain and the guild were wrong and bad. The more he failed to do so the more he panicked. And in the end he failed you too, as a mentor. He froze in fear at the Lord of the Bramble Patch while you stood bravely in front of him. It seemed like something in him just broke. He had nothing to offer you and no way forward to convince you to his side. He just snaps. Getting a bunch of novices seriously injured is just the last straw. By the time you find him he's just mad with fear. Broken and humiliated. He's barely even making sense. But in between it all he tells you story of being poor and destitute in the Lancer's Guild. That when he and his mates stole and got caught they just turned on him. It's the Duskwight. It's always the Duskwight. He's abandoned and thrown away, no one cares about Foulques. So he nearly kills himself to be stronger and it wasn't enough.

I was upset by the ending. It just seemed so wrong. Even in his last moments, he's reaching out to you. You may just be the only person who ever just listened to him. And it just sours your whole experience with the guild. Ywain may not literally be a bad guy but his dismissal of Foulques' issues then and now directly contributed to everything. A decent person can make shit decisions.  I remember thinking if the both of us had reached out to Foulques, just tried, it could have made all the difference. It just seemed to unfair. And that made it a great story and easily one of my favorite class/job quests. Of course it doesn't help that Foulques was one the few darker skinned Duskwights we even interact with. Considering what happens in the following Dragoon quests, I always secretly hold out hope he will one day come back.

[efrmellifer]

V. Beasts of the Black Shroud (Barbarous)

(Immedately) pre-WoL Etien.

It wasn’t something Etien was eager to tell people about. But that was mostly because it was embarrassing, and people took stories showing her as occasionally a fool in a lot of weird ways. She didn’t like the position it put her in.

But she was glad, put simply, that relations with the tribes of Eorzea and beyond were becoming more equal and equitable. It lined up better with her understanding of those populations.

She had been careful as a child and a young woman, having to take precautions when she went out into the Black Shroud by herself or in small hunting parties, because there were Ixal bands around. She worried about them about as much as Banemites or Diremites—they did scare her, but she usually didn’t come across any, so she tried not to worry. Anytime she saw the Ixal, she gave them a wide berth and slowed down so she sounded more like some piece of wildlife skittering through the underbrush and not like a young Miqo’te wandering through fallen leaves, and it was fine.

So it both chafed and made sense, in the early days of her tenure as a member of the Scions and as the Warrior of Light, to hear people talking about “the barbarous ways of the Beast Tribes.”

Were they barbarous? Wasn’t the way Gridania treated the Duskwights barbarous? Weren’t the gladiatorial battles barbarous? Wasn’t piracy barbarous? Seemed to her it wasn’t a beast tribe thing.

But if there were in fact attacks on carts and caravans in Thanalan, and Sahagin advances, and people further desecrating the ruins of Gelmorra (if she remembered the name correctly), then yes. It did need to be stopped.

It just all needed to stop.

It had taken her longer than she really liked to admit to make it to Fallgourd Float and to the pathway through the Shroud (the trade path on which she’d stowed away on the wagon) from there.

She had been keyed up by the fight with T’ahn, shaken by it all and crying as she walked, so she wasn’t really moving efficiently though the wood. It was her best that she was doing, being careful not to attract anything to her. So she didn’t sob or sniffle, just rubbing her eyes as she stepped on the leaves, not kicking through them, lest she agitate them.

She’d had ticks before, and didn’t want to again. And there was no one to pluck them from her hairline or tail’s edge now.

So when night had started to fall, Etien knew better than to try to struggle onward. She had good vision at night, but the crepuscular creatures had even better night vision.

She had thought ahead a little bit, so she did have in her bag the materials for a lean-to. Tired enough, she set it up, like she had on hunting trips—the cloth covered her as she say back against a tree, nothing in the grass.

She didn’t make a fire, so she wouldn’t eat tonight. Just as well. She closed her tear-swollen eyes.

And when the sun rose the next morning, there was a basket beside her. It looked hastily-woven, not exactly fine craft work, but safe against any bugs or ground squirrels or leaves falling in it. She opened the tightly-applied lid to find a pot of honey and a portion of travel-stable bread that some kindly individual must have left her.

And there was a note underneath those two items, she saw. “Sleeping One looked wan. These ones have left Sleeping One something to eat.”

Well, there was breakfast.

She was delighted later on to see Sylphs near the water, whose expressions seemed to brighten when they caught sight of her.

She worried they would fly away, now that she’d spotted them, so she lifted a hand. “I mean no harm.”

“Sleeping One looks much better now.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “The honey was delicious.”

Etien was a good gatherer and a fair hunter. She would have survived one night and two days in the Black Shroud on her way from Alder Springs to Fallgourd Float, and from there to New Gridania, perfectly well. But it had stuck deep in her, that the “beast tribes” weren’t so beastly, when the Ixal had left her alone all night, and some Sylphs had been kind enough to feed her.

She was glad that now, everyone else was seeing that.

[weedsmokingcatgirl]

Been thinking about Ariane's brother Giah'a, and how much this man is one of my favourite catboys.

Mans was the first male Miqo born into his tribe in years, despised by his mother and did his best to impress her and his sisters to show them that he deserved to live amongst them. And then his baby sister comes along, nearly killing his mother in the process and having their father banished from their tribe, and then spends the next eleven years ensuring she is taken care of, and trained properly so that she can defend herself if anyone ever decided to take the chance to kill her and get revenge for their mother's condition after she was born.

Very early on into his life, he develops the Echo, and gains memories of Gelmorra before its abandonment, and teaches himself Gelmorran, and then teaches his sister the same language, allowing them to communicate discreetly enough to one day leave in the middle of the night for Gridania.

Then Gridania doesn't accept them, they go to Limsa Lominsa and get on a boat that ends up in Old Sharlayan, and a fifteen year old Giah'a is now responsible for his little sister as they avoid being caught as:

stowaways, and

outsiders to that land as well

because he knows how they were treated in Gridania, and didn't want the same thing to happen.

When Ariane gets caught by Louisoix and a young Thancred, Giah'a is immediately there (after digging for some breakfast by skulking nearby trash cans), and ensuring his sister is alright, and chooses to stay in Sharlayan and accepting an education there because he knows how much she liked it there having gotten to meet Thancred and have friends and/or chosen family who did not want her dead.

Giah'a went through the grief of having to once again say goodbye to his sister as he remained on Sharlayan, and only remained in the know due to letters sent, not from his sister, but from Thancred through secondhand knowledge by Papalymo and Yda. And he hears she joined a grand company, and she's met people.

Then the Calamity happens, and he had to hear the news that she was one of the Twin Adder at Cartenaeu, and it took weeks to find out if she was actually alive. But he kept focusing on his studies to keep his mind off of it, until he finally became an Archon - the first after the Calamity, for aetheric manipulation. More and more he worried as he knew he was unable to return to see both his sister and his best friend as the years continued.

From afar, he watched as they continued onward over the years, cheering them on from Sharlayan as they saved Eorzea, ended wars, and finally saved the world. He was overjoyed to see them again when they were able to join him for a bite to eat, actually able to divulge in every single one of their adventures.

And he's still happy he is able to summon multiple carbuncles at once, reassured that he and his sister are both finally safe, and she can return to see him whenever she pleases, no more need to stow away on ships for as long as they live.

[crystal-verse]

A snippet of beckoned by sunlight and freedom (obscured by visions and mystery), the planned fic that'll span ARR as experienced by Mehka and K'pheli.

A'mehka'ahma was not familiar with ships or the salty sea. Both things were rare in Gelmorra -- as would be expected, considering Gelmorra was an underground city. There were rivers that ran through the tunnels and hollowed-out caves, and a few small pools that were large enough to swim in, but no proper lakes, and certainly no sea.

Standing on the deck of that great ship, as it sailed through the ocean waters, she couldn't say that she disliked it. A'mehka'ahma had shed her old identity upon rising aboveground, leaving those caves to follow that call from the gods (that wanderlust in her blood, that need to see what was out there) -- she wore her new name, Mehka Awandah, like a tightly-fitting shirt or bracelet, and hoped that she could keep Gelmorra hidden. As was always the hope -- as was always the danger. As far as she knew, Limsa Lominsa had little knowledge of Gelmorra, not nearly as much a risk as going to Gridania would have been (and Mehka did worry for her cousin, Sae'pheli'ehva), but one should always be safe rather than sorry.

Mehka (and that was her name now, here -- she had to think of herself as Mehka) was lucky that her clothes, while a bit odd, didn't draw more than a passing eye. Mehka Awandah was a Miqo'te from the middle of the Twelveswood, seeking glory and adventure by leaving her clan and traveling to Limsa Lominsa. She was experienced moderately in the lance, as her clan had used for hunting, and in daggers, which were used for smaller prey or skinning hunts. She had taken up the axe in hopes it would serve her in coming times. She had little coin, basic knowledge of Eorzea's geography and politics, and wanted to see what the world was like.

A'mehka'ahma would keep hidden any mention of Gelmorra -- of its silkmoths the size of an antelope, raised and bred for silk and meat; of its large caverns with stone reaching high above, buildings and small shrines and little walls made from stone mined from the cavern around them, quicklime and basalt and dolomite; of the aether-filled light-crystals, glowing enough for the people to see. Of the way her people crept aboveground, through the stone passageways and through the darkness, to see the stars on hallowed days and to see the sun on others, or those reckless enough to go aboveground just to feel the breeze. Of the way the plants all glow that soft blue-purple, bioluminescence grown into them. Of the way Gelmorra, its Duskwights who had lived amidst the underground dusk and quiet rivers and threat of Gridania's elementals, thrived in its secrecy, lived despite everything, taught their people the history and common knowledge of aboveground, the culture of the different city-states of Eorzea and of Gyr Albania and of Ilsabard, that should they go aboveground they would have covers made, an aboveground identity with enough knowledge that they would not be found out.

It is why A'mehka'ahma and Mehka Awandah are one and the same, really. The same person, just a different past worn -- names worn like a cloak or a pretty outfit, to keep one's past told to only those who were trusted. Knowing of Eorzea and Gyr Albania and Ilsabard.

(There are a great many Garleans living in Gelmorra, just as there are a great many Miqo'te and Elezen. Some of these Garleans are born Duskwights, proudly claiming that word that Gridania had painted on those who'd chosen to stay underground all those centuries ago. Some of these Garleans are imperial defectors, looking for somewhere safe, and taken down to Gelmorra by the Duskwights. Some of the Elezen, too, and the Miqo'te -- most of the aboveground Duskwights aren't aware of Gelmorra, so 'tis up to the belowground Duskwights to find them, to offer them that home again, where the Wildwoods will not blame them for simply being born to a legacy of loyalty.)

Regardless of all this -- her name is Mehka. Mehka Awandah. Adventurer seeking glory and adventure in Limsa Lominsa. She stands on the deck of that ship, as it leaves its harbor in Thanalan, and turns her face up to the sky -- lets the sea breeze surround her, blow her hair in one direction and then the other, lets the waves rock her from side to side.

"Not used to the sea breeze, eh?" Comments one of the other people on this ship -- a Roegadyn, with a blue tint to his skin and long lavender hair. The book strapped by his hip suggests she's a woman of magic. "Yer a Keeper of the Moon, I see."

"How could you tell?" Mehka asks, words entirely sincere. She knows that she does not particularly look like a Seeker of the Sun or a Keeper of the Moon -- by her height she is Gelmorran, as tall as any Elezen or Garlean (taller, even, than some of her female Elezen friends), Her pupils are rounded as opposed to the slit pupils of her mother, but she's got the shorter fangs more common to Seekers of the sun, rather than the longer fangs one would expect from a Keeper of the Moon. (And, as well -- she's not been smiling that wide from the sea breeze, has she?)

The Roegadyn woman just chortles, and slaps Mehka's back. "Ye've confirmed it jus' now, lass!"

Ah. Or that.

"I hope ye don' think I'm bein' rude." The woman continues. "I know plenty'a Keepers who'd tan my hide for callin' 'em a Seeker just based off their looks. But ye seemed a new adventurer, and I made a lucky guess about ye not bein' the type to take offense if I guessed wrong." She stretches one arm, then motions for Mehka to follow her. "It's gettin' late. We'd best be goin' below deck to rest."

The woman's got a good point -- it is getting quite dark, now that Mehka bothers to pay attention to the light of the sky. Nowhere near as dark as would be troublesome for her -- she is Gelmorran born and raised, after all, and all Gelmorran-born are used to low light levels -- but dark enough that one might want to think about sleeping. "My thanks," she tells the woman, and gives a small smile. "I'm Mehka Awandah. Might I have your name?"

The woman grins back at her. "Solkwyda Aerbremwyn, Limsa Lominsa born and raised!" She pulls the book from her hip, and after a brief second with a flare of aether a creature appears -- small, thin, and foxlike, colored blue save for the red crystal on its head, with a three-forked tail. "An' this 'ere's my Carbuncle!"

Carbuncle, now named, sneezes, and jumps on top of the also newly-named Solkwyda's shoulders.

Mehka smiles in what she hopes is a polite manner. "'Tis good to meet you, then." The conversation cuts off from there -- Mehka and Solkwyda parting ways as they descend belowdeck. Mehka stops by the galley for a quick bite of dinner, and then heads to the sleeping quarters aboard the ship. Her own room is small, but decently furnished -- a bed, a dresser bolted to the floor for one to store their things in -- and Mehka lays down with a sigh, glad to be off her feet even if the rocking of the ship is a bit unsettling now that she's on her back, surrounded by wood and steel.

She rolls over, and closes her eyes. Tomorrow she'll arrive at Limsa Lominsa -- and then her life as an adventurer will begin, and she can finally work towards the explanation for that strange calling she'd felt those few months ago.

[morganaux]

What is the story behind your muses birth? What typically lulled the muse to sleep? (for wol morgy :3 )

Answering these out of order because the first question is a complicated scenario!

What typically lulled the muse to sleep?

Before his mother's death, she would sing lullabies to him— mostly Ishgardian in origin, but being from a rare Ishgardian family with roots in Gelmorra, she knew some Duskwight songs as well.

As he grew up, he'd have moments where he'd hear a song that reminded him of the few blurry memories he had of her— sometimes it would be a church hymn, or a tune someone would whistle as they worked. But, there was always this strange gap in his memory of a melody she used to sing that he can't exactly remember, nor has he ever heard it anywhere else. Though if he heard it, he'd immediately recognize it, and he will hear it someday, one way or another.

What is the story behind your muses birth?

Here it is. The deep Morgy lore. It's going under a read more because it's secret backstory information that he has yet to fully uncover. And it's very, very long, so there's that too.

Also, content warning for discussion of a high-risk pregnancy.

Having married a Sharlayan sage and researcher, Olivine had much better access to healthcare than most Ishgardians could ever dream of when she found out she was with child.

Basically, she and Diwata found out that their unborn baby's aether was too thin to allow him to survive, and it was Olivine's own idea to try taking infusions of muscmaloi in hopes that it would bolster their child's aether enough to save him. Diwata was hesitant at first, knowing that the herb's side effects could be devastating, but ultimately let her wife make her own decision on the matter.

So, Olivine began to consume copious amounts of the herb throughout the rest of her pregnancy, and the child's aether became stronger and stronger with every passing day. It was risky and it came with unpleasant bouts of aethersickness and moments where she found herself filled with strange, overwhelming emotions that did not make sense to her, but it was all worth it to her.

She never felt in danger for a moment, because she had such a talented healer at her side to make sure she would be safe.

And then Olivine's parents, already furious about her decision to marry an outsider with no status without their approval, found out what was happening and stepped in to "protect" her. They arranged for her wife to be taken out of the picture, having her conveniently fall to her death one day without a single witness present, or so they claimed.

In the moments leading up to her death, Diwata's greatest regret was that she couldn't be there at her wife's side through such a difficult time in her life, and that she would never see their unborn child.

Out of sheer desperation (with maybe a bit of dynamis involved too) she tore away a portion of her aether and willed it far, far away from her as she was pushed to her death. And that aether found its way back home to her loving wife and child, allowing a piece of her to be with them forever, even if they would never know it.

So, back to Olivine and unborn babby Morganaux.

Instead of having an actual medical expert at her side, Olivine was placed in the care of a chirurgeon with no knowledge of muscmaloi or the treatment she had been undergoing. (And Ishgard is behind the rest of the world in medicine, magic, and just about everything due to their stubborn, isolationist ways, so that's fun.)

Morganaux's birth was a dangerous experience for his mother, and she could feel the effects of the muscmaloi flooding her mind with violent urges. Had it not been for her unwavering determination to be there for her child and give him the love she knew her family would never spare for him, she very well could have given in to the herb-induced madness.

She could have let herself be reduced to a ravenous, mindless beast by the herb, slaughtering everyone present and dying in the process, but she kept it together and no lives were lost that day— especially not the life of her child.

And then two years later, when the Bibliothecs come to Ishgard in search of Diwata, they find no trace of the alleged mad scientist they're looking for. Instead, they find a woman with ties to the monster they intended to bring to justice, and her aether reeks of the same herb that Diwata was accused of using for her illicit experiments.

For being complicit in the theft of Sharlayan secrets and for crimes against man, the House Roulemet and their manor were to be burned from existence. However, one of the assassins did not have the heart to kill an innocent child and stole him away in secret, leaving him at the doorstep of an orphanage. Surely, there would be no harm in such a decision, because babies aren't capable of holding secret knowledge or forbidden powers!

(and then that baby grows up to be the warrior of light and has both muscmaloi-fortified aether AND a tiny fraction of a powerful sage's aether powering his faerie and shields. and someday, he will uncover the reason for house roulemet's fall, and who knows how he's going to react to that!)

Anyway, this is the long story of why Morgy's aether is Like That™, why he has a natural gift for shielding magic, and why his faerie is so unique.

Also, it's important to note that every one of Apollo's reincarnated shards suffers from thin aether before birth and requires some form of intervention for them to survive. (For example, the patron voidsent of House Albinus was called upon to bless Phoebus with just enough strength to allow him to live.) There are Reasons™ and Explanations™ for this being a thing, but that's deep Apollo lore.

[fantasy-so-far]

Day 16 - Deiform

“Let me tell your story! Let me bring the devout before you,” Caoimhín howled.

He was practically begging as Violetta physically dragged him, scrambling, from the parlor. Behind her she could hear Valerian addressing the small congregation that their rebellious retainer had gathered. The tension in his voice told her that his patience was rapidly waning.

Would their blood be sacrament or sacrilege?

“Violetta, please! Listen to me! The whispers of the world beyond are sweet songs to the ears of the devout. Let us come to you, His hands, and –"

With speed defying reason, Violetta turned, wrapped her clawed hand around the lean man’s throat, and hefted him from the ground. She slammed him against the wall, rattling the antique paintings flanking them. Caoimhín kicked his feet slightly as he stared at her, mouth agape. It was infuriating to see awe in his expression, rather than fear.

“You were warned,” Violetta snarled savagely. “The Patron is not some deiform entity seeking to bless those who subjugate themselves before it or us. Weakness is devoured and that is what is. IT.”

Her adamancy for robbing the referenced voidsent of any identity other than the archaic title her ancestors had used for it caused Violetta to tremble with barely bridled fury. Caoimhín opened and closed his mouth to reply but her grip only tightened.

“You have brought only danger into this place tonight. You brought others into our midst and told them about us. How could you?!”

Violetta dropped the hyur man unceremoniously to the floor. While he coughed and gasped, the vampiric creature’s ears turned back toward the parlor. Her brother’s deed was nearly done. The final heartbeat was weak already. From that fading symphony, she considered taking a page as she looked down on their fallen retainer.

“I only want to mend the bridge,” Caoimhín rasped. “If he could glut on the faithful and take another body, would he not see that you are both powerful weapons in this world? Would he not see reason and spare you both?”

“Spare?!” Violetta roared.

She crouched and slammed her hands on either side of his shoulders as she dropped to her knees and straddled his thighs. He was not escaping her.

“Is this what spared looks like?” She asked as darkness danced in her eyes. “Is my unending hunger and withering touch mercy? How can you be so blind when you have felt my fangs at your throat?”

Caoimhín swallowed involuntarily as he gazed into the growing glow of her scarlet stare.

At last, it was fear.

“I…I am sorry, Lady Grimm. I only meant to …” he stammered. “I don’t know how else to help you. I have given of myself, and I have brought you others. But…when Lord Grimm told me of the Patron, when he mistook me for you in his maddening fever, I just wanted to always ensure you would be safe. I…love you both and I want only—”

“Enough!” Violetta roared into his face. Her voice dropped dramatically in volume as she continued, whispering then with lethal calm. “You have been misled, and perhaps we should take responsibility for that, but we warned you time and time again. The tolerance we find here, in our homeland, the place of our birth, is tenuous at best and with Gelmorra webbing beneath our very feet, none of our history nor heritage can come to light. Yet, you believed you knew better. We gave you so many chances. We gave you so much.”

The subtle use of past tense was not lost on the hyperalert man. He shook his head.

“Valerian!” He cried out weakly.

A breath too late, Violetta sent a wave of warped aether to wash over the man. The spell lowered his inhibitions and stole away his anxiety and hesitation.

“For my part in this failure,” Violetta whispered as she flexed her jaw in anticipation. She leaned forward slowly to speak softly into the man’s ear, though her attention was on the thrumming vessels beneath the surface. “I am sorry.”

Her fangs had just started to penetrate his flesh when a blur of white and red collided with her, knocking her off her would be victim’s lap.

“Violetta, no!” Valerian pleaded. “Caoimhín go!”

His voice was rarely strong, but in that moment aether made the command boom. The hyur man didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted himself to his feet and darted for the front door.

“Valerian! What are you doing?!”

She had been too shocked to fight at first, but before she decided if she should or not, Shard wrested control from her.

“Y̶o̸u̴'̸r̷e̷ ̴g̸o̸i̷n̶g̸ ̸t̵o̸ ̴g̴e̸t̶ ̴y̶o̶u̸r̸s̸e̸l̷v̷e̸s̵ ̴d̷e̴v̴o̶u̷r̶e̴d̴!̶” The entity roared through Violetta.

Enshrouded in shadow and corrupt aether, the figure beneath Valerian warped and writhed before shifting through a rift in the floor. The brother Grimm managed to keep himself from falling into the portal, but by the time he got to his feet, his possessed sister was already on the trail of their runaway retainer.

Of course, it didn’t matter. With tears in his eyes Caoimhín stared at the house as he concluded channeling a teleport spell. He blinked from existence, leaving the woods eerily silent. Shard was fuming, but when Violetta realized that the anger was swiftly turning toward Valerian, she snapped back into control.

“Violetta?” Valerian asked weakly.

“Why did you let him go?”

“He was my only friend.”

Violetta’s rigid posture melted.

She knew that was true and also knew that she could not yet relate to the pain.

Master Post || Prompt Source || Challenge Carrd

[yloiseconeillants]

Prompt: What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

"Stay here." Lady Margelot de Nevelle smiled with what she thought was the greatest kindness she could muster given the chaotic circumstances. She gestured toward a high-backed chair beside a closed set of double doors in a stark white marble-floored hallway in the west wing of the De Nevelle Manor. Yloise set her frayed bag on the ground beside the chair and sat down, folding her hands across a loaf-sized metal tin she carefully balanced on her lap. Distant shouts rang out beyond the hallway. Lady Margelot glanced back toward the sound, then turned back to Yloise. "I'll be right back." Her eyes radiated sympathy. Yloise caught her gaze for just a moment before fixing her eyes back on the box in her lap and nodded, forcing a wan smile. Satisfied by this exchange, Lady Margelot swept down the hallway, turning once to wave pleasantly before closing the far door behind her. Her footsteps faded and Yloise realized that this was the first time she had been alone since the tidal wave had struck the shores of Western La Noscea a few nights ago.

She breathed in and out again, slowly, stretching the moment out for as long as she could. Her lungs felt weaker than they had before. How long would she last underwater? The impact of the wave, if she survived it, would have probably knocked the air out of her anyway before she was dragged under with the current. Would she have tried to outrun it before it overtook her? Sitting in the chair, Yloise could feel her pulse quicken and her cheeks burned. Adrenaline rose from somewhere within her and she needed to be far away from even this place, a sturdy manor on the high cliffs of an island, sheltered in Galadion Bay from the open ocean. She swallowed and pushed down her fear, drowning her anxiety in a brief calming numbness.

Time passed. Clink. Clink-clink. Clink. Yloise’s absent-minded tinkering with the locked latch of the tin on her lap settled into a vague rhythm. Her eyes drifted from the hallway to the window across from her seat and to the sea beyond it. The grey sea reflected the grey sky beyond the dampened cliffs, giving the impression that they had merged into one great, grey void stretching out into a dull nothingness. Her mother was out there somewhere in that void, taken by the tidal wave along with the ruins of the Halfstone colony. Yloise’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized she was pondering whether her mother’s body could be found in the sea or the sky or if it would be found at all before something else swallowed it up. She straightened her back and tried to think about anything other than the ocean. The sound of waves or blood pounded in her ears as she dug her nails more forcefully into the latch. It did not budge.

She thought of her brother, Vallerin, half a continent away in the city of Gridania. He would have to be informed of their mother’s death. Yloise remembered Lady Margelot mentioning her eldest children, Irielle and Rolandaix, would be joining him in investigating the impacts of the Calamity on the ancient city of Gelmorra in the hinterlands beyond Gridania. Would she send word of the tidal wave to them before Yloise could reach Vallerin? Would she let them know – no, no, we’re safe. The wave didn’t reach the island. But do sit young Vallerin down before you tell him what happened. Yloise frowned. Regardless of who told him first, she would still have to write to him. But what could she say? All of Halfstone, gone in a moment, overtaken by a great wall of seawater churned up by Leviathan, the dread god of the Sahagin? The lavender fields, the fish-drying racks, the stacks of rocks they had left in the caves as children. Their beds and all the memories they hid beneath them. Their neighbors and friends, at least, had survived, aside from gruff old Aerghaemr, who had died a hero, occupying the Sahagin so the rest could escape – but Maman went back. A fool to the very end. Yloise grimaced as tears welled in her eyes. What could have been so important she had to go back before the alarm had even stopped ringing? What could not have waited?

Gone now, anyway.

Blinking away the tears, Yloise felt an unfamiliar wetness on her fingertips. Her eyes focused with some effort on her hands, finding blood where her finger had dug too deeply into the rough edges of the latch, still no closer to opening the damned thing. Resisting the urge to fling the tin against the darkening walls, she looked down one end of the hallway, then the other. No one. Had it been an hour? She looked out the window again to the grey void. Maybe... a few hours? She slumped against the high back of the chair and turned her attention back to the tin, holding it with one hand as she stuck the bleeding forefinger of her other hand into her mouth, gently sucking on her shallow wound as the coppery taste of blood sat on the tip of her tongue.

Yloise regarded the tin. A lidded metal box, no markings. A hinge on one side of the lid, a latch with a keyhole on the opposite. No key, of course. Was that what Maman went back for? Whatever was inside was lighter than the tin itself. When she shook the tin, something small and metallic pinged off the unlined walls inside, but, she noted with some curiosity, not against the bottom wall. Was that wall lined? Or was something soft inside this tin?

Yloise had seen this tin, or many others like it, stacked under her mother’s bed. One night, ages ago, Yloise and Vallerin scurried into the night with one of the tins while their mother slept. That tin wasn’t locked that night. Swinging open the lid revealed the tin held only a few scattered, tiny black seeds. Yloise, by virtue of being older and, therefore, smarter than Vallerin, declared that these were the lavender seeds her mother had been sowing. Vallerin conceded that Yloise was right, but did she consider that these were maybe magic seeds and that’s why Maman kept them under the bed? Yloise said that she had, of course, considered whether they were magical, but what is the use of magic seeds if they aren’t sown? Vallerin nodded sagely and closed the lid, satisfied at solving this small mystery before they snuck back into bed.

How long ago had that night been? And how long ago had Lady Margelot left her in this hallway? The growing dark obscured the doors at either end of the hallway. Yloise’s eyes tracked the stark white walls and cold white marble floors from north to south. Windows on the west side offered a view to the cliffs and the ocean beyond it. On the east side, a line of chairs, broken by a few doors, stood beneath a gallery of wood-framed paintings depicting the history of the storied De Nevelle family. Yloise craned her head to examine the painting behind her, a moody and evocative oil painting of the Galadion, shipwrecked upon Vylbrand, the stormy sea beyond its shores dark, roiling, foam-capped. 

Yloise had not witnessed the tidal wave herself. That night was confused and hectic in her memory. She remembered her mother shaking her awake amidst shouting and smoke and, above it all, the ominous toll of the lighthouse’s foghorn. Yloise’s mother shoved a hastily packed bag into her arms as Yloise fumbled with her shoes, then they were running alongside their neighbors, wet blades of tall grass stinging at bare legs as they weaved through the fields towards the highlands of Skull Valley. At some point, the running stopped. Huddled in the cold, the villagers silently watched the light of fires on the hatched rooftops of Halfstone, mirrored in a dozen other villages dotted along the northwestern coast. Turning from this horror, Yloise watched her mother rifle through the bag she had brought with her with increasing alarm until Maman looked up and locked eyes with Yloise. “Stay here,” she ordered, firmly, but softly, as if Yloise was still a child that needed direction. Maman kissed Yloise’s forehead gently and tied a thin shawl around her shoulders as rain began to fall. “I’ll be right back.” It didn’t even occur to Yloise to protest before Maman disappeared into the night.

She had not returned by dawn. The fighting had stopped and the fires had died down but the foghorn ceaselessly continued to sound. Yloise had managed to fall asleep for an hour or so without realizing. She blinked awake through bleary, unfocused eyes, struck by the thought that the black sea looked differently somehow – wrong, even, but before she could consider what this meant, a sharp sudden pain pierced her skull. She’d had sudden headaches before, but never this painful and dizzying. She clambered to her feet and staggered toward the nearest person, but the pain pulsed again, stronger this time, and she collapsed into darkness. Images flashed in her mind of waves and flames, falling stars and burning villages. Her mother suspended in space, serene and smiling amidst the chaos. When she finally opened her eyes again, everything had changed.

The door at the far-end of the hallway clattered open, startling Yloise out of her reverie. It was dark now, and she could only see the light of a glass-shielded lantern bobbing toward her. As the light approached, she could make out a red-haired Miqo’te girl in an apron holding the lantern before her as she hurried through the hallway. The girl curtsied as Yloise stood up, looming above the Miqo’te in the dark. “Miss Yloise?” Yloise nodded and the girl smiled, setting down the lantern, and lighting the sconce beside the double doors. The aproned girl spoke nervously and with a punctuated rhythm, as if she were reciting. “Lady de Nevelle sends her sincerest apologies that she will not be able to dine with you tonight, but you are welcome to join the staff for supper or take it in your room if you want to be alone.” Yloise smiled politely and picked up her bag, stuffing the tin inside. “I think I’ve had enough of being alone for now.” The girl laughed lightly for reasons Yloise could not begin to fathom and gestured for Yloise to follow her back to the kitchens as their shadows danced on the walls and across the faces of ancient de Nevelles peering out from their portraits.

[notapaladin]

The Duskwight RP group New Gelmorra has a house now, and the doors are always open! Find it at

COEURL Lavender Beds Ward 15, Plot 53

for all your Duskwight needs! Featuring a general store upstairs with the Good Stuff hidden away safely in the back, and a Duskwight hangout in the basement. (Wood Wailers need not apply)

wanna hang out and talk duskwight things? Join us on our discord: https://discord.gg/aHasUQebr6

[the-lord-of-the-things]

Stop Calling Me Chicken Little, Zach, Stop for Micky - Welcome to Bible Study, "A Child" "No" for Charleismeant ? ❤ (╯▽╰ )

Micky Stop Calling Me Chicken Little - How brave is your OC? My first instinct would be not very, because his approach to danger is to stay very far away from it and unseen. But he did walk into Caesar's tent and look him dead in the eye while making oblique references to the Ides of March and played chicken with a Deathclaw that he technically won so, uh, ‘tis a thin line betwixt bravery and stupidity. Zach, Stop - Does your OC get in trouble a lot? See above mentioned making Ides of March references to Caesar's face and Deathclaw Chicken. Charleismeant Welcome to Bible Study - Is your OC religious? Can one be religious in a world where the gods (more or less) exist? I mean he definitely put a lot of faith in Hydaelen because even when he had his doubts she never did anything to show she was anything but benevolent. As for the 12, not really but also not not really? Probably less than the average Eorzean but nothing to the point of atheism, just not very pious. After learning the truth of the star I think he'd stop believing in them as literal gods but maybe suspecting they're holdovers from [redacted]. If Gelmorra had any of its own religion, I think he might hold to the remnants of that more strongly as part of his Duskwight heritage.

"A Child” “No” - Does your OC like kids? Do they want any? Charleismeant loves kids, he finds them adorable especially when they get all starry eyed at him as the warrior of light. He tends not to talk down to them and does his best to play the hero they expect him to be, so he's hugely popular with them too. As for kids of his own, I don't think he's actively wanting or planning on having any considering his annual 'averting the end of the world' obligations and not wanting to bring any into a world that he's seen all the ugliest parts of. But if kids happened to him, he'd adore his children and be willing to sacrifice anything to keep them safe and give them a world that no longer needs heroes like him.

[aethersmoke-and-ash]

LFRP - Milloux Allard

✦ The Basics ––– –

Age: Late 20′s

Birthday: She remains unsure of the exact date - but celebrates yearly when the Moonfire fireworks begins.

Race: Duskwight Elezen

Gender: Female

Sexuality: bisexual

Server: Balmung

✦ Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Long, nearly waist-length hair, naturally a deep aubergine color. Highlights change frequently, often favoring dusty pastels or bold saturated hues. Often pulled back into a high ponytail or loose braid for ease.

Eyes:  A bright – almost unnaturally so – magenta with flecks of paler pinks.

Height: Fairly short for an elezen - just under six fulms. This is likely due, in part, to stress and malnourishment during her formative years.

Build: Fit, but softer. Her features have lost some sharpness over the past few years; maturity, regular meals and a lifestyle resembling some form of stability has caused her to fill out a little.

Distinguishing Marks: A faded scar bisecting the bridge of her nose - from forehead to just under the corner of her right eye. A full sleeve of tattoos on each arm, depicting floral motif, mythical creatures, and protective sigils.(When not glamoured away for the sake of propriety- which is frequently the case these days) Freckled cheeks and shoulders - a consequence of ashen-colored skin being exposed to more sunlight than is probably advised for a duskwight.  A series of four jagged parallel scars on her right side/hip; all very old and faded.

Common Accessories: Various hoops and other ear adornments - often sporting a pair of silver ear cuffs. Will accessorize with various bits and baubles, but seems largely unconcerned with excessive adornment.

✦ Personality ––– –

At once earnest and enigmatic, Milloux can be difficult to pin down, and seems to prefer it that way. Her voice, low and pleasant enough, carries the distinct cadence of Limsan salt, though practice seems to have softened it a great deal. Make no mistake, she can still weave a tapestry of profanity fine enough to make a sailor blush... at least in the right company. Those that take the time to get to know her find there is a tempest of emotion underneath the wry humor and composure. A woman fiercely protective of those she has come to call her own and those she seeks to aid, and yet undeniably fragile - someone that has built up high walls to keep the soft parts of her psyche and heart safe from harm.

✦ Personal ––– –

Profession: Former freelance mark-hunter and bodyguard. Absolutely not seeking to help others in a more proactive sense, securing wayward & harmful artifacts, or hunting down dangerous individuals.

Hobbies: This is something she’s still figuring out! Free time has never been something she’s had a surfeit of, though she’s taken to teaching herself how to play the guitar…and knitting. (The latter will be denied vehemently or claim is solely to help her focus and meditate)

Languages: Common

Residence: A rambling ramshackle manor she is slowly restoring on Vylbrand’s coast or her quarters at the Mercier Estate in Ishgard.

Birthplace: A long collapsed cave-network deep in the Shroud that may or may not have had access into Gelmorra.

Religion: She remembers little of the religion of her birth - ancient rituals forgotten by most.  Loosely follows the Navigator, asking occasionally for her fair winds and favor, more recently looking towards the Fury for guidance, after initial hesitance for the halonic faith.

Patron Deity: Nophica

Fears: Abandonment, loss of control, suffocation, being restrained or confined, paralysis.

✦ Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None currently – Divorced.

Children: None.

Parents: Sidoni (mother; presumed deceased, surname unknown) , Toussaint Allard* (father; whereabouts unknown.) *Allard is an assumed name. Both Milloux and her older brother are unaware that their father made this change upon relocation to Gridania, and are unaware of their true surname.

Siblings: Jordain Allard (older brother)

Other Relatives: Unknown; very likely to have relatives still living among various isolated settlements and caves in the Shroud.

Pets: Matilda; a tiny sphynx kitten.

✦ RP Hooks ––– –

Crossroads - Milloux has found herself  staring down uncertainty and an unknown path after the sudden closure of the Ashen Enclave and the seizure of the Clinic by Ul'dahn interest and authority after a series of unexplained aetheric anomalies on the grounds.   She is still reeling from the ordeal, the carefully composed mask of Advocate and Lady peeled away enough to reveal someone unsure of her next steps, of redefining herself after turns of devoting herself wholly to helping others; burying herself within her role, and the responsibilities she's shouldered.  That she was perhaps drowning under the weight of it all, even before then, is something she has been slow to acknowledge. Where there has always been a quiet melancholy about her, there's now a morose edge, tangled within fatalist and reckless inclinations -- no longer tempered by her need to be responsible for the sake of the Enclave, and those who looked to her for guidance. What she seeks now, she isn't certain. A new purpose, distractions, people to help...or even a greater sense of self underneath all of the personas she has attempted to wear and define herself by for the sake of others.  Maybe she just needs trouble, a strong drink, and a sparring partner. It's difficult to say, really.

✧   A full list of hooks & more info about Milloux can be found at:  http://milloux.carrd.co ✧

✦ What I’m looking for ––––

Connections of all sorts! Plots to jump into and help with!

Milloux has worn many masks over the course of her relatively short life, and has likely made as many friends as enemies. I imagine an entire rogue’s gallery in her past - with room for all sorts of characters and interactions - the drama of such characters coming back into her life would be a lot of fun - both as ally or adversary! Maybe both... If your character needs help with a problem, or a drinking buddy from their past with seemingly deep pockets and what appears to be an uncanny influx of good luck, she might be your gal. 

I am looking, in particular, for those with knowledge of thaumaturgy and black magic. Milloux has some connections to the darker arts, and I have been looking for colleagues, rivals, and adversaries in this vein.  Folks to research, delve into mysteries, poke at dangerous artifacts...

If Mill isn’t your cup of tea, I have a whole bunch of other characters as well! (I’ll be making individual posts for them soon)

✦ OOC info ––––

Hi! I’m Dani~ I’ve been RPing for a really long time now! As in, started back on AOL, long time ago. I’m a really laid back and patient RP partner, and I prefer the folks I write with to be the same. I’m a tired lady in her 30′s with a trio of cats.

Due to work obligations, evenings (EST) work best for me for in-game RP!  I do enjoy Discord RP as well, especially for more personal and character-focused scenes.

Darker plots are as welcome as slice-of-life scenes. I value communication with those I am writing with, in order to make sure we stay on the same page and nothing gets thrown at me entirely out of the blue. Please know that, in general, while I’m not opposed to spicier rp or romantic plots, I don’t like to set out with just those aims in mind, and prefer things to develop organically, and then only after I’ve gotten comfortable with an RP partner.

✦ Contact Information  ––– –

Ingame - ‘Milloux Allard’ , Discord: snarksonomy#1313

@balmungrp​ , @crystalxivrp​, @mooglemeet​, @ffxiv-crystal-rp​

[starsfreckled-archived]

calamity .

 tw for death, violence, blood, grief etc . if you play xiv you know what the calamity is & that it wasn’t pretty .

“go inside” amaya listens to an elezen woman ushering her children into their home, eyes looking up at the red moon that slowly but surely has gotten closer over the past few months. it was terrifying to look at and yet, there was something hypnotizing about it too.

the auri woman hurries through gridania’s pathways, holding a box filled with bandages and medicine. they had started to stock up on what they could find in the guild. usually they did not lack herbs and what not but most of it had been shipped to carteneau. most of the conjurer and healers who stayed back now supplied their own personal stockpiles. 

looking back up at the moon, she could not help but have the sinking feeling that something was wrong ( well more wrong than the empire being ready to conquer them, more than those rumors about something called project meteor ). “amaya, are you alright?” a gentle hand rests on her shoulder and her gaze quickly shifts from the descending moon to aurifort. “yes... I... I was just lost in thought. how are preparations going for you?” the elezen shrugs, looking back to the twin adder’s headquarters. 

“I think we have done what we can. most of them wish they were at the battlefield and not here. those who are glad to be here are mostly those who work together with the hearers. they say the elementals have been restless as of late.” the mention of the elemental still makes her feel nervous, surely her and her family had proven many times that they belonged to gridania but who knew how the forest’s mood would be. they could be cast out within seconds.

“right then, I’ll go back. you stay within the guild, yes?” aurifort dips his head down, kissing her. both smile and she nods. “stay safe, yes?”

the first thing she heard was the bursting of the moon, followed by the great wyrm’s roar. it was near deafening, even though the dragon was not close to gridania.

what came next were the screams.

and the screams were followed by chaos, flames and blood. within moments the conjurer guild was filled with wounded citizen. she tried to ask what was happening but nobody could give her a clear answer. from the words she could gather and from the shaking of the earth, it truly seemed like the whole world was about to collapse.

“amaya can you and a few others start to prepare mih khetto’s amphitheater for more wounded? the guild cannot hold any more” looking up from one of her patients that she had just finished bandaging, amaya nods towards e-sumi-yan “shall we take some of the more lightly wounded with us to help?” the guildmaster nods and amaya quickly gathers some healers and volunteers.

...the outside greeted them with the warmth of near flames and the screams growing even louder. people ran about in a panic as above them the sky itself seemed to rain fire.

their little group hurried along, it was a long track from the guild to the theater, havng to enter one of the tunnels near apkallu’s falls. absent minded, amaya notices that the eldery elezen that had often stood there was gone. louisoix had been his name if she recalled it right and she had often seen him and others hurry about or discuss the state of things. they had seemed far more involved in the preparations for this than others. at one point they had even talked, though briefly. kan-e-senna had introduced them, but the moment the elder seedseer had mentioned her migraines, amaya had excused herself. she couldn’t risk anyone knowing about those strange visions she had.

just as she was about to turn back to her group, one of those flashes swept her away from her current presence. she found herself looking at the carteneau flats. there was nothing but terror and death. the great wyrm descended down, his stare fixated on a lone figure ---was that louisoix? 

before she could really tell, the vision was already over and amaya quickly leaned against one of the stone walls as the migraine grew stronger. looking up she opened her mouth to call out for the other healers... when the tunnel collapsed, burying conjurer and wounded alike. anyone who had already been hiding in the theater that day perished.

staring at the now destroyed entrance, the young woman simply stands there, not even able to move. she barely notices when aurifort grabs her shoulders, shaking her to get her attention before finally hugging her, averting her gaze from the blood that started to pour out beneath the stones. 

“amaya, go back to the guild, tell e-sumi-yan what happened. tell him we are going into the woods, the hearers say that the elementals are in chaos, we have to bring everyone into gridania.” she still stares past him but when aurifort takes hold of her face it seems to finally break her trance and she nods. “I can come with you, if someone needs help I can heal them” he smiles and his fingers brush over her cheeks. “no, you need to warn people not to use the tunnels and help prepare the guild to take in more wounded - I’ll also go and bring your father here. it’s better to not be alone right now and he can help organize things” right. gyosei’s knowledge back from his days when he fought for doma could be of use.

“tell him to take along my mother’s journals, she wrote down how to properly improvise when faced with too many wounded” she is about to turn away and rush back to the conjurer guild when aurifort tugs her back and kisses her, leaning their foreheads together. “stay safe, my heart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

it was the last kiss the two of them would share. she barely remembers the hours that followed. she knows she told the other healers about the deaths at the theater, she remembers their shocked faces but like her they didn’t cry. none of them had time to panic and shed tears. they had to concentrate on saving lives.

she remembers that the lights from outside seemed to flash, that people said something fought bahamut... that bahamut disappeared. it barely made a difference with the noise. with the roaring of the dragon gone, the screams from all across the twelve woods only grew louder. hours passed, perhaps even a day or two, she could barely remember it.

only when she nearly collapsed and e-sumi-yan told her to rest did she leave the safety of the guild, stepping outside into sunlight and a foreve changed eorzea. taking a deep breath she wondered where by the twelve she could just lay down and rest when she realized that... neither her father nor aurifort had returned.

...she ran. she ran past the people who tried to stop her, she ran through the yellow serpent gate and into the north shroud. trying to recreate the steps one would take to quickly gather the people of all the near villages... but the woods had changed and paths that used to lead somewhere lead nowhere. bridges had collapsed and the entire ground seemed changed. still. she found her way around, recognizing different little things.

she must be near the gelmorra ruins. the old collapsed walls looked like the place where they had once stood.a memory of a long gone place... sheis about to hurry past them and up towards peacegarden and hyrstmill, when once more the visions take her.

the sky still burns and the wyrm still rages. aurifort and her father lead a small group of survivors past the ruins, the two of them trying to distract each other by talking. “by the kami, I do hope the house survives. I had planned on giving it to you and amaya after the wedding” “we’ll deal with things as they come, we just need to survive this... a cottage can be rebuild after all” they keep on talking, talking about how gyosei build a tree house for amaya when they had just arrived. how she had slept there for days after her mother’s death and only aurifort managed to coax her down. they talk when the cliffside next to them collapses, when the stones bury them and everyone in their group...

no, no, no. she runs towards the stones, trying to figure out the spot her father and fiance had stood. she screams when she finds the severed hand of her father, trying to shove away the boulders, going as far as to use her magic and using her own aether... but she isn’t strong enough.

with a scream she falls on her knees, burying her head in her hands and weeping. 

she is found hours later by wood wailers who bring her back to gridania. it takes two days until she finally talks. until in a hushed voice she mumbles the names of the people who had died underneath those boulders. and then... then she takes her gief and locks it away.

she is alive and she has things to do. wounded are still pouring in, now even more as the soldiers return from the flats. it takes weeks upon weeks for a sense of sanity to return. it takes weeks until their shifts aren’t short naps in a corner before they throw themselves into mending broken bodies. when they can slow down, the world has truly and fully changed, the map of eorzea mingled beyong recognition in some parts.

...one part that seemed, in some sort of twist, barely touched is the area around amaya’s cottage. it still stands, some branches had penatrated the roof, but nothing she couldn’t fix... she couldn’t fix the emptiness of it though. the silence that seemed to drown her there. but she makes it work. she digs a grave next to her mother’s grave, she places flowers down. she fixes the roof and starts to offer her works out of the cottage, transforming it’s upper parts into a place where she could take care of the sick and hurt.

...it doesn’t heal the gaping hole in her heart, but it helps her burying it. burying her emotions and her pain. she doesn’t cry for her family again, not even during the ceremonies held acroos eorzea to remember the fallen. she simply stubbornly throws herself into her work.

[placesyoucallhome]

Yvet Ardouin

The Basics ––– –

Age: early to mid 30s

Birthday: 4th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

Race: Duskwight

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Demi, poly

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: A dusty mauve

Eyes: Ivory

Height: 6 fulms, 6 ilms

Build: Lean, well toned

Distinguishing Marks: A blade scar as well as old friction burns on his face, quite a few various scars across his body

Common Accessories: Often wears a mask

Personal ––– –

Profession: Mercenary?

Hobbies: Whittling, mandolin

Languages: Gelmoran, common

Residence: None, often seen in the Shroud

Birthplace: Gelmorra

Religion: Ambivalent to the Twelve

Patron Deity: None of note

Fears: Loud noises, losing people close to him, not having full control of his faculties

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Deceased?

Siblings: None

Other Relatives: Various estranged relatives in Gelmorra

Pets: None

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Not usually Drugs: No Alcohol: Sometimes

RP Hooks ––– –

Merc for Hire- Living out in the wilds of the Shroud hasn’t left Yvet with much to get by on, though he doesn’t want for much either. He’s content with working for a meal or two, or a small stipend. He is, however picky about his contracts and jobs.

Ex-Woodwailer- Years ago, Yvet was one of the best of the Woodwailers, at least as much as he and his team could be, made up of misfits as they were. They may have been suspiciously close, but seemingly the only survivor of Cartineau was Yvet. He did not return to Gridania then, but only seemed to surface again a few years later.

A Ghost of the Shroud- While poachers and bandits loiter in the woods, another shadow seems to haunt the fringes. However there seems to be little rhyme or reason to who meets their end at his hands and who does not. But since something of a balance is kept, nothing ever seems to be done about it.

Gelmorran Native- Quite some time ago, Yvet did walk the halls of Gelmorra. He may still have family there, other Ardoins that have yet to leave, but none can recall a Yvet. That seems like an oddly short name for an elezen, doesn’t it?

Missing Partners- Once there was a team of four oddities in the Woodwailer’s barracks, a keeper girl, a hyur boy, a roe woman, and a very quiet duskwight. They did their jobs and well, even if they were just as often the cause of trouble. None made it back to Gridania after Cartineau. Except, for the duskwight, some years after. Yvet still seems to be looking for the rest of them, whether out of stubborn resolve or the inability to move on.

Shoulder to Lean on- Despite his quiet nature and often bloody day-to-day, Yvet is surprisingly gentle and patient to those that he finds some affection for. If a safe haven is needed, and secrets are to be kept, one could do far worse than the stoic elezen.

Contact Information  ––– –

OOC: Yo kiddos, I’m Ruhka, or Q, hell call me Yvet or Places if you want, I don’t care! I’m primarily a paragraph rper that likes to match, and that’s still attempting to get into game rping, I might be a little slow to respond in game is all. I’m well and truly old enough to drink and I’d far prefer it if my partners were 21+ as well, and have a sporadically busy office job. I’m willing to do some mature topics, and plenty of dark topics, but erp is a no go right off the bat. But if it makes sense for the characters and I’m comfortable with your writing style that can change. Because Yvet is a poly character, I’m very much going to be picky with his ships, if he gets any.

Contact: Feel free to poke or message me here, or send Yvet random starters or questions (my anon is on)! If somehow you see me in game, toss me a whisper, or just /slap me, either works! If you’d rather my discord I can give that as well.

@ffxiv-crystal-rp​ @mooglemeet​ @crystalxivrp​

Tagged posts

[cadrenebula]

Prompt #16: Knowledge

Stefan had avoided the company house most of the week. Will and Audric insisted they knew he was trying his best to help solve this. Yet a part of him still felt inadequate. 

Which was how he’d ended up in this part of the Shroud. The southern half had ruins of Gelmorra as well. Hopefully no more encounters with the Witch though. This time he was after information on the ruins here.

He’d spend the rest of his free time learning what he could before suggesting the group come here to seek further answers. If he was lucky, he might find the answers without dragging anyone here. Not that he thought he’d get that lucky. At least this way he could ask the locals about the location. These ruins were fairly known to the locals by now. Though still not well explored apparently.

Something about the magics of the place made it impossible to map the ruins apparently. Which was why he wanted to know more before suggesting this might be an option.

Even if it meant an all nighter here to see what he could learn. Safely... Pinching the bridge of his nose before sighing. He found certain members to be testing his patience. For once it wasn’t Mossy. It felt like his work was made harder by the endless worry from certain people that he might end up opening a portal to the Void or something nasty. This was not how he was used to working. It grated.