#lightwarden tag

[carnivorous-arboretum]

bad end

[i'm a sucker for a lightwarden au hehe]

[myreia]

FEBHYURARY XX: PRIMAL

The final day could not dawn, for there is no dawn in everlasting light. Nevertheless when the hour came, Ryne sought him out. She demanded he not go, tears brimming in her eyes. She clung to him desperately, stumbling over her words as she pressed a cartridge into his hand. Specially charged. Crafted to destroy the one they love, designed to prey on her single weakness. A single shot to the heart and it will all be over. He embraced her as he said his farewells, murmuring words of strength and courage he does not have. She will need it in the coming days. Ryne will be the last after him. The last to remain. The last to survive. He knows he will not return, and yet he must go. Some day soon—for Norvrandt’s are numbered—she will understand. And so he climbs the mountain where the primal lightwarden has made her nest. He cuts through her horde of light-corrupted minions, some distant part of his mind numbly acknowledging the twisted faces of friends he once knew. That is what she does; she does not bring death, but transposition. He does not flinch when their claws sink into him; nor does he pause when he strikes them all down. He is battered and bruised when he reaches the apex. Caked with blood and dirt, his gunblade dulled, his cartridges spent save for one. The air here is stale and still, the scent thick with the stench of primal magicks. She is nowhere to be seen. For a brief moment he wonders if he was mistaken, if she has abandoned her home. His heart beats. One, two. One, two. Blood pulsing in his veins, fear and hope and love thumping in his ears. The last shred of his humanity, and he is oh so alive— The creature with Aureia’s face bursts from below, a storm of ice and fire suspended in each hand. Her eyes glow vermilion in twisted mimicry of her natural deep red. Wings of darkness and light in perfect unison, an equilibrium she never achieved when she lived. Hair purged to white as it had been when she was first infected, the red streaks the only remnants of what it once was. Fingers turned to talons soaked in blood. So familiar, yet so alien—she has become a warped fracture of herself, everything he loved about her burnt out of her by blazing light.   He raises his blade and steels his mind. He has come here to slay her. All it takes is one shot. A shot he does not make. Time slows when the end comes, the passage of his mortal life stretched out in perpetuity. Her claws are a vice grip on his chin, the power of her magic scalding his eyes. She holds him in her unblinking ruby gaze as if transfixed, some memory within her ascended mind recalling what he was to her. He wishes for her to end it. If he but moves just a little… her claws would cut his throat… and he would deprive her of her greatest desire. But as he knows, she does not kill, she transforms. Even in this form her love for him burns fiercely. More fiercely than he can comprehend. It washes over him, powerful, overwhelming, the command to submit tugging at his mind, silencing the purpose he came to this mountain to fulfill— It is all gone in a burst of blue and red. Defeat has never tasted so sickeningly sweet.

[buggleboos]

weird greatures

[tallbluelady]

When the night is done, you'll vanish in the sun

Will I hold you when the night is over?

[verysmallcyborg]

[ there's a voice inside of me, getting louder and breaking free ]

how cruel a fate, fornax, for you to begin the transformation of a lightwarden that's physically manifested and twisted what you're most insecure of, fearful of, in regards to yourself

[starryscale-art]

"So the first Loghrif comes to finish off his beloved successors goal of destroying the First. How..poetic."

jai being the lightwarden eater guy instead of the wol in our story leads to..fun things :)

[elliewiltarwyn]

tragic hero arc

we all know how this story goes. when it began, you were almost the perfect hero, but almost is never enough. you lacked introspection, or you were too stubborn or vengeful or reckless - as reckless as the world that helped to ruin you. you were not perfect, and that's okay. we knew the story ended in blood and we watched it anyway. we knew you would die in the end and we still couldn't help but love you, just a little bit. at the very least, you are more human than a hero could ever be.

ow.

this is definitely a trajectory she could have taken, especially in a solo-verse where there's no one to be a tempering influence on her, or at least those who tried were cruelly taken away from her. but that's kinda why i wanted to do the shot here: shadowbringers more than most stories i've experienced really knew how to hit the same sort of beats as a tragic hero/heroic sacrifice sort of story without actually committing to the death at the end. and that isn't copping out but rather knowing how much further the hero can be pushed beyond those beats after the agony they've suffered, and how much richer the tapestry of their character can be if they get a chance to apply the lessons they've learned.

but this was definitely a possibility too.

:')

thanks for the tags @oneiroy and @cindernet-explorer!! this is again something i think i've seen most people on my dash do by this point, so. open tag for you if you feel like it lol. the quiz is here!

[valeriannnn]

Don't think you did me any fucking favors.

Wolcred Week 2024 Day 3: Light | Darkness

[ofcoffee-andletters]

FFXIV Write Day 25 - Perpetuity

Warnings: Lightwarden Bad End with mentions of violence and allusions to several important NPCs dying, a non-too descriptive killing scene. Notes: I never thought about a bad end for my Meteor...now I have. I am very sorry. Ardbert PoV ShB bad end

Perpetuity : ETERNITY : the quality or state of being perpetual

———————

Few things could be considered to last forever, to be truly eternal — after all, who could even be able to behold what eternity is like? What something being forever the same even means?

Are the Gods eternal? Mayhaps. One would never know — who would ever live long enough to see the Gods face to face until the end of all things…?

These type of questions have never been something that plagued his mind — that were even important or something to consider, time was always running short, life itself was never assured — eternity was something for divine beings, never to be within the grasp of mortal hands.

And yet he finds himself here, surrounded by crystal walls that are as tall as the mountains — if he even remembers what a mountain looked like — he kneels one more day — night, maybe, turn of the Sun that is forever out of his reach — before a golden throne, in front of an ethereal figure whose head is adorned by a crown from which chains come from, chains that keep that self-same figure forever chained to it’s throne and gaol.

…And no one can even get closer.

Those golden chains are the last scream of a soul who never wanted to hurt anyone, who wanted to help, who yearned for far too much and still came too short…the crown is nothing but the reflection of a burden he never allowed anyone else to carry — and the crystal walls the tears of someone who failed and in his sorrow hid his most precious treasure — and condemned everything to stagnation.

Eternity is something no mortal should be able to reach — and yet he is here, failing to fulfill the last plea of a broken soul who yearns for salvation…because he is unable to think about anyone who is worth of granting such a wish to this fallen Hero.

And he has lost that right long ago.

“People are still fighting…” A voice echoes, alone, in the middle of a room where no one can hear him — maybe. “Another attempt of a ‘Hero’ came today…” A whisper, words laced with sorrow despite of how much he seemed to be proud of those peoples, of his people. “…But I can’t.” He manages to say, cursing his own inability to end this — to stop this endless cycle. “…I won’t let them…get here…”

The figure stands up, turning back and then returning in front of the ethereal Lord of this Crystal Gaol, piling bodies — barely alive, barely breathing, bleeding out — as his offering. “…You need aether again, don’t you…?” The figure upon the throne stirs barely, but the marble-like features of it never change, or even acknowledge anything beyond the offering. “Eat.”

There’s a screech — it resounds far across the lands.

And then, tears of liquid marble flow upon the ground, until they reach the offering, it’s sustenance — drowning them and then consuming them from the inside out, leaving nothing behind but a few weapons made of marble that now lay upon the floor — and the Lightwarden returns to slumber.

The only other person present grabs those, and walks out of the chamber in shame and guilt — once upon a time he had wondered why had he been granted mercy when he deserved none. Now, he doesn’t ask this — he wonders if this will forever continue, if this is what it means for something to be eternal…

Eternal suffering.

Eternal punishment.

For when Meteor was succumbing to the Light he doubted for a second too long in that room at the Pendants and then had to see how what was once the last bastion of hope became and Accursed Palace…and yet…he was spared, he was given a plea.

‘Save…them.’

He knows he is nothing but a shade inhabiting a mockery of a body — a shield itself from the obvious outcome had Meteor transformed too fast before being able to save him.

He was supposed to save them. To end Meteor’s suffering…

…How is he supposed to do that when he saw how a mighty Lightwarden was still Meteor deep down? When he saw those chains binding the very beast he was supposed to become? Keeping himself in check enough to keep casualties within the Crystarium…?

How can he be anything but the eternal guardian of another fallen Hero who gave everything for a world he didn’t had to save…and yet tried to…?

He can’t.

So they remain, like the two most sinful souls in existence they are — in perfect stagnation.

Ardbert as the blade, the guardian, the wall anyone has to overcome to prove they are worthy of bringing down the soul inside…

Meteor as the sin — as the solution and the victim.

Both of them encased in a Crystal Gaol that no longer looks like the Crystarium — just a prison without day or night, a tomb — and at the center where once life thrived and tried to stand against the end of the world…

A thousand weapons stand as a warning, for whoever that attempts to come in here, will die at the hands of the demon — the white knight who wields an axe with nothing but pain and sadness for being too coward to do anything else but play a role again.

…

Willingly.

[yloiseconeillants]

lightwarden thoughts are back on the menu so like. here's mothwarden - aletheia. it's playing so hard into the narrative of the warrior of darkness spun by two rival wizards that that's all that's left in the end. just a cracking shell of mythologized heroism holding back something cruel and resentful.

there's a playlist!

[scionshtola]

i don't want to reblog the fic Again but im just spinning shb corishtola in my brain SO fast these past few weeks

[birues]

wip whenever

Tagged by @galadae and @coldshrugs ty both sm <3333

Emet-Selch and Tuana are having a convo about the Reapers and the Void. Which will later inspire Tuana to devise a very reckless plan in case she fails to contain the light.

“If you’re mayhaps done with being possessed by the beloved denizens of the 13th, dear Hero…”

A merry voice cuts through the Rak’tika woods even before Tuana feels the avatar’s presence leave– that cold, jittery cavity death could never satisfy. But it helps. Shrouding herself in the darkness from the blazing sun that radiates within her… helps. Even if it leaves her wanting to tear her skin apart afterward. 

Maybe it’ll be easier to get used to– if she fails.

Her dalliances with the dark are not for him to comment, alas when did he care? That is the man he is, walking through the threads of reality, offering scathing remarks and half-truths and nothing more. Her grip on the scythe doesn’t waver. 

She will not allow him to rile her up. 

“Upset that I stole a few tricks from your book?” she shoots back to the woods. “Your kind is awfully fond of the voidgates.” 

She cannot see him, not yet, but she can feel his presence. The way his amusement permeates through the aether. 

“Hardly, though I didn’t think you had it in you. Using the poor tortured souls of the damned for your own ends? Tsk tsk tsk… Haven’t your mother scolded you yet?" 

[myreia]

snagging this from @lilas! 💖

without taking new pics, post one of your OCs as:

—a romanceable npc

—a questgiving npc

—the final boss

[buggleboos]

If light is so bad for you then why is it so yummy ?!

[tallbluelady]

a kiss after one muse has killed for the other

So remember when Urianger volunteered to go to the bottom of the ocean with you to go find Emet-Selch? 'Cause I do!

[palarien]

Commission for @crimsonsynastry! ✨

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᶦˢˢᶦᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳᵐ ᵇᵗʷ