#haumeric

[estinininininen]

Aymeric: 32

Thordan: 74

Thordan had Aymeric when he was 42. When he was damn old enough to know better. Out of wedlock child when you're 20, barely of Elezen age? You're a young idiot but you can be forgiven and expected to do better. Out of wedlock child at age 42? This fucker wasn't making one "oopsy" after 20ish years of pious celibacy. This was a pattern.

How many half-siblings do y'all think Aymeric has?

. . . A few members of the Heavens' Ward kinda resemble him or Thordan.

Haumeric, Adelphel, Noudenet. Adelphel and Noudenet in particular have those startlingly blue eyes. Weird. I'm sure it's a coincidence. Not to mention if someone resembled their mother more than their father. And what was going on with Zephirin expected to be the Lord Commander? (The only Ward member who's definitely not Thordan's son is Grinnaux de Dzemael, not necessarily because he comes from a Great House but because his skin is pretty dark.) Anyroad. I'm sure Archbishop Thordan wouldn't pull from an available pool of young men desperate for his attention when only he knew their true connection if he had something he needed loyal followers for. Nope.

[elezenchaser-art]

2021 Mermay

Sadu: Barracuda Magnai: Yellowfin Tuna Haumeric: Blue Ringed Octopus Haurchefant: Seahorse (with mussel shield)

Digital art

[volflamm]

Haumeric

[queenofnohr]

Janlenoux & Odeline sketchpage by @/deadanimedads on twitter!

Inspired by the writing exercise I did for him on Ao3!

[crystallineconflict]

canon event (by deadanimedads on twt)

bonus peanut gallery observations:

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

heavensward- encounter

(a year and a half before Riven's arrival)

CW: Illness, more specifically a city-wide epidemic. I also riffed slightly off Tamora Pierce's Circle of Magic book 4, Briar's Book, which is a heavy influence on Mathye's conjury.

---------

For a mercy, the plague currently raging in Ishgard was affecting all levels of society. Otherwise if it had just been in the Brume alone, Mathye knew Charibert would have already been setting the afflicted's homes to the torch. The illness itself wasn't fatal, save for one major problem. The fever that started after the pox cleared was magic-resistant. That had to be fought with poultice and and potion.

Or in Mathye's case-dragonfire. For some unknown reason Hrist's magics could break the infection. And while she and him were willing to scorch the disease from their charges, they had to be careful. Charibert and his minions prowled the sick-houses, waiting for any opportunity to send them up in 'cleansing flame'. And while the Inquistion wanted to question him about the handful of months he'd spent in the Vault, Mathye knew he had some level of protection in being Ishgard's first white mage in some time, plus being a master healer in the Temple Knight infirmary, assigned to the Knights Dragoon. If he couldn't use what power he had to aid those who needed it, then what good was he?

So Mathye had taken a stand, along with getting into a fight or two. He'd shamed several wavering healers and priests into doing their duties, and the misbegotten flames of the Inqusition were now staying away from the Brume sick-houses. And if the poor were recovering faster than their 'betters', well, Halone's eyes were fixed on the most vunerable of her children. That was Mathye's story, and he was sticking to it.

But Fury be good, he wanted to kill Charibert. Wipe him and his ilk from the face of the earth. It said something when he- an apostate!-was more faithful to the Fury than one of the Heavens fucking Ward! Or was it that he was more open minded?

Mathye didn't know.

Or maybe it's because you've seen the rot and swore to have no part of it...

"You've been the one making the medicine here?" Jolted from his dark musings -- he hadn't eaten since breakfast, Mathye glanced at the speaker. Charibert had decided to suddenly pop in, with Haumeric accompanying him. More than likely the other priest of the Ward had also taken offence to the Grand Inquisitor's leanings and had shown up to offer support... if not tact approval of Mathye's stance.

"I volunteered to make this particular batch, aye." Making the feverbreak potion was the best way to add in his dragonfire, and thankfully it didn't require much. But with Charibert and Haumeric watching, Hrist had gone dead silent in his mind. Not that Mathye minded. He was extremely keen on staying clear of Charibert's dungeons. And keeping his baby brother safe...

"Every time you visit a sick-house, the number of patients who break the fever and recover successfully rises." Haumeric continued. His eyes widened slightly as Mathye withdrew a butcher's knife from a wooden block. Charibert remained unruffled.

"Don't know anything about that." Mathye lied, reaching for a clump of chamoille plants with the other hand. With a single chop, he cleaved the flowers from their stems.

"There are many singing your praises." Haumeric was not giving up.

"You mean more like cursing me." Mathye countered. Keep your hands busy. Focus on the plants. He chopped off another bunch of chamoille flowers. Evading or at least muddling a Halonic truth spell required effort.

"In this case, the praises are outweighing the curses. Though for you, that seems to be the norm." Charibert said silkily.

"Is there any reason why you've decided to darken my doorstep, Hot Lips?" Mathye wondered aloud. He selected a Gil Bun to chop next, bowing his head just as Haurmeric choked back a sudden bark of laughter. Charibert's eyes flashed in annoyance.

"As Ser Haurmeric stated, the number of patients who recover when you're present is high. There are... questions."

"Are they about my healing-practice or about the fact that it's the poor that are recovering so quickly?" Mathye countered, lifting his head. "If it's the latter, just imagine how upset the commonfolk will be that the Vault would have preferred them to die in comparison to the noble born-"

"Healer Bishop." Mathye snapped his mouth shut and picked up another mushroom. He could feel Haumeric glaring at him.

"The Archbishop cares for all of Halone's children. Poor and nobleborn." Now the glare was turned to Charibert. "His Emenience would like as minimal loss of life as possible. Which is why the sick-houses were approved and permission to use any means necessary to save the ill."

"You add magic into the feverbreak potion." Charibert ignored Haurmeric, eyes fixed on Mathye. The white mage fell his stomach lurch. However he forced himself to look up and cooly met the High Inquistitor's gaze.

"I do."

"The fever can't be broken by magic." Haurmeric stated, furrowing his brow.

"You're right. What I do doesn't last long, and fades the moment the potion starts to brew." Mathye picked up a handful of the chamomile heads. The petals on some were drooping, while others looked completely whithered. Then suddenly the flower heads seemed to spring back to life, white petals practically glowing around their bright yellow centers. Mathye moved the handful of flowers over to a pot, dropping them inside.

"A revitization spell?"

"We're not so lucky to get fresh herbs and the sort down here." Mathye replied. "Plants hold memories just like man. I just give a little coax for them to remember life, to renew their power." Then mischievously, he added; "A priestess of Nophica showed me this while I was in training. I figure her and Halone would be willing to work together in this fight. Nophica to bless the plant life, and the Fury to grant a body the strength to endure." Oh wow. Charibert had actually physically twitched. Haumeric looked a little worried.

"You are not...practicing hedgewitchery, are you, Healer Bishop?" He ventured. Mathye narrowed his eyes.

"The last time I checked, I wasn't the only one doing such a thing." He began. "Our builders still burn copies of their plans to Byregot for His favor, our martialists blood-pledge to the Destroyer, doubly so since He is Halone's father, and we're not going to discuss all the love-charms made from the snow by Memphina's godstone, she lives in Halone's palace! And I'm certain you don't want to discuss the amount of childless couples who slip away to Gridana in the spring to celebrate the rites of Nophica, and find themselves blessed with babes nine months later. Nobody complains about hedgewitchery then, so why complain now? If a bit of it's helping my charges here, and Halone hasn't expressed disapproval, then I see no problems."

"I see why you're permamently such a low rank in the Church, Bishop. Such a...provencial mindset." Charibert sniped. He tilted his head.

"Ah but by the way, how is your half-brother doing?" Rage-and fear--screamed to life inside Mathye, and he could feel Hrist spasm. It took everything he possessed to not react, to keep his voice level, to shrug casually.

"I wouldn't know. I think he's on out on a heretic hunt. There was a dragon that your Inquisitors were having problems with, wasn't there? I'm surprised you're not out there with your men." A barb for a barb, and Mathye took some satisfaction on seeing Charibert glower. Haumeric glanced between the two men.

"Gentlemen. I see that there's no problems here." He said firmly. "Healer Bishop, I would advise that you keep your...dabbling to yourself. While your points are valid, there are many of your betters that are not as... open-minded as you are. Brother Charibert, there's nothing problematic here, unless we count Healer Bishop's overall attitude as a heresy."

[pedroninjavermiliongreen87]

LEGO NINJAGO cross kingdoms crystal nightmare: Bedro, Haumer and saisy anti-elemental colones corrupted Cross Theme spoiler

[karinhaumer]

Stärkung der Transformation von Frauen durch Coaching in Wien​

Karin Haumer bietet Coaching, Kunsttherapie und Supervision für Frauen in Übergangsphasen an. Sie bietet einen geschützten Raum zur Selbstfindung, Reflexion und Selbstermächtigung. Dienstleistungen in Klosterneuburg und Wien. https://www.karinhaumer.com/

[voidsentprinces]

Battle of the Tits, the Breast Chests of Eitheirys and beyond!

The French were a mistake

[veliara]

FFXIVWrite Day 25: Perpetuity

While enjoying the familiar chill, Ciel walked leisurely towards the Heaven's Ward quarters. Large, fluffy snowflakes flew past, blown away by the wind, but he paid no attention to such beauty. The youth, with a plain silver earring in his ear, walked leisurely through the streets of Ishgard, trying to clear his thoughts. The unsettling dreams were getting more realistic and intrusive, but Ciel couldn't find the source of the coming disaster.

  In some dreams, his own friends were raising their weapons against him with completely blank faces. Who had his back and whom he had saved more than once. He absolutely refused to believe in their betrayal. He wouldn't even consider the possibility of “What if...”

In other dreams, while without the earring, Ciel was in a strange room in which everything was created from unknown materials.  Unfortunately, she wasn't much interested in the intricate glyphs and glowing panels. Her attention was fixed on the twelve bodies in blue and white armor lying on the floor. And time and time again, she rushed towards them, hoping to help. Only to see them dissolve one by one into the aether, because there was nothing she could do. As lying on the floor Zephirin reached out with desperation in his eyes for the black mage who was curled up nearby. The way Vellguine tries to crawl to Adelphel and Janlenoux, in a vain attempt to save his boys, who have almost completely dissolved into the light blue sparks of the aether. How Hermenost whispers a prayer to Halon for Ignasse with his last bits of strength, for the latter has already closed his eyes for the last time. By then Guerrique, Noudenet and Haumeric were long gone. For some unknown reason, the last ones Ciel paid attention to were were Grinnaux and Paulecrain.  As always back to back, both in life and in the death that was already looming over them. Ciel never once saw Paul's face, unable to tear her gaze away from Grinnaux. From the sorrowful lilac eyes and his attempt to smile, whispering, “Don't cry. It's going to be okay...” He stopped abruptly and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the tugging pain that filled his whole being. “Nothing will change if I only cry,” the youth said to himself and rubbed his eyes. Ciel lost count of how many times she had woken up in the middle of the night crying after these visions. How many times Grinnaux had had to soothe her, whispering in her ear that everything was fine, which to Dzemael's dismay only made the tears grow even more violent... When Ciel reached the Wards headquarters, he pulled off his scarf and leaned his head against the cold stone wall, taking advantage of the emptiness of the hallway. It felt a little easier to breathe.  He looked at the door at the end of the small hallway leading to the common room where all the knights were gathered. “They are alive.” whispered the youth. “They have already gathered, milady,” Odin murmured. “They will soon begin to celebrate.” he sighed absently “Oh this fleeting victory high...” the old knight whispered, as he materialized in his ghostly form at the side of the entrance. He glanced sideways at the door, pursing his lips in displeasure. “You managed to help them once before. Delayed the unavoidable. But now you want to save them? Surely you realize that in the hour of Final Judgment, you'll have to stand in the way of Eternity itself.” The young man remained silent, continuing to rest his forehead against the stone wall and listening to the old paladin. “You are aware that no one will be able to help you. Your father won't be able to send help. And he won't be able to intervene himself either.” “He doesn't need to intervene. It's too personal.  If you and Night pray to the stars for me when the moment comes, that'll be enough.” He only snorted. “Our faith in you is unwavering. It has been and will continue to be.” Ciel smiled and straightened his shoulders and neck. Determination flashed in his green eyes. “My blood is still burning hot, which means I am bound to try.” Odin's voice, audible only to Ciel brooded thoughtfully: “The little fledgling has grown. It will be interesting to see how you will pull off this trick.” “Watch me closely, then.” Ciel smiled, pushing the door open and stepping into the hall, where a joyous chattering went on.

[knightstwelve]

wip dynamics

zephirin

both believe in doing the right thing but struggle with taking the actions they believe would fulfill that

she's more confident where he's more comforting and vice versa - the former when they're discussing papicide and the latter when she's in her feelios

he understands that even in a non-romantic context he could take advantage of her -- not necessarily through the typical means of abusing his power, but she has a blindspot where she trusts him too much in part because he holds the position of archimandrite

grinnaux

rich bastards who both think might makes right, understands noble's power plays and a keen eye for socio-political issues

grinnaux just doesn't care about it while diana does

grinn likes his bodyrippers slightly more vanilla than diana likes hers. this isn't hard.

adelphel

cute, cherubic features, blonde enough, blue eyed enough

uses their good looks to their advantage, understands it won't last forever but doesn't quite get it. where adelphel doesn't fear it, diana does.

paulecrain

crimelord's daughter and crimelord's typical lackey. she knows his sort, and while she tries to present herself as purely ladylike, he knows where to look (mostly.)

haumeric

social justice homies, if they were the same age in the same college campus i'd bet they'd cross paths fairly often

both have a barely hidden temper, both dislike charibert

hermenost

merchant's child, understands the merits of a transaction

guerrique

big fun! diana adores his good vibes, and is well used to drunkards being buffoons.

[mentalrhapsody]

[queenofnohr]

The Fifth Sorrow of Our Lady Most Holy

by @/0000_paper on twitter

Alternate version:

[modchanisnori]

This is the mix of all the other misc photos I found

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

on our fates alight--first warning

Augustine pulled the cloak around his shoulders, securing the ties together. Pausing to make sure his sword was buckled securely to his hip, he headed for the door.

“I’ll be back with the soup!”  He called, turning the handle. “In the meantime, just stay in—” As the door opened fully, Augustine found himself trailing off.  Standing in the hallway, a fist raised as if to knock on the wood, was Lord Haurchefant. There was a dark look on his features, and Augustine blinked as the elezen’s eyes met his own.  Then suddenly ice started to crawl up his spine—Halone flaring to life—just as the paladin’s eyes moved past the Fortemps lord. Directly behind Haurchefant were Zephirin de Valhourdin and Haumeric de Peulagnon.

Shite.

“Ser Augustine!”  Haurchefant said a bit too cheerfully. “I’m sorry, did we catch you at a bad time?  My lords of the Heavens’ Ward were nearby and wanted to pay a visit!” 

“I was about to head to the city, actually.”  Augustine replied, and then froze at the sound of a body hitting the floor. Fear made him whip around, staring at the hallway behind him.

“Mathye?!”

-------

Haumeric sighed.

“Not even aetherical exhaustion from Priming has the capacity for you to stay still.”  He commented dryly, pulling the tunic back over Mathye’s wound.  “But you didn’t rip open the stitches, so that’s good.”  Mathye didn’t say anything, electing to stay as still in bed as he possibly could.  Halone had alerted him to the presence of the two members of the Heavens’ Ward. Worry for Augustine had given him a brief burst of strength to get out of bed—but then that had been his limit. He’d fallen, and then suddenly Augustine was exploding through his door, Haumeric and Zephirin on his heels.

“You need to be more careful.”  Haumeric continued. “Your devotion to your duty does you credit, Ser Mathye, but you—like your brother—are both precious and valued by the Archbishop.  Surely there is no need for you to go haring off on every single little errand…” 

“I go where the work is needed.” Mathye countered. Gods, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. He could feel Halone’s alarm—he was at his limit, he needed to rest—but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not until Zephirin and Haumeric left.

“I apologize for my older brother.”  Augustine interjected. “Thank you, Ser Peulagnon, for looking at his wounds. I pray ask your forgiveness for taking up your time like this.”  Haumeric blinked.

“Ser Augustine, there is no apology needed!”  He said, gesturing. “If anything, this is a friendlier use of our time!”

“Reports have made it to the Vault of voidsent infestations out here in Central Coerthas.” Zephirin added. “His Holiness requested that the matter be investigated.”

“I see.”  Augustine got out. He didn’t dare look at Mathye, but he knew his older brother had gone very still. The other day the priest had dealt with a voidsent rift down at the bottom of Witchdrop with a friend of his, Tristan Galis. While normally such things wouldn’t technically be a problem…Tristan was actually a former Ishgardian paladin whose entire order had been executed by order of the Archbishop for treason and heresy.  He now was a fiend hunter, his former life as a paladin making him especially skilled in dealing with voidsent. How Tristan had gotten back into Coerthas and why he was dealing with the Witchdrop voidsent problem Augustine didn’t know.  Nor did he want to know. Tristian was his friend as well; their paladin orders had been allies. And given everything that had been happening ever since Halone had chosen him as her First Dominant…

"Your wounds have been cleansed, but there is a faint trace of Darkness." Haumeric frowned. "Did you encounter one of the void's denizens, Ser Mathye?"

"There was a aether-rift by the Weeping Saint." Mathye admitted. "I was traveling there to gather some water, and ran into a fiend. It was fairly powerful, and I ended up semi-Priming to fight it." Augustine inhaled, feeling his truthsense briefly flare to life. Mathye was lying--but he was also telling the truth as well.

"I closed the rift afterwards, and just had enough energy to teleport back here before passing out." Zephirin shared a look with Haumeric. Something seemed...off about the other knight, Augustine realized. At first glance the leader of the Heavens' Ward appeared to be normal. But ever so faintly Augustine could...sense something. Smell it, now that he was focusing on it...

Decay? Halone was in his thoughts, sharing his senses. She'd sensed the strangeness too. The smell was gone--but for a moment Augustine could have sworn that he'd picked up on the sickly-sweet smell of rot. As if the wind had brought the scent of a decomposing body. And it had been coming from Zephirin.

What the... Augustine's eyes flicked to Haumeric. The conjurer also had that feeling of wrongness, and again that brief flare coming from him--the smell of rot. What in the name...what is that?!

I don't know. Halone answered. But I think...I've sensed this energy before.

Where? Augustine thought.

From the Vault.