#ffxiv is up there though with Thals Balls

[sylviazem]

FFXIV Write 2023- Prompt #7: Noisome

The La Noscean sun. The scorching sand of the beach and the salty sea breeze. Though perhaps unexpected, these were the benefits of house sitting for the Warrior of Light. Sometimes working for the guy who knows the woman who saves the world on a regular basis wasn't so bad; everyone needs a bit of time alone for themselves, after all.

"Boss."

Well, almost alone.

"What is it now, Peppy", she lazily opened her eyes and sat up. "I'm trying to relax here."

"Boss. Nine o'clock."

"Hm", she squinted and shielded her eyes from the harsh sun. After a small while of scanning the beach, she saw a blue-haired miqo'te in the distance. "...Peppy, why are you telling me to look at a naked catgirl? Nice, though."

"Excessive heat signature detected."

"Well, yeah, I guess she's hot but-", Before she could finish, the miqo'te collapsed face first in the sand. "...Shite."

She rushed over to the now completely motionless girl but was brought to a screeching halt as her nose was assailed by a noisome stench that could only be described as briny, burning seaweed.

"O-oi, are you all ri- ah! What the", she recoiled in pain and fell backwards when she put her hand on the girls back; it was scorching hot. "What in the fu-"

"Backup systems engaged. This is a pre-recorded message. Emergency cooling will now activate. Please step away from the unit."

She quickly scrambled backwards and away from the miqo'te. From her back twisted up four rod-like protrusions, each glowing orange with heat; from each of her sides opened up what could only be described as four ventilation ports, letting out a loud and heated blast of air.

"...Thal's balls", she tried shielding her eyes from the sand flying everywhere, until it finally relented and stopped. "Peppy, can you scan her and confirm..?!"

"Scanning internal structures. Confirmed. No vital signs detected."

"Gods, she's...a machine", her eyes grew wide with wondrous awe. "Uhh, umm, quickly, we- we need to get her somewhere cooler, away from the sun!"

"Boss", Peppy flew away and picked up a quilt. "We should avoid touching the rods. Perhaps you could pull her to the house on this."

"Well, I ain't got any better ideas", she began pulling the mechanical miqo'te onto the blanket. "Feck me, she's heavy...!"

[captainkurosolaire]

“Glory resides in all acts of life, the universe is a burial grounds of treasures to be obtained and reprized from fallen times. Hands possessed by the minds of greed, sought historical knowledge, hungering of power all stained in obtaining something forgotten and ushering upon a sensed preservation. Intents share that of a coin, value remains the same no matter how it’s flipped.”

                                                                                                                                  -CKS

[kuroimarzipan]

FFXIV Black OC Week Day 2: “Who are their friends and family?”

“It’s good of ye t’always be visiting yer sister like this between yer adventures, but why don’t ye ever bring any of yer scion friends along? D’they not want t’see me cause I ‘ent join their little club too? I live right next to the beach n’ everything, ye’d think at least one of ‘em’d be keen.”

“I mean, at least two of them can’t swim, but that’s not why! Y’know most of them are scholarly types... They’re all over the place now looking into something or the other...“

“Aye, that’s true. Even me bleedin’ wife is too busy in Mor Dhona with Tataru t’come home n’ share a good meal late-- wait, who can’t fuckin’ swim?”

“Alphinaud... and Urianger, actually. Back when we were on the First, Urianger actually tried to cast a spell to walk on water instead, and well... It didn’t exactly work. Fell right in. Plop!”

“Bahahahah! And after a show like that, ye still slept with him. Wow.”

“Roeh!”

“What, I ‘ent wrong! Ye got weird taste in men, Niuwyb.”

“Like you can talk! Last I saw Curious Gorge, your girlfriend had just about sent him flying a malm high for some reason or another.”

“...Ye got me there. Well, they’re jus’ like that, y’know. Ehh... How ‘bout the other scions, then? Th’ lil’ lalafellin woman with that yellow coat? Coulda invited her.”

“Krile? She’s working with G’raha back in Sharlayan to rebuild the Students of Baldesion. She likes a good gossip over tea every now and then, but she’s had her hands full lately... G’raha too, before you ask.”

“The redhead miqo’te that’s keen on ye? Damn, I woulda poked fun at him fer it too.”

“I’d call that a bullet dodged for him, then.”

“Hah! Hrm, if those two’re busy... What about Thancred? I’ll never forget th’ day I came by after th’ mess with Leviathan and th’ man was surrounded. Bleedin’ hilarious, that was! I’d been meanin’ ter take him along drinkin’ again sometime.”

“He’s out in Labyrinthos with Urianger, helping out the Lopporits. So, unless you want your house full of them, it might have to wait...”

“I mean...”

“No.”

“Aye, fair... And the twins? Yer about t’ tell me they’re halfway ‘cross th’ world, ‘ent ye.”

“Funny you should say that! They actually returned to Garlemald to assist in recovery efforts. So, literally halfway across the world, yeah.”

“Eh? On purpose? They went back t’ that bleedin’ godsforsaken snowy hell? Ye couldn’t pay me a million gil t’go back there! I did m’job and came right back home!”

“Maybe you shoulda rugged up a bit better? They did tell you it was going to be even colder than Coerthas...”

“Bah. Okay. Twins’re busy. Freezin’ their hindquarters off. How ‘bout Estinien? Surely he’s got nothin’ better t’do.”

“He’s in Thavnair, helping out Vrtra.”

“And he’s prolly melting his arse off! Shouldn’t ye be supervising yer man, though? Heard he’s absolute shite with money.”

“He’ll be fine. I think. Probably.”

“Ye sound so very sure of that... Thal’s balls, I’m runnin’ out of people t’ask about now... Y’shtola? Tell yer girlfriend she should come back n’ visit Limsa Lominsa for old times’ sake!”

“I doubt Shtola’s going anywhere anytime soon... She’s buried in research again over at Matoya’s place. I’m not about to pry her away from that unless it’s something really urgent.”

“Me sister not bringing any of her friends or her lovers t’ visit is urgent! I’m getting bored! All I got right now is bleedin’ paperwork!”

"Is it really that bad? At least it’s not like when most of them were stuck on the First. If I recall, you almost burnt down your kitc--”

“I have no fuckin’ idea what yer on about w' that. Never happened. Yer gonna tell me where Ysayle is now, and we’re not t’speak of that again.”

“Hah! Well, seeing as you’re so insistent! She went with Sandrine and Sonje to Anyx Trine to talk to the dragons about what we saw in Ultima Thule. Sandrine seemed especially insistent on getting info from them, which is unsurprising.”

“Dravania, huh...Y’know what I’m thinkin’? Maybe I should take a holiday too. Been a minute since I was last ‘n Tailfeather. ‘m due for a good fishing trip, and it’ll be good ter see Marcechamp and lil’ Deftarm again.”

“Oh, I ran into Deftarm a while back! He was helping with deliveries for the construction in Ishgard. Working hard, as always.”

“I’m proud of th’ lil’ guy... Went from stealing gysahl greens to bein’ a full fledged adventurer. Awh, shite, I really should visit.”

"Hah, then after all that fuss you made, you’re going to travel too?”

“I weren’t makin’ a fuss, were I? Jus’ bein nosy about yer friends.”

[crystalbahamut]

pounds of flesh

FFXIV Write Day 3: Scale

Summary: The Exarch is familiar with tactics used to dodge those most dangerous of creatures (Healers) and offers you his assistance.

Author’s note: Am currently ignoring the fact that there’s no faucet in the Pendant room (that I could find) because that seems inconvenient for such an otherwise nice kitchenette. The prompt started me off with the idea of scaling a staircase feeling on par with scaling a mountain but it sort of veered off from there. I really loved this prompt though; there are so many ways to take it.

Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, unspecified WoL, non-healing WoL (kind of), 2nd person pov, WoL/Exarch, overworking oneself on purpose

Words: 1,876

 ---

You might have gotten a little bit…carried away today. Triffids, hoptraps, wargs, and more; you had carried out a number of quests to reduce the threats posed to those traveling the roads of Lakeland, and that wasn’t even counting the morning spent in Rak’tika helping out the Night’s Blessed with some of their chores. You don’t mind– it’s nice to be helpful, good, necessary even– but now that everything aches and some of the cuts have opened up again you wonder if maybe you took it a little far. All you wanted to do was make sure you slept well tonight, but even taking the intercity aetheryte was too much to ask of your energy stores. You have scaled cliffs and mountains, but right now the thought of scaling the steps to your room is making you want to find a place the guards don’t patrol and just lay on the ground. It’s a good thing the manager is on break right now, or you’d have to field some uncomfortable questions about why you’re just standing around, staring.

“There you are.”

You flinch. Mayhap the manager would have been the lesser of two well-intentioned evils, considering the Exarch sounds…not exactly smug, but knowing. You stand taller and clear your throat. “Evening Exarch,” you say. “Did you need something?”

“Not precisely, though I am wont to worry when you stay out so late,” he says and steps towards you.

That…you almost turn around for that. He worries? You shake your head; of course he worries, you are (supposedly) the one hope for the world’s survival. ‘Tis nothing more than prudence. “Nothing to worry about; I’m quite fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the smile in his voice as he comes around your side, and you quickly look away. “Should I be flattered that you seem to be emulating me?”

You scowl and pull the head covering down farther. How in the world does he see anything like this? “You didn’t invent hooded robes, Exarch.”

“No, I did not,” he chuckles. “However I have not seen you wearing one, until now.”

“Mayhap I simply felt like it.”

“Mayhap you did,” he says. “Or mayhap you are trying to hide a head wound incurred when a lake viper used its tail to swat you into a tree.”

You don’t have a good comeback for that. “You know, nobody likes a know it all,” you grumble and try to sink into your shoulders. One of these days you are going to break that damn magic mirror of his.

“My dear warrior,” he sighs as though indulging you in a whim. “What would it take for you to accompany me to Spagyrics?”

You turn to give him a look of incredulity and then realize that probably isn’t very effective. However he sighs and says, “I see.”

“Do you?” you ask. “I can’t see anything like this; I don’t know how you do it.”

He doesn’t take the bait, unfortunately. “Would you allow me to see to your wounds then?”

“I can heal myself.”

“If you could, you already would have.” He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, though right on a sore spot that twinges, and you try not to wince. “I would just like some assurance you are well enough. If you are uncomfortable with me, I can fetch one of the Scio-”

“You,” you say immediately and take his arm. You pull back the hood to see with your good eye and find his mouth partly opened in surprise. “I trust you.” Also, if Alisaie or Y’shtola see you in this state, they will put you out of their misery. But you meant what you said. You do trust him.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, as though he’s honored, and the wondrous tone of his voice is enough to give you the energy to make it up the stairs and to your room.

“I don’t think I’ve seen someone manage to limp so successfully on both legs before,” the Exarch says and goes to the cupboard where the first aid kit lives.

“It’s not that bad– though I’m going to warn you that I’m a bit dirty so it probably looks worse than it is,” you say and pull off the robe. Gently, as everywhere it touches seems to throb with new pain, or maybe the fatigue is getting to you. While he’s turned around you quickly (ow) change into some shorts and a tank top and sit on the bench by the door.

When he turns around the Exarch actually stops in his tracks. “Wicked white,” he says and sighs. “If Chessamile saw you like this…”

“The Warrior of Darkness would be ended by the wrath of a bypassed healer.” You put a finger to your lips. “But surely now my trusty accomplice will help me.”

He smiles again, though he looks like he’s trying to wrangle it back into a disapproving frown. “Extortion now, is it?” he asks as he starts filling a bowl with water.

“I think your offer belied the feelings of one used to dodging chirurgeons,” you say and give yourself a quick check to make sure anything that needs treating is visible. Thankfully your torso just endured some bruising; it’s your limbs that took the brunt of everything. And your head, you’re reminded as you try to gingerly scrape off some of the dried blood and accidentally reopen the wound, making fresh blood course back down over your eye. “Oops.”

“Perhaps I have, but even my own injuries pale in comparison. I can see why any healer would have their hands full with you,” the Exarch says as he comes over to take your hand, shove some cloth in it, and force you press it hard against the cut. “Pray just hold that there for now.”

Now that you’re able to relax and do nothing, exhaustion courses through your bones and you do as he bids if only because anything else is far too much effort. You struggle to stay awake as he pulls over a chair, the medical kit, and the bowl of water, and blink yourself back to consciousness when he sits down.

“Are there any sprains?” he asks as he looks over the injuries.

“My right ankle feels a bit funny, and I think I pulled something in my left thigh, but mostly I’m just scraped up,” you say. He dabs some of the scratches with the clean water and it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable. You almost start to fall asleep with his gentle ministrations.

But when he presses a new, slightly damp cloth to those scrapes, the stinging wakes you right up. “Thal’s balls!” you hiss and resist the urge to rip his hands away. On the plus side, your head has stopped bleeding again; now it only throbs as you set the bloodied cloth aside and try to quell the nausea caused by pain.

“I apologize,” he murmurs and dabs it more gently. It’s not a good feeling but you can bear it a little easier now that you know it’s coming. He clears his throat. “What were you working on so frenetically today?”

“Huh?” You think about the question. “Oh– nothing much really; I was just taking a few jobs here and there.”

“Are you in need of gil?” he asks and lifts his head. Presumably to look at you. “Surely some of these jobs could have waited another day?”

You take the washcloth and wring it out before you start cleaning your other leg, and then your arms. It will help him get through this easier. And it also makes it so you don’t have to look at him now. “They could have. But I wanted them done.”

“Because you plan to take the day for yourself tomorrow?”

“Perhaps,” you say. “Perhaps this is how I want to spend my days.”

“Working yourself to the bone when you already do so much?” He finishes wrapping your ankle and grabs your hand. He says your name gently, without reproach. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” You shut your eyes. “Sometimes…I just want to sleep. That’s all.”

“I see,” he says and doesn’t press for more. If this were Alphinaud you wouldn’t be able to escape without some awkward attempt at platitudes on his end, or Urianger, who would try to make suggestions while also nearly putting you to sleep with one of his lectures, but the Exarch keeps tending to you with hands that are gentler than they have any right to be.

When he starts treating the cut on your head it’s a good excuse to close your eyes, but even without some supposed excuse you don’t think you would do any differently. He’s so…gentle. Healers, even the kindest ones, are all business– as they should be, as they’re always the ones that have to make sure everyone is fighting fit for the next catastrophe. But the Exarch touches you so tenderly, like he wants to put you back together piece by piece, with soothing motions and soft brushes of skin, and crystal that’s warmer than it looks, and it’s all you can do to keep from falling apart in his capable hands.

“One moment, my warrior,” he murmurs and you realize you’re halfway to sleep by the fact that you can’t seem to open your eyes when he leaves, but it doesn’t bother you overmuch. When he comes back and nudges you to stand, you manage to do so, but you still don’t open your eyes even as you shuffle over to the bed with his help. You sit on sheets– the cover has been pulled back already, you realize with delayed thoughts as the Exarch tucks you in. You’ll be mortified in the morning, but for now…

“I pray sweet dreams find you tonight, my warrior.”

You think you imagine the gentle kiss placed upon your brow, but in case this isn’t some lovely dream and he is still around to hear it, you whisper, “Thank you.”

 The next morning finds you sore and a little stiff, but you can recognize that you’re better off than you would have been otherwise.

You also find a collection of medicinal-looking mixtures all lined up in bottles in a neat little row on the table. And, when you go over to investigate, a note from the Exarch.

 My dear warrior,

Though it is not a happy thought, there are many in Norvrandt who share your desire for uninterrupted sleep, as well as your difficulties attaining it. These elixirs each have their own cards describing ingredients and dosage; if you find one to your liking, it would be a simple matter of requesting more, and I should be delighted to do so.

Also, if you ever find the climb to your room to be too arduous, perhaps the smaller staircase leading to the tower itself would be less of a strain. Once inside, there are easier ways to get around that I would be happy to show you.

With fondest wishes,

The Crystal Exarch

 You smile and fold the letter back up. An easier way to the Ocular, hm? You’d like to see that. Perhaps now is a good time to stretch your legs and make the climb.

[biot08]

ABERRANT

FFXIV fanfic behind the cut

ABERRANT

“These readings cannot POSSIBLY be correct” groused Papanan kir Nununan, the perpetual frown on his face deepening as he looked at a display.

Nearby, a Miqo’te woman stepped out of one of the aetherflux chambers. The chamber was designed to be able to measure the aether qualities of a person. How much they had, how much they could manipulate and how fast. It was experimental. Almost everything in the lab was, either being recently developed Garlean technology, or unearthed and re-activated Allagan equipment.

The Miqo’te woman herself arguably fell into that latter category.

And all of it, the entire Garlean laboratory, Papanan would often insist, had been developed as a test of his personal patience and how far the military bureaucracy could fuck with him, personally.

“I thought there was nothing wrong with this thing,” said Papanan. The large green oval display became the latest recipient of his wrath as he gripped it tightly with both of his hands and shook it, as though that would change anything. It wobbled.

“We did not find anything wrong with it. Not quite the same thing. Perhaps it needs calibration?” said Liana kir Vaux, who was sitting nearby nursing a cup of tea in both hands. The two scientists, while both working for the Garlean empire, were very different people. Liana was a wildwood Elezen, tall, with pale skin and gray hair. The older of the two, crows feet accentuated her eyes. Papanan was a Lalafell of dunesfolk persuasion. His skin was a dusty light brown, his hair darker than that by several shades. He was younger, but not young. Both wore the lab coat and pants demanded of their job. As did the Miqo’te woman, for that matter.

“Perhaps our idiot provisioners need calibration,” Papanan retorted. “It has never had a day of instruction in any aetherlogical arts since it was decanted, and yet! Yet! The machine would have me believe that perhaps it is quite the puissant mage.”

Liana sighed, setting her tea down. The Miqo’te woman had since made her way to quietly sit down nearby, staring at Papanan with those large, almost-black glassy eyes of hers. The woman’s face was, as usual, expressionless.

“I wish you would not call her an it,” said Liana.

“I wish you would stop treating it like a pet,” retorted Papanan.

“I am not the one who keeps giving her my cinnamon sweet rolls after lunch,” said Liana.

“We are not feeding it nearly enough. It’s not -natural- and it does not eat like it should be! It’s a machine, Liana. They need fuel, and we cannot jolly well choke it with ceruleam, now, can we?”

Liana looked to the Miqo’te, who stopped staring at Papanan long enough to glance at Liana.

“I do appreciate it, kir Nununan,” the Miqo’te woman said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. Strong. Clear. Liana wished she could teach her to sing.

After a pause, the Miqo’te woman, still staring at Papanan, pulled her teeth back in a rictus grin, seemingly only remembering to squint her eyes a little bit after the face. Papanan threw his hands up and recoiled in mock terror.

“Thal’s balls, Liana! I wish you had never tried to teach her how to smile!”

Liana sighed and looked over at the Miqo’te woman. The woman continued to stare as her face shifted back to its usual expressionless state. Expressionless, Liana thought to herself. But not quite completely. Liana knew many people found the staring unsettling. She herself had, for the first few weeks. But as the moons had stretched into seasons, Liana had learned to find it endearing. A weird sort of constant in the hustle and bustle of the lab. And if she looked carefully, there was still expression there. The slow movement of an ear rotating to hear something better. The twitch of a tail. The specific way the Miqo’te woman stared at any specific moment.

And she knew that the Miqo’te woman was always listening carefully. She learned fast, languages seemingly coming to her instantly, but most tasks she could reach competence in with very little in the way of instruction. She had learned. She had learned which of the scientists to avoid and which ones to stay near. She had learned how to fit in, smoothly shifting from a failed experiment that they were trying to figure out what to do with to a valuable lab assistant and occasional willing test dummy.

Like today, with them trying to get the aetherflux chamber working. The Miqo’te woman was one of the few who did not seem to have some problem or another climbing into it for a few hours.

“Well, whatever. We need replacement parts. Assistant! Help me take this thing apart,” Papanan directed the last at the Miqo’te woman, who nodded, once, before quickly getting up and walking smoothly over to the chamber.

Liana sipped her tea as the two got to work. Liana may have been the experienced aetherologist, but Papanan was the experienced engineer, and repairing the aetherflux chamber was more his area. She watched them for a while, and then made her way over to the display and the output that had so drawn Papanan’s ire, and looked at the data.

Liana considered it with a frown. The values were high, but not astronomical. A failed component could have shown a few things. A blank for no data, or a value that was at the maximum the display could show, or a value that was at the minimum of the same. But all of the values were within reasonable ranges. Just high.

A badly calibrated part could explain it.

But… what if the values were correct?

Liana sipped her tea quietly, looked over at the Miqo’te woman, and considered.

[mirageofthecrystal]

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 1: Foster

foster (verb) 

encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good)."the teacher's task is to foster learning"

bring up (a child that is not one's own by birth).

He extended too far, sword arm reaching beyond his intended strike and rolling off the shield’s flared edges. Things around him began to slow as this realization dawned upon him, far too late for him to adjust. The harsh bite of pain would be visited upon him as the shield which had deflected his blow slammed into his face, hard. He reeled back, feeling the warm gush of blood staining his face, and yet he refused to open his eyes. “Lesson number 15, never close your eyes, for blindness is death.” Shifting his stance and reaffirming the grip on his sword, he stared down his opponent, who sneered provacatively. “Lesson 32, don’t take the bait.” They’d always try to get under your skin, get in strikes where no armor can cover and no shield can block. Those are the most grievous wounds of all, Faiolan told himself in the words of another. He circled around his opponent who mirrored him in kind. “This ain’t the fightin’ of yer fancy knights and boys with them poles, lad. Ain’t no dancin’ and prancin’ like a prized chocobo waitin’ fer its ribbon. This is a fight where anything goes, because the crowd don’t give two shites about yer honor if it means a boring bout.”

More sage wisdom from the mouth of a scoundrel, but Faiolan smirked. The way he stood, the way he gripped his weapon and his own shield, the movements of his feet... was it that obvious? "Thal’s balls boy, they told me ye could fight. You ain’t showin’ me much of a fight. Too busy lookin’ for the cleanest way to win, eh? That ain’t a fight. Ain’t no clean way about it. Forget everythin’ they taught ye, and focus on the lessons yer learnin’ now.” He surged forward, and Faiolan tried to judge where the strike would come from. The way his opponent’s feet moved, the tilt of the body, he expected a wide slash from the right. All the telltale signs were there, and the slash came. Faiolan blocked it, sure, but then he was on the ground staring up at a blade that could have easily been driven through his throat. He’d been so preoccupied with his block that he hadn’t noticed being swept off his feet and into the dirt. An underhanded technique, but one that would have meant victory were this a real match. The sort of underhanded tactics that back home they would have cried about lack of honor and integrity, and that a knight had no need for such tricks. Though, Faiolan supposed, he was a knight no longer...

He got to his feet, and let his stance loosen. "Aye, I can see that you’ve held a blade a’fore. And I’m sure ye’ve scared the pants off many a dandy lad with that menacin’ glower. And I’ll bet ye’ve fought another fancy-pants little lordling with everyone watchin’, and ye beat him till he cried about yieldin’ and ye let him walk away. No such luxuries here. Ye fight until it’s really over. Ye fight till ye can’t no more. Lesson number 1, the fight don’t end until ye’ve won, remember?” 

Faiolan struck, but was rebuffed. His moves were too predictable. He struck again, and again missed his mark. He had to become less rigid, less readable, less obvious... less honorable. Frustration was overwhelming, mounting, filling him up with each blocked strike and retaliatory regurgitation of this lesson or that. In a moment where it could be contained no more, Faiolan launched his shield across the ring, taking his opponent by surprise. So busy blocking the projectile, he didn’t notice the full body weight of the elezen smashing into him and sending him to the ground. Faiolan rested his blade at his opponent’s throat, but he man on the ground nocked it away with his shield. So Faiolan stepped down onto the shield with his full weight, pinning the man to the floor. He wiped some blood away from his mouth, and again rested the tip of his sword at the man’s throat. 

"Ah, so now yer learnin’. This ain’t a war against scaled beasties and bogeymen. This is for glory, for coin, for the entertainment of yer betters. And they are yer betters, because ye only keep fighting so long as ye can keep them cheerin’ yer name, the way they used to cheer mine...” Faiolan let the man up, anticipating another attack, but he just clapped the elezen on the shoulder with a wide grin. "I think we have a place for ye here, lad. Ye’ve proven ye’ve got more than rocks and such ‘tween yer ears. And so long as ye can keep bringin’ in coin, ye can call this home, and ye can call me yer mentor. But most of all, ye can call be Brande, who was once the Raging’ Inferno of Aldenard in the days when I still had my name in the stands. Now, fer yer first real test...” Brande thrust his sword into Faiolan’s arms. “Well, get on with the polishin’ and sharpenin’. Ain’t no use havin’ a dull blade. Unless ye want to be back on the streets, beggin’ fer work or fer supper?” He wanted no such thing, shaking his head and taking the sword. "Good. Ye’ll make a better gladiator than beggar, from what I saw. And so long as yer under my wing, ye’ll have gil to spend on food and drink till ye can’t remember yer own damn name, much less whatever you were before. Welcome to the Bloodsands, kid.” 

[thiefswathe]

LANGUAGE; NICO’TO —

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1  /  2  /  3 SIGNED LANGUAGES: 1  /  2  /  3 TONE OF VOICE:  high  /  average  / deep ACCENT:  yes  /  no DEMEANOR: confident  /  shy  / approachable  /  hostile  /  other (defensive) POSTURE:  slumped / straight /  stiff  /  relaxed (mood dependent) HABITS:   head tilting /  swaying / fidgeting  /  stuttering /  gesturing  /  arm crossing /  strokes chin  / er, um, or other interjections  /  plays with hair or clothing /  hands at hips  / inconsistent eye contact  / maintains eye contact  / frequent pausing  / stands close /  stands at distance

COMPLEXITY

Vocabulary: ⬛⬛⬛◻◻ (He’s learning!) Emotion: ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ Sentence Structure: ⬛⬛◻◻◻

PROFANITY

Profanity: ⬛⬛⬛⬛◻ Creativity: ⬛⬛◻◻◻

CURSE WORDS

arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shite. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy. makes up some of his own and then some.

And more!

GIVEN PROPER RELIGIOUS CONTEXT

christ on a bike. christ on a cracker. damn. goddamn. godsdamn. hell. holy shit. jesus. jesus christ. jesus h christ. jesus h. roosevelt christ. lord gods have mercy. jesus, mary and joseph. sweet jesus. sweet menphina. menphina’s tits. 

FFXIV PROFANITIES

seven hells. nophica’s/matron/halones’s teats. thal’s balls. swive. whoreson. gobshite. twelvesdamned. ruttin’. blasted. cur. wicked white. aurochs shite. godsdamned.

THIS OR THAT

contractions or enunciation?   straightforward or cryptic?   jargon or toned? complexity or simplicity?   finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind?   masculinity, neutrality, or femininity?   formalities or abrasiveness?   praise or equivocation?   frankness or lies? excessive or minimal hand gestures?   name-calling or magnanimity? friendly or blunt nicknames?

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR MUSE?

almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes / rarely  /  never.

DOES YOUR MUSE’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK?

almost always  / frequently  / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.  

WOULD YOUR MUSE INITIATE CONVERSATIONS?

almost always  / frequently  / sometimes /  rarely  /  never.

WOULD YOUR MUSE BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS?

almost always  /  frequently / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.

WOULD YOUR MUSE USE “WHOM” IN A SENTENCE?

yes /  no  /  only ironically.

YOUR MUSE WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE?

but  / though  /  although  / however /  perhaps  / mayhaps

HOW DOES YOUR MUSE END CONVERSATIONS?

walk away /  ask if that’s everything /  say that that’s everything  / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they’re done here /  remain quiet  /  they don’t.

HOW DOES YOUR MUSE ADDRESS OTHERS?

titles /  first names / surnames / full names / nicknames, if you’re friendly

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR MUSE BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK?

upper /  middle /  lower.

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR MUSE SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS?

accent /  vocabulary  / tone  /  level  / politeness /  brusqueness /  it doesn’t.

Tagged by: the amazing @shroudwayman​

Tagging: IDK, just do the thing! Also tagging @trishelle​ @sly-blue-ffxiv​ and @savothesewercat​

[deltabannermen]

FFXIV Write Prompt #3 - Muster

“All right, my beautiful bitches--line up an’ let me hear you! WHO ARE WE?”

“IRON MAIDENS!” There was a great deal of whooping and slamming of swords and spears on shields as two rows of women, all armed to the teeth, roared out their name.

“Damn straight,” said the tall, blood-red Hellsguard woman standing before them, arms folded, seemingly oblivious to the blazing Thanalan sun that hammered down directly overhead. “As you are aware, we been...politely invited…” There were scattered, dark chuckles. “...to link up with them Brass Blades for a piece, on account o’ this Amaljaa business’s got outta hand.” She grinned. “Figure this job wants a woman’s touch.”

There was more raucous laughter. In the back line, Madeleine snickered.

“All right ladies...form UP, an’...MARCH! Double time, now!”

There was a rhythmic clatter as the two lines headed out the high sandstone arch and into the desert.

*

The battle was already underway when they arrived, and while the Brass Blades were making a good show, it was painfully clear they’d be swept away by the murderous tide of Amaljaa within minutes.

The Hellsguard woman slammed the butt of her spear into the dirt and held up one hand, calling a halt. “Shit.” She spat. “Well, ain’t much time for makin’ a proper plan...IRON MAIDENS! Go get some!”

The women surged forward.

Maddie hefted her shield, dropped her head, and ran head-first into the thick of it.

There was a bone-jarring clash as shield met a solid wall of flesh, and a roar from the Amaljaa she’d hit. A blade came down, hard--it bit right into the top edge of her shield and lodged there, locking her up.

With a curse, she bit the strap around her arm and tore it loose, flinging the shield aside. 

Who the hell needs it. 

With nothing now between them, she screamed and launched herself at the beastman. 

Short swords clashed. There was a deafening roar and a ringing in her ears and the awful tang of blood and sweat and worse. 

But the Amaljaa were no match for the Iron Maidens.

She’d been running in instinct, and it took her a minute to realize she’d somehow gotten separated from the group. There were two dead at her feet, one Beastman and some poor tempered bastard who’d got in the way. Everything reeked of blood and her ears were still ringing, even though the fight was clearly over.

“Thal’s gilded balls, woman.” That was the Hellsguard, Dainty Willow. “You oughtta be dead.” She did not sound so much concerned as mildly impressed. 

“Lost my shield.” 

“Aye, I can see that--doesn’t seem to have slowed you down none.” She grinned and held out a canteen. “Here. Might wanna wash some off, yer scarin’ the shite outta the few fellas what’s left.”

Maddie frowned at her. “What’d I do?”

“Ain’t what you done,” she said, then reached down and picked up a fallen shield and used her elbow to polish off the dust. “Take a peek.”

Maddie stared into the shield.

Her reflection--skin, hair, and armor, every inch of it--was soaked in blood.

[driftward]

Aberrant

Title - FFXIV Write 2021 - 2. Aberrant Fandom - Final Fantasy FFXIV Characters - Nyx Blackmoon, Liana kir Vaux, Papanan kir Nununan Rating - Teen Summary - Prologue - occurs before events of 1.0 Notes - Originally posted here on 2021-09-03. I’ll probably change the names of the scientist when I clean this up later.

“These readings cannot POSSIBLY be correct” groused Papanan kir Nununan, the perpetual frown on his face deepening as he looked at a display.

Nearby, a Miqo’te woman stepped out of one of the aetherflux chambers. The chamber was designed to be able to measure the aether qualities of a person. How much they had, how much they could manipulate and how fast. It was experimental. Almost everything in the lab was, either being recently developed Garlean technology, or unearthed and re-activated Allagan equipment.

The Miqo’te woman herself arguably fell into that latter category.

And all of it, the entire Garlean laboratory, Papanan would often insist, had been developed as a test of his personal patience and how far the military bureaucracy could fuck with him as an individual.

“I thought there was nothing wrong with this thing,” said Papanan. The large green oval display became the latest recipient of his wrath as he gripped it tightly with both of his hands and shook it, as though that would change anything. It wobbled.

“We did not find anything wrong with it. Not quite the same thing. Perhaps it needs calibration?” said Liana kir Vaux, who was sitting nearby nursing a cup of tea in both hands. The two scientists, while both working for the Garlean empire, were very different people. Liana was a wildwood Elezen, tall, with pale skin and gray hair. The older of the two, crows feet accentuated her eyes. Papanan was a Lalafell of dunesfolk persuasion. His skin was a dusty light brown, his hair darker than that by several shades. He was younger, but not young. Both wore the lab coat and pants demanded of their job. As did the Miqo’te woman, for that matter.

“Perhaps our idiot provisioners need calibration,” Papanan retorted. “It has never had a day of instruction in any aetherlogical arts since it was decanted, and yet! Yet! The machine would have me believe that, perhaps, -despite that fact-, that it is quite the puissant mage.”

Liana sighed, setting her tea down. The Miqo’te woman had since made her way to quietly sit down nearby, staring at Papanan with those large, almost-black glassy eyes of hers. The woman’s face was, as usual, expressionless.

“I wish you would not call her an it,” said Liana.

“I wish you would stop treating it like a pet,” retorted Papanan.

“I am not the one who keeps giving her my cinnamon sweet rolls after lunch,” said Liana.

“We are not feeding it nearly enough. It’s not -natural- and it does not eat like it should be! It’s a machine, Liana. They need fuel, and we cannot jolly well choke it with ceruleam, now, can we?”

Liana looked to the Miqo’te, who stopped staring at Papanan long enough to glance at Liana.

“I do appreciate it, kir Nununan,” the Miqo’te woman said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. Strong. Clear. Liana wished she could teach her to sing.

After a pause, the Miqo’te woman, still staring at Papanan, pulled her teeth back in a rictus grin, seemingly only remembering to squint her eyes a little bit after the fact. Papanan threw his hands up and recoiled in mock terror.

“Thal’s balls, Liana! I wish you had never tried to teach her how to smile!”

Liana sighed and looked over at the Miqo’te woman. The woman continued to stare as her face shifted back to its usual expressionless state. Expressionless, Liana thought to herself. But not quite completely. Liana knew many people found the staring unsettling. She herself had, for the first few weeks. But as the moons had stretched into seasons, Liana had learned to find it endearing. A weird sort of constant in the hustle and bustle of the lab. And if she looked carefully, there was still expression there. The slow movement of an ear rotating to hear something better. The twitch of a tail. The specific way the Miqo’te woman stared at any specific moment.

And she knew that the Miqo’te woman was always listening carefully. She learned fast, languages seemingly coming to her instantly, but most tasks she could reach competence in with very little in the way of instruction. She had learned. She had learned which of the scientists to avoid and which ones to stay near. She had learned how to fit in, smoothly shifting from a failed experiment that they were trying to figure out what to do with to a valuable lab assistant and occasional willing test dummy.

Like today, with them trying to get the aetherflux chamber working. The Miqo’te woman was one of the few who did not seem to have some problem or another climbing into it for a few hours.

“Well, whatever. We need replacement parts. Assistant! Help me take this thing apart,” Papanan directed the last at the Miqo’te woman, who nodded, once, before quickly getting up and walking smoothly over to the chamber.

Liana sipped her tea as the two got to work. Liana may have been the experienced aetherologist, but Papanan was the experienced engineer, and repairing the aetherflux chamber was more his area. She watched them for a while, and then made her way over to the display and the output that had so drawn Papanan’s ire, and looked at the data.

Liana considered it with a frown. The values were high, but not astronomical. A failed component could have shown a few things. A blank for no data, or a value that was at the maximum the display could show, or a value that was at the minimum of the same. But all of the values were within reasonable ranges. Just high.

A badly calibrated part could explain it.

But… what if the values were correct?

Liana sipped her tea quietly, looked over at the Miqo’te woman, and considered.