#loksen tyr

[mist-touchedxiv]

Rating: 18+

#that loksen look looksen

Name: Loksen Tyrwesfv

Race: Viera | Veena

Patron Deity: Oschon

Hometown: Skatay Range | Kópavogur

Age: 75+

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 198 lb

Hair: Black with unusual natural blue streaks

Eyes: Aether blue

Gender: Male (he/him)

Orientation: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Adventurer

Job: SAM/ARC

Favorite Color: Blue

Smoking: Yes, occasionally. Prefers using a kiseru. Blends own tobacco, typically with vanilla. The smell of smoked tobacco can help dull his already potent Vieran sense of smell if he feels overwhelmed

Drinking: Yes. Loves Vieran aquavit and Mjød, but hasn't encountered either in years. Due to spending time in Hingashi enjoys sake and often carries a flask, which he has been known to use as a weapon

Diet: Omnivore

Hobbies: Whittling, archery, drinking and eating, traveling, fishing, mahjong, reading Vieran poetry, camping

Personality: Reserved, almost aloof. Intense. Helpful. Honorable. His noble heart and wanderlust belies a quiet guilt.

Distinguishing Features: Viera male. Lotta blue. Speaks Eorzean with a noticeable but pleasant accent akin to Finnish. Faded scars across his back and torso. Brand on the back of neck to identify him as a Garlean prisoner, usually covered by hair.

Löksen was a typical Wood-warder many years ago, until the day the Garlean empire attacked Dalmasca. During a periodic visit to his home village, hearing disturbing rumors that Garlemald had set eyes on Dalmasca. Having proven to be a great archer, the leaders urged him and a small group of other Wood-warders to make a trip to Dalmasca to convince the Viera living in the city to come home.

Ultimately, they failed. Having scarcely arrived in the foreign city, it was overrun by Garlean forces and the other men were killed in the ensuing battles and Löksen taken prisoner for several years. During his imprisonment at a Garlean labor camp, Löksen was a target of fascination and sometimes ridicule as a rare male of an already elusive people. His Wood-warder background prepared him for the harsh conditions of the camp and helped him survive. His time in the camp also introduced him to a variety of people and cultures that he never would have encountered otherwise. Imprisoned Sharlayan scholars taught him the Eorzean language, an old Hingan woman taught him the way of the samurai, a pair of Lalafell smugglers regaled him with stories of Ul'dah, among others.

Eventually, the camp was inadvertently liberated by Bahamut's rampage and during the chaos, Löksen fought and killed the Garlean officer who had served as a tormentor and overseer and took their gunblade as a trophy that he carries with him.

Now he wanders Etheirys partly as an adventurer inspired by the stories of his fellow inmates about the diverse lands they came from, but also to try to escape a sense of guilt for failing his people in Dalmasca and trying to seek solace.

RP Hooks

Hey there, mun here. I'm pretty flexible on how to start interactions. I'm completely open to discussing things or just go with the flow, provided you start of course.

I designed Loksen to essentially be a support character. He's not a WoL, he's not blessed with Echo. Honestly, my goal with him is to bring texture and enhance YOUR story. I suppose I'm more focused on being a character than a protag, I guess.

He's got his own little stories, but I'm here to make friends and try my hand at a creative outlet that I haven't done in several years.

Anyways, here's some possibilities!

Garlean? - Loksen carries a rather conspicuous weapon, a Garlean gunblade. It often invites suspicion and hostility from Eorzeans and Garleans alike: Eorzeans bristle at the sight of the weapon of a hated enemy and can jump to conclusions regarding his allegiance; Garleans object to such an honored Imperial weapon in the hands of an Eorzean savage. It's not unusual for Loksen to keep the weapon wrapped in cloth to avoid unwanted attention. Characters with a Garlean background will notice that the weapon has been heavily modified: the firing mechanism of a typical gunblade has been removed from the blade and the scabbard contains a rifle mechanism with a magazine loaded and a trigger located below the sword's hilt.

Mercenary - Loksen, while a decent sort, has no allegiance except to gil. Even with his comfort for violence, Loksen has a code of honor. He's worked with the Grand Companies as a hired blade, the underworld (within reason), anyone with a need for muscle. While he's not well-known, Loksen's skills and professionalism are renowned by those who've worked with him.

Viera Kinship - Loksen is drawn to other Viera. He hasn't seen many other Forest People in the past several years. He can recognize the scent of his people.

Fisherman - A familiar face amongst the anglers of Limsa Lominsa, especially the Lower Docks and the La Noscea shore. Loksen's skills are well-regarded enough that he's been commissioned by the culinarian's guild and the Bismarck to procure rare fish for special dishes.

Wilderness guide - Loksen would be a fairly well-known guide for places like the Twelveswood for botanists and other scholars looking to take expeditions into the Shroud or into the mountains.

About the RPer

Cishet • M • 30+ • North America Central Time Zone • Weird, but well-meaning

[mist-touchedxiv]

To keep with the Scandinavian flavor of the Viera, "Loksen" is kind of a fictionalized application of some Scandinavian naming conventions. Particularly "-sen" to create "Son of-": Anderssen: son of Anders, Magnussen: son of Magnus, Thorsen: son of Thor, etc. In this case, "Loksen" is supposed to be "son of Loki".

"Tyrwesfv" is in keeping, albeit a bit loosely, with Veena male surname naming conventions. "Tyr" being a nod to Tyr, the Norse god of war, justice, and heroic endeavor.

How did you come up with your OC's name? Does it have any meaning? Any real-world origins?

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 1

A warm wind blew across the plain, a welcome touch in the desert of Thanalan. However, it didn't provide any relief to the Hyur man who was being harassed by a group of bandits.

A solid kick to his stomach caused him to gasp as the wind was driven from his lungs.

"Ye gotta lotta nerve taking a drink from OUR well, scum," purred the cruel Mi'qote woman perched on the stone lip of the well in question. The rag tag group of intimidating men and women growled in agreement. A couple of bandits roughly picked up the man by each arm, one forcefully raised his chin so he could look the leader in the eyes.

"P-please..." the man wheezed weakly as the hot dry air began to fill his lungs again. "Th-this... well is the closest.... water source.... f-for my village... We don't have much-"

One of the bandits started to dramatically boo-hoo, a poor mummer's farce of the man's dilemma.

"Oy! I keep telling ye, ye need to do comedy," squawked another bandits delightedly, the others roared with laughter in agreement.

The bandit leader lazily stretched and crossed her legs on her perch. "Just consider us members of the community who are guarding the well. We have to make our vittles too. How about... 10,000 gil a moon? We'll also take other goods and sundries if you can't afford the coin."

"Th-that's impossible," sputtered the Hyur man. "We're only a small mining town! W-we can't meet that deman-" Stars exploded across the man's vision as the Mi'qote leader slapped him across the face.

As the pain and stars receded, the Hyur numbly noticed something strange behind the bandits. The sound of a loud slurp startled the leader who hopped with incredible alacrity off the well wall with a hiss. Somehow a tall man dressed in blue Doman clothing in a large straw hat had managed to approach the group unseen in the open wasteland. The assembled group couldn't help but stare nonplussed as the stranger took another deep slurp of the cool water from the well. Next to him, a thin long package wrapped in canvas rested against the well.

For a moment, a stunned silence filled the air, punctuated only by the breeze and the squeaking of the windmill that drew the life-giving water in the well. And the stranger's noisy drinking.

"O-oy! Who the hells is this git," barked the wannabe mummer, breaking the silence after a long beat. The gang's attention was now on the newcomer and they were feeling very tense.

The stranger wiped ran his thumb along his stubbly beard as he let out a satisfied sigh. He nudged up the hat and considered them with bright blue eyes. "Just thirsty," came the reply, his voice pleasant with an accent unfamiliar in Eorzea.

"You gotta pay a toll to use OUR well," growled a scarred Elezen. "Ye would do well not to end up like this unfortunate scum." He lashed out with his foot at the man they'd been bullying but found naught but air as he had crawled away during the silence.

The stranger in blue paid them no heed as he filled up a water skin calmly. A particularly rough looking Hrothgar stomped over to him. "Ye got dust in your ears," he roared as he reached a huge hand over to grab the stranger's hat. "I'll fi-" There was a sharp crack as the stranger suddenly lashed out with inhuman speed and drove the end of the wrapped package into the throat of the Hrothgar who let out a coughing mew as he fell over, his hand taking the hat with him to reveal a mane of black hair with azure streaks and two long leoprine ears. The wrapping fell from the package to reveal what appeared to be a Garlean gunblade sheathed, but the blade was slightly shorter and appeared to be missing the barrel.

"Hells... it's a Viera male..." breathed the gang leader as the rarity of such a pretty creature registered with her. He had to be worth something. A lot of somethings. Possibly more than their water scheme. To their credit, the rest of the gang seemed to have already come to the same realization and drew their weapons and began to surround the blue stranger.

The Viera put his hand on the hilt of his blade, readying himself. "Trust me... it's not worth it," he said quietly, sensing their intentions. "Walk away." The leader let out a harsh cackle as she nocked an arrow on her bow.

"Got ye dead to rights, now be a good pretty bunny and come with us," she purred, aiming to pin his foot. Didn't want to damage the goods too much.

The wind blew.

The wind mill creaked.

The villains brandished their weapons with unspoken threats of violence.

Crystalline blue eyes regarded their surroundings.

Suddenly, the wind died and the Mi'qote let the arrow loose.

Her aim was true, but the target was gone. In a flash of steel, the man had seemed to dance his way through the ring of bandits with the grace and power of a surging river. The Mi'qote blinked surprised, suddenly spinning around to find the Viera behind her.

She snarled "I got ye no-" She suddenly realized that her bow was no longer stringed, having been cut during the mad dance of the swordsman. With a definitive click as he fully sheathed his blade again, the ground shook slightly as the whole gang crumpled to the dirt. They were still breathing but were not having a good time.

Time seemed to standstill for eternity. Then the wind blew again and brought them back to the present.

".... Go," ordered the Viera and the gang complied, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

[mist-touchedxiv]

The Floating World of Doma was a buffet for the senses, and sometimes you made yourself sick with the inundation of excess. "Floating World" was an apt name for the red light district, you felt intoxicated just by the atmosphere of desperation, danger, excitement and dreams.

Once upon a time, the crush of people, the noise and maelstrom of scents from the sweet and savory of the food and plum perfume of the pleasure houses would've made the Viera faint, but decades of travel and more had helped the former Wood-warder become inured to the assault on the senses. Plus, the smoke of his pipe helped ease his quite keen sense smell and piling his long sensitive ears under a straw hat had the added benefit of muffling the worst of the sounds while helping him not draw too much attention.

Loksen took a sip from the saucer of sake and shifted his position on the stool of the food stall he'd been eating, watching the parade of nightlife flow by in the street of the red light district. While the smoking of tobacco had a primarily practical effect of dulling the intense smell of the city, Loksen privately enjoyed the added benefit of it being a pleasant accompaniment to a good meal and drink.

As he took a drag on his pipe, through the smokey haze he spotted why he'd spent the past couple of bells perched on this spot (the grilled fish and yakitori and ramen were a nice bonus): a group of extravagantly dressed of Hyur and Roegadyn men with hard edges to their faces and posture that spoke of a disturbing comfort with violence parted the crowd as they walked down the street, an almost animal response to danger from citizens. It was time. Extinguishing the pipe and paying the vendor with a friendly grunt of thanks, Loksen gathered up his bow and sword and entered the flow of foot traffic. For a tall man, Loksen was quite adept at hiding his presence, a practice he would never lose as it was ground into his very bones at a young age. He made his through the crowd, never losing sight of the group he followed as they trudged past pleasure houses, music halls and various pubs.

Soon they arrived at their destination, one of the most renowned pleasure houses in all of Doma, a grand venue of merry-making surrounded by a tall wall where discretion was a cardinal virtue. In a practiced fashion, the group of rough men Loksen had been tailing spread out and created a protective perimeter at the entrance of the establishment.

A large sophisticated looking male Au Ra exited the building, followed by a beautiful elegant Hyur woman being trailed by a small young girl whose head was covered by a scarf, the madam and an attendant no doubt. To be a VIP in this place was to be quite important indeed and the company the Au Ra kept spoke of importance and danger in equal parts.

"Dojima Tendou, I have a writ of capture for by the authorities of Doma," announced Loksen with a strange melodic accent as he stepped passed the flabbergasted bodyguard caught unawares by his arrival into the open space in front of the entrance. His surroundings came into greater focus as his senses sharpened, no longer hampered by smoke. Loksen rested his hand lightly on the top of the scabbard, his fingers grazing an almost invisible trigger mechanism near where the guard met the scabbard, approaching with a laconic swagger. With a loud bang and a flash of steel, it began.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 5

The smell woke him up.

Registering the smell of smoke, fire and the distant sound of light carnage, Loksen was out the bedroom door, bow with quiver on his back and sword sheathed in hand, before he'd opened his eyes. A dull thud and the accompanying ache of a knock to the head, courtesy of the low ceiling of the Lalafell headman's home woke him up faster than coffee. Keeping his head low, Loksen made his through the halls with a soundless dash.

There was a smoky haze and the eerie distant glow of fire through the windows as he approached the sound of the nearest disturbance. Below the upstairs landing, orange firelight illuminated the foyer through the splintered remains of the front door. He could hear three people rummaging downstairs, tossing the place for valuables. He couldn't smell blood; small blessing that so far no one had been hurt in the house or immediately outside, but further out the smell of smoke made it hard to detect anything else.

Pausing at the landing, he detected one of the burglars move away from the other two towards the foyer.

"- I thought these little shits all had a sultan's rans-" The burglar was cut off as a blue mass descended on him from above and landed with a thunderous impact and quickly melted into the shadows.

"What the hells are you on about," said a second bandit with a hint of exasperation, emerging from another room, decked out stolen goods. She stopped, startled by the unconscious form on the floor. "What in Fury happened to-" She let out a pained yelp as an arrow pierced her leg and was yanked into the darkness by a rope tied to the arrow.

The third burst into the foyer hearing the sounds of scuffle, a large nasty knife drawn, muttering curses and grousing that they should have searched more of the house before looting it. But, NNNNOOOOOOO. It just HAD to only be the little old man, his kin and the housekeeper, don't need to look around more. The sudden sound of a silver plate rolling across the floor grabbed his attention as it emerged from the darkness. As he approached where it had came from with his knife at the ready, he let out a choked squeak as a scabbard crushed against his windpipe from behind. He struggled weakly for a moment before being flipped into the low ceiling and came crashing down on a table in a heap out cold.

Loksen exited the house into a night that burned almost as bright as twilight: several buildings were on fire and there was a cart laden with stolen goods. Scanning the area, it appeared that the damage looked worse than it was, but aside from a few bandits whooping and running in and out of homes there didn't appear to be any casualties or townsfolk. Suspecting that they must've received an early enough warning, Loksen headed towards the Thirsty Chocobo.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Loksen Tyr

Writer and aspiring RPer.

Seeker of friends.

AuDHD

Hi all! New year, new outreach post. Which means...

🫵 You

Yes, you! Are you a Final Fantasy XIV blog? I am looking for more people to follow!

Specifically, I like to use these posts as an excuse for a bit of community outreach and to find new blogs and people I might not know of otherwise! If your blog is primarily XIV orientated, or you have a sideblog, please like/reblog this post so myself and anyone else looking for people to follow can have a look through. You never know who you might meet or friends you'll make.

Am I following you already? Too bad, someone new to the community might not be! Let them know you're around!

Under the read more is my own introduction, but I absolutely welcome people to reblog this post and add their own. ✨ Tell me (and others) about you! If you're shy, I promise I don't bite.

If you don't know me, my name is Sea. If you do, I'm still Sea. (See what I did there?)

I'm a jack-of-all trades gposer, writer and roleplayer, with far too many oc's!

You might know me from my various projects including, but not limited to; Sea's Community Compendium (with updates posted here); Sea's Character Questions, including my single-word fic drive; and The Fireside! I'm also an officer of Firelight Trading Company <FTC> on Balmung and run a casual Tumblr Community / Discord over at SEAFLOOR!

I also have a permanent interaction call you can like here for any dash games!

Thanks for reading this far, have a great day. 🐋

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 7

Emerging from the flames of a must unfortunate home came one of the most fearsome sights on any battlefield with the Garleans. Fiery debris slid off the armored hide of the Reaper as it pushed through a wall like it was nothing more than a beaded curtain; the cackle of the Mi'qote woman echoed through the empty street.

"Gods DAMN, you really are an imbecile! You should've kept moving on, vagabond. A few bruises on some nobody, a little something to whet our appetites and we could've just moved on," she taunted from the magitek armor as she languidly stretched in the pilot seat. "But now? Now we have to get rough." To accentuate her point, she let loose a photon stream with a cacophonous staccato at the Viera, who dove out of the way behind a metal container. Arrows weren't going to do much to an armored monstrosity as that. The Mi'qote was an experienced pilot and likely wouldn't allow herself to be vulnerable to arrows, even the praeternaturally skillful archery of the Viera.

"You could save everyone a lot of grief and turn yourself in. A pretty boy like you..." She licked her lips. "Could fetch quite a high price..." she purred as she leaned behind a shield that took an arrow from Loksen with a solid thud. "More than we could squeeze from these bumpkins. You gotta be faster than that," she added with a laugh as she launched another volley of photon stream into the container he hid behind, easily chipping away the metal as he shifted behind the available cover.

Once the burst ceased, Loksen dashed from behind cover and closed the distance with the magitek armor, sheathed sword in hand. With surprising agility, the mech hopped away and launched another burst of strafing fire. A flash of steel and Loksen managed draw his blade and deflect one of the projectiles that got too close as he rolled out of the way.

"Quick little bunny, aren't you," sneered the Mi'qote. "We have the firepower, so just come quietly!"

Loksen's blade gleamed in the firelight as he turned it over on his hand. Retrieving his flask of sake, he took a deep draught then spewed the liquor onto his blade and sheathed it while lowering his stance.

"Real hard arse, ain'tcha," said the Mi'qote with a smirk as she looked at his unusual katana. "We may have to take your head and your steel. Nice piece of work. Probably get a nice-"

Taking a deep breath, the Viera suddenly surged forward with thunderous bang that turned him into a streak of fire that slid to a stop behind the Reaper. Loksen paused a moment in the follow through, holding a now burning blade.

The Mi'qote blinked in surprised, momentarily stunned before trying to bring the Reaper around to blow away the annoyance. Except, she found that the magitek armor's legs had been cut clean through and came crashing to the ground, the cuts glowing red-hot from the slash. As she struggled to extricate herself from the incapacitated Reaper, she found the flaming tip of Loksen's blade at her throat. Looking up, her eyes met the practically glowing icy eyes of the Viera as intense aetheric pressure seemed to emanate from him and with a sigh, she accepted her defeat.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 4

It was unusual for a goblin to be a culinarian, but Eorzea was a land of many mysteries. Slopjox wore the ubiquitous mask of her people, a crisp and immaculate chef's uniform, and instead of the always present giant backpack was an oversized pack filled with an assortment of cooking instruments, knives, various spices and any tool that a high-grade culinarian could need at a moment's notice.

"Still very much early, so sorry-forgives for menu not fully-total ready eat," Slopjox said as she wiped her hands with a cloth. "But for new-stranger uplander, can find something to offer feed." Loksen thanked her with a polite nod as she scurried off, scanning the labels on the many barrels of ale behind the counter. They all appeared to be specialty beers brewed in-house. Soon she brought him a plate of grilled mushrooms and a mug of beer.

Quietly, she observed him as he tucked in. After a moment of silence, she felt compelled to ask "Why no surprise-question that gobbie can cook?"

Washing down the incredible food with the surprisingly earthy but delightful beer, Loksen paused thoughtfully. "... Hrm... I saw a dragon hatch from the moon. Not much surprises me anymore," he replied with a shrug. "But... this is probably among the best food I've ever had."

Slopjox beamed under her mask. "Almost every-all drink and food grow-make with cavey mushrooms. Big proud of our farm!"

Loksen paused mid-sip. Even the drinks? He shrugged and finished draining the mug. He wasn't a brewmaster, but he knew good drink when he drank it and this certainly qualified.

Soon, after having his fill and not wishing to draw unwanted attention as the distant whistle signaled the end of the miners' work day, Loksen paid for his meal and slipped out into the growing shadows as twilight approached.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 2

As a token of appreciation, the Hyur man had insisted on taking the samurai back to his village. After some quick field medicine courtesy of the stranger and coaxing the chocobo and their cart back after tracking the poor creature down a short distance away grazing on some scraggly shrubs, they were off.

The Hyur man introduced himself as Aevar and the reserved samurai likewise as Loksen Tyr. The two men rode together as they hauled a large container of water back to Aevar's village. As they rode, Aevar told Loksen about his village, Arid Cave. They had a small independent mining operation for various metals. According to Aevar, they managed to not draw the ire of Ul'dah's Mining Concern due to one of the headman's ancestors doing a favor for the chair of the concern at some point. As long as they didn't try to compete and reinvested the profits back into the town they were able to trade with a few craftsmen around Eorzea. In recent years they had expanded into farming specialty mushrooms in the caves for cosmetics and high end ingredients for the Culinarian Guild. The town's prosperity had grown modestly, but they were proud of what they had achieved.

The scenery rolled by serenely as they rode. Loksen spoke little, but proved to be a good listener. His eyes scanned their surroundings, but he'd quietly ask short but pertinent questions. Aevar couldn't help but stare a little bit at the Viera male. It truly was about as likely to be hit by a meteor as it was to encounter Viera, even less so a male. He was curious about the tattoo on his face, but didn't ask. The jack was quiet, but vigilant and despite his seemingly taciturn nature, he was good company.

After a couple of bells' ride the town of Arid Cave came into the view. It was a quaint village, built right up against a mountain. It had all the requisite industrial accouterments of any other mining town in Thanalan, but it was so small that it didn't have an Aetheryte. Despite this, the buildings were in immaculate condition, the streets clean and bustling. There was a great tavern, the Thirsty Chocobo, that boasted a variety of ale brewed with the cave fungi by the resident culinarian who enjoyed researching uses for them and some truly wonderful vittles. Due to the lack of an Aetheryte, they had a chocobo porter with a well-maintained stable. There was no inn as nobody traveled here, but Aevar assured him that the headman would have an extra room for him. The population was was small, a couple of hundred with a handful of families who could boast multiple generations in town. Most of the homes were built into the moutain.

As they approached, children and their animal companions raced over to meet them, shouting and laughing and asking the questions all younguns do before peeling off to continue their imaginary adventures. Various townsfolk greeted Aevar as they rode by, quietly surprised to see him with a stranger in blue. Aevar brought the cart to a stop by an enormous water tower and a small crew of workers began to pump the water out of the container and into the tower. Loksen hopped down and helped unfasten the chocobo from the cart before the yellow masked Lalafell porter led it back to the stable.

"Welcome to Arid Cave," announced Aevar proudly.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Test screenshots, courtesy of @elypiphoros

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 6

The glow of the tavern's sign was hardly subdued by the firelight as the neon bird happily drank its fill. His hunch regarding the Thirsty Chocobo's viability as a defensive area for the town in the event of trouble seemed to be correct. The front door appeared to reinforced with a thick metal panel and when he focused his ears Loksen could hear many people inside the tavern, sheltering in place and frightened. Outside the tavern, a couple dozen bandits were milling around, some trying their best to make a dent in the metal barrier over the front door, some yelling generic but passionate threats at the villagers inside, the rest merely waiting.

A chill breeze blew through the town despite the fires and Loksen felt refreshed. As he observed the small crowd, his ears twitched: there was something about these goons that was familiar... aside from clearly being the mooks he had shooed away the previous day. Something about the way they handled themselves and their weapons. Regardless, he needed to thin out their ranks while they were unaware.

A rain of silent death proved to do the trick. The volley of arrows making short work of most of the bandits and causing the rest to flee in terror from the unseen assailant. Loksen approached and surveyed his handiwork with a grim expression. They were motley mix of Eorzeans with a variety of basic, but nasty weaponry. Taking the opportunity, he investigated the bodies for clues to what he recognized. Now that he could properly examine them it dawned on him: the shabby but uniform equipment, the weapons... they were Garlean conscript deserters. Despite their obvious desperation, they were dangerous. Hopefully, this scene would dissuade them from further harassment of thes-

Loksen's keen ears tingled as he heard a sound that made his blood run cold: the whir of magitek weaponry preparing to fire. Suddenly, he found himself twisting through the air and landing hard on the ground, his ears ringing. Despite the disorientation, he managed to stagger to his feet, his vision swimming from the impact. His training kicked in and despite his protesting body, managed to let loose a quick burst of arrows in the direction he thought the attack came from.

As the shock passed and his senses returned, he spat out the taste of blood in his mouth as he realized with horror that not only had these bandits deserted, they had stolen a Reaper class magitek armor.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Patience was key. As in fishing. As in life. The prospect of the great longevity of the Viera had helped instill in Loksen patience, a trait that had come in handy during the years of solitude patrolling the rocky terrain and the lonely majesty of the forests of the Skatay Range. Luckily for him, his territory had a river abundant with fish and allowed him to hone his skills as a fisherman to pass the time.

Patience had also made the grueling hours that stretched into the event horizon of infinite misery of the Garlean prison camp bearable.

Luckily, this wasn't the case as Loksen languidly dangled his feet off the ferry dock in Lominsa Limsa. Blue skies, blue water. A light mist rising off the water as the incandescent rays of the sun met the soothing cool of the ocean.

Patience had thus far rewarded his day, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Lower Docks of Limsa Lominsa. Hundreds of people with hundreds more stories each passed through and Loksen quietly observed them. Normally, the Veena was quite conspicuous due to the long graceful leporine ears of his people, but today he had worn a large wide brim straw hat to keep the overenthusiastic sun off his pale skin.

It fascinated him that he could observe so many with curiosity about them but they didn't even notice him. The thought filled him with a vague melancholy, but there was a certain thrill to the anonymity.

His reverie was broken by twitching from the line he'd been holding in surprisingly calloused hands. He'd gotten a bite.

Hopefully his patience would continue to be rewarded as he turned his attention away from the river of people meandering through the docks and began to pull in his catch.

Still knocking the rust off writing, but hopefully someone will want to RP! -A

[mist-touchedxiv]

An old collab I did.

"Woooooo! Look at the strong man," slurred Rue quite loudly despite Loksen's quiet protests. "My light in shining armor!"

Loksen picked up the pace, really not wanting to be out in the hall of the inn for too long and draw the ire of the management and the other guests. The Au Ra's petite form was easy to carry, but belied how dang loud she could be. He could have refused to carry her like a princess from the tavern, but she'd been INSISTENT, as had the bartender. She giggled drunkenly as he stumbled slightly approaching her room, startled by her tail sliding mischievously on his leg, but thankfully within a moment he got the door open just as a bleary-eyed Roegadyn man yanked his door open down the hall.

"Here comes the bride," she squealed as he crossed the threshold of her room urgently, Rue reaching up to play with his long ears.

Loksen winced slightly as he shut door with his foot a little harder than intended, but he welcomed the sudden darkness of the inn room.

As carefully as he could with Rue trying to tie his ears in a bow he laid her on the bed. The moment she sank into the bed Rue relaxed and began to snore quietly.

Loksen turned to begin to quietly sneak sway when suddenly felt her small slender hand grab his with unusual strength for someone so petite. Surprised, Loksen looked back and tried to slip his hand from her grasp. After a few minutes of making no headway, he sighed deeply with frustration and rubbed his brow with his free hand.

Glancing down at the sleeping woman, Loksen paused a moment. Struck by how peaceful she looked as she slept, her pale skin glowing gently in the moonlight, her scales and horns seeming to shimmer like the calm sea at midnight, Loksen suddenly became aware of how warm her hand was, the small gap between her lips as she breathed steadily.

As he gaze lingered on her serene face, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time: she was someone's daughter, she'd once been so fragile and small, she'd once NEEDED another person. The thought was so incongruous with the woman he knew that it sent a strange thrill down his arm to the hand gripped so tightly by her's and suddenly it didn't seem so bad being stuck.

With a quiet sigh, Loksen accepted that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Reaching over her to grab a pillow off the bed, Loksen carefully sat himself down by the bed on the floor, positioning himself as comfortably as he could with his hand in the drunk woman's. Rue murmured something incoherent as he settled in, his gaze on the big moon out the window.

................

Rue: Lunatic Beauty, Black Mage Extraordinaire

[mist-touchedxiv]

He had to have died. Though, what sins he'd committed to have warranted this trip to the abyss was beyond the Wood-warder.

A cough and the acrid burn of smoke grated across his throat brought him to the present. No. Not dead. But that wasn't a comfort.

Loksen's vision swam back into focus as he half-heartedly shield his face from nightmare heat of an unnatural blue fire that engulfed the market. The cough turned into a retch as another smell reached him: cooked meat.

With surprising alacrity for how godsawful he felt he sat up as his stomach lurched and the horrible burn of smoke in his throat met bile and the terribly pleasant remnants of berries and the copper taste of blood.

Wiping his mouth of the vomit, he dragged himself to his feet, his body protesting quietly the whole way.

The lucky dead (bangaa, Hyur and worst of all, Viera) strewn about in pieces and undefineable masses around the former market, the desert afternoon made dark by an impenetrable black smoke of midnight absurdly lit with the cerulean flames of Garlean destruction.

He remembered the agony of checking every Viera and other for signs of life to no avail. But, he found his attention seemingly guided down a small alley strewn with debris and the detritus of the lives of several pe-

He pushed the thought down, trying to center himself as he stumbled down an impossibly labyrinthine alley. The miles of burning urban hellscape soon gave implausibly a wide shallow stream, surrounded by an infinite darkness. He could feel the cool water sloshing at his knees, but he didn't clock the incongruity. Something. SomeONE had caught his attention. Pristine, beautiful in the knee deep water.

Fruitlessly, he waded through the water trying to close the distance but the crystal clear water was like quicksand.

Soon, the figure was slowly engulfed in the cerulean flames of Rabanastre and his pain intensified as if his very skin was slowly being stripped off his body and he cried.

"Loki... Rakas..." came an achingly beautiful voice from the burning Viera woman.

A psyche shattering primal scream of sorrow tore him asunder with sanity shredding pain.

He awoke with a gasp, his face soaked with sweat and silent tears and sat up with a start. As the drowsiness gave way to consciousness the world around him came into focus slowly.

The smell of sea salt was soon joined by calming rumble of ocean waves and the call of seabirds. Instinctively, he touched the raised scar tissue on the back of neck, a reminder of time past.

Taking several deep breathes to calm himself, he allowed the calming seabreeze coming from the gently undulating curtains of a nearby open window. A sleepy feminine murmur and the surprisingly gently touch of a large slender hand reassuringly gripped his bare inner thigh.

"Loki... you okay..." Merylwyb inquired sleepily into her pillow.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Chapter 3

Aevar volunteered to take Loksen's knapsack to the headman's house up to the spare room, suggesting that he take a load off at the Thirsty Chocobo and wash any trail dust out of his mouth with some good vittles and libations. Loksen hesitated a moment, but the peaceful surroundings and the ride for the past couple of bells had given Loksen an inkling that the Hyur was a decent sort. However, he did insist on holding onto his weaponry, a longbow with quiver and his katana, but promised to keep them wrapped up and inconspicuous.

The tavern wasn't hard to find, a large sign showcasing a chocobo at a water trough taking up much of the facade was a dead giveaway. Loksen observed that it must light up at night in a pleasantly gaudy fashion with the illusion of the chocobo drinking the water. In a town like this, the tavern had an almost community center function with it's close proximity to the mine and relatively central location. Also being built mostly into the rocky face of the mountain provided a place for the community to shelter in times of severe dust storms or, as it can happen out here, attack from beast tribes or unsavory folk who found dirt and desperation in the wasteland a better alternative to dealing with the Brass Blades.

Pushing in the saloon doors, Loksen was surprised by how good it smelled in there. Normally a tavern, especially one so far from civilization had the distinct, but not entirely unpleasant, scent of ale, lagers and spirits of the past with the earthy smell of hardworking folks and the savory aroma of cooking food. Here, it was a delight to the senses, a mix of herbs, savory foods and mouthwatering desserts. There were several worn wooden tables and comfortable chairs around the immaculately clean dining hall and a staircase that led up to a more private lounge area upstairs. Behind the bar was a gigantic industrial copper container with various pipes running through for brewing various beers and several barrels of libations. There was also a view into the steaming and busy kitchen where even at this early hour there was a flurry of activity of several small figures preparing wonderful smelling food.

At this time of day the tavern was empty, not even a town drunk with a designated stool. With a town like this where everyone was able to work, there wasn't much opportunity for day drinking or laying about. But, Loksen was quietly thankful for the privacy and peace, having received a good deal of attention on the walk over from the chocobo porter.

As he approached the counter, his nose detected something odd. Based on the size of the workers in the kitchen he had figured they were Lalafell, but as he came closer...

"Pssshkosh! Welcome-hi to Thirsty Chocobo! How happy-pleased we are to see different-new uplander! I'm Slopjox Tastybrews, culinarian-cook of this herey-place," piped up a goblin behind the counter as she climbed up onto a walkway installed behind the counter.

[mist-touchedxiv]

There was an unusual buzz in the air of New Gridania. People, mainly Woodwailers were crowding the railing overlooking the Jadeite Flood from the Carline Canopy down towards the Blue Badger Gate. On a sizeable outcropping of rock next to the gate, a group of the elite God's Quivers were milling around.

"Impossible! Tis the boast of a child," an Elezen woman in God's Quiver garb barked good-naturedly, the words challenging but the tone amicable.

"Thou are going to ridiculous lengths to not buy the next round," chimed in an older Mi'qote male God's Quiver with a grin, eliciting a ripple of laugh from those in attendance.

A cool breeze blew through like a pleasant memory, the throng of heroic master archers parted and a most unusual man stood at the shore of the Flood. Clad in blue Doman clothing stood a Viera male, a bow held loosely at his side as he gazed across the water. Even at a distance, he was clearly Veena, his pale skin contrasting with his black hair and the unusual blue streaks running through it.

He took a quiet moment, pausing to take a drag from a thin pipe and breathed out a surprisingly pleasant haze of smoke. "I can do it," he replied quietly, his voice a strange almost musical accent that was practically unknown in this part of Eorzea.

He raised his gaze up to the Carline Canopy's balcony high above the flood. Another group crowded the railing overlooking the Flood from the adventurers' guild and hanging from the railing just below the platform was a target.

The group of God's Quivers let out a choir of good-natured laugh before the Elezen woman waved her hands and everyone quieted down. She glanced at a brick wall of a Hrothgar man at the shore who was dexterously rolling a large smooth flat stone between his fingers. He stopped and tossed it up into the air and snatched it then wound his arm back.

The Viera man brought his bow up and drew it back.

The Hrothgar expertly skipped the stone across the water.

One.

Two.

Three.

There was a sharp crack as the Viera loosed an arrow that struck the rock mid-skip and ricocheted up and hit the target high above the water.

There was a brief pause, then the gathered crowd erupted into cheers.