#otolin stone

[snakemoltsiren]

i love them... 🫠

[swingbeard]

corporate needs you to find the difference.

[set-in-stone-writing]

8. shed

He gives him the middle finger.

… suspiciously. 

Arismont’s trying to be subtle about it. 

Something out of the corner of his eye, but…

He sees it through his peripheral anyway, and his lips bend but don’t break. Almost a smile, but… not this time. It isn’t in Otolin’s style to smile at most things anyway.

“Wipe that look off your face.” 

Gruff. Annoyed. Good-natured.

“... what look?”

Deadpan. Quiet. Maybe a little bit mischievous. 

“The one. You know. That one. You’re about to fucking smile. I can see it.”

“... me?”

“Yes, you. Halone’s freezing tits, you know what I hate most about you, Otolin Stone?” 

“... what’s that, Arismont Coultene?”

“I can’t tell what’s going on in that big bald head of yours.”

“... I have hair, you know.”

“Do you fucking think I am looking that close?”

“... yes.”

A growl.

“... Arismont, you’re… you’re perceptive. You hold onto things. You… you don’t forget. It’s like… like a snake that doesn’t want to shed its old skin.”

A pause. 

The middle finger has retracted, but it almost begins to unfurl again, cocked like a finger on the trigger of a gunblade.

“Was that a fucking compliment?”

“... maybe.”

He gives him the middle finger.

Not so suspicious this time. 

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

xxx. sojourn

they’re on the stairs of the broken church.

arismont puffs on his cigar, laying there, but also a hand keeping him propped up.

otolin sits nearby, elbows on his knees, just silently savoring a job well done.

the kidnapped townspeople? safe.

the voidsent? gone, banished back to wherever.

the portal? closed. 

the authorities have arrived, a group of Temple Knights. 

so it’s just the two of them.

“where next, otolin?”

“.... home.”

“ul’dah, right?” “... yes.”

“that’s pretty far fucking travel, isn’t it?” “yes, but after a… a job like this?” “worth it.”

“see you soon then?”

“... see you soon, arismont.”

[lyndztanica]

a gift for Otolin Stone!

[dragons-ire]

Unsung Prompt #4 - Untoward

Hey. Come in. Boss wants to have a drink with you.

The tough-handed Hellsguard reached for Breandan's sleeve when he paused in the doorway. Not grabbing him as much as getting his attention. Suggesting how he could be grabbed if he decided to keep walking.

Breandan paused, perfectly still except for the angle of one elbow. Arced backwards, as if inviting the larger man to try it.

A pair of gold eyes met a pair of vibrant orange ones.

He pulled his arm back and ducked his head to step through the door.

The light was low inside. Dim lanterns on the walls flickering in orange and yellow. A cool stone corridor that opened into a room with a low ceiling.

Card tables and pool tables with men crowded around them.

A man in a hooded robe (purple? red? in the light it was hard to say) holding up one dark corner.

Another man seated at a card table with no card game going.

Breandan approached the table and took his seat uninvited.

"Wasn't expecting to see you here." The man at the table gestured, and that big Hellsguard was there again. Over Breandan's chair, in his space. Putting a glass on the table. Pouring a drink.

He felt the line of tension in his jaw wind just a little tighter. Somewhere in the core of him, the ever-burning coal fire of his spirit smoldered a little hotter. The dragon that lived in the marrow of his bones coiling and wary until the bodyguard stepped back again.

"Wasn't expecting to be here." Breandan reached to pull the glass close. "What do you want."

"Oh don't be so uncouth. It's downright untoward." Came the reply. A folder got shoved across the table, full of papers. "I just wanted your opinion on something."

"Can you afford my opinion anymore?"

"I'll pay for it. I know value when I see it"

As the savviest of businessmen do.

Breandan looked at the table and reached out to flip the folder open. He looked at the sketches of faces and paged carefully through the dossier while his whiskey sat untouched. Then, after he'd taken too long and seen too much of it for safety, he snapped the folder shut and shoved it back.

"No."

"....No?!"

"No. Find someone else to keep their hands bloody for you."

"Here I thought Ishgardians assassinated each other at parties for fun. You've never snubbed my coin before. You going soft?"

"I walked from this." Breandan answered sharply, shaking his head. "I don't do this anymore."

"Didn't recall you having so many godsdamned rules, Ducaille. Last I talked to you, you didn't have so many at all."

"Yeah? Well, They're my employer's rules. I'm not going to break them to come and work for you again."

"Yeah, but....have you considered that - your employer ain't here?"

Breandan took a final look around the room at the figures gathered around. Thought he counted one fewer than before, but in the low light, it was hard to tell. All eyes on him. Hands on weapons or curling at the fingers.

With a quick pass of his gaze, he counted.

Then, looking at the table, he tried counting backwards from ten.

He could almost hear Otolin's halting and patient voice in the back of his mind.

Please...please attempt to de-escalate all situations before resorting to violence.

No...explosions, please.

And no kicking.

"You know what? You're right." A beat.

"I'm not him."

"He's not here."

And he brought his leg up to the underside of the table to knock it over.

No kicking.

(mention: @stone-xiv with his blessing)

[deviri]

Anger

I hate them. Those three words beat themselves against his skull, leaving an imprint that deepens each time he thinks it. I hate them, and Uncle Aelis was right.

The trip through the aetheryte had been a mistake; no sooner had Regulus come out the other side had he dropped to his knees in the center of the plaza, empty the contents of his stomach all across the stone. A concerned citizen had been in the area at the time and had thankfully gone to get a guard, who had been patient as he helped Regulus limp his way to a doctor. The man had tried for answers to what had happened, he really did, but each attempt was met with a snarl and a command to keep walking. No sooner had the clinic come into sight did Regulus tell the man to shove off and limp through the door.

I hate them all. His anger raises with each poke and prod of the doctors. They want to know who did this to him, what happened, is he safe? No, he wants to scream at them. No, he isn’t safe in this gods forsaken land, filled with uncivilized people who think it’s acceptable to attack and stab someone over an insult and then sit there watching. People who leave him in an obviously hostile environment.

Van Baelsar was right. This land needs the steady hand of a Garlean to keep it in line. 

“Do you need somewhere safe to stay?” His doctor takes his face in her hands, tilting it to the side to get a better look at his broken nose. Her glossy eyes are filled with a patient understanding and guilt settles deep into his gut. He thinks of his mother, of her servants and their families, of the people of the Runner.

“No,” He answers, attempting to shake his head and groaning with the result. “I have an apartment in the Goblet that I can go to.”

A nurse shuffles in with a cart and the doctor orders him to lay down so that they can work on his side. The cauterization, while well done, is a danger and the wound needs to be cleaned properly to avoid further damage. From there, she explains, they can see about fixing his head wound. Since they can’t risk putting him under due to a possible concussion they’ll have to give a localized anesthetic. She’ll talk him through the entire process if he wants.

“Do we have anyone to call to come to get you when we’re done?” She waits.

He thinks.

Mother. Father. Uncle Aelis. Aunt Modesta. Gavril. Ulrike. 

He thinks.

Avenai. Xiaohu. Oosra. Avenai. Stone. Severine. Avenai.

Avenai.

Avenai.

Avenai.

“No.” He answers truthfully. “There isn’t anyone.”

(( mentions & hints: @thanidiel @avenai @cynfuldax @otolin-xiv @severine-savage @hactenusinvictus @astrolevitation @atomicdeke}}

[loadedmemory]

“We are all dead. All equal. Broken and aimless and believing we are alive.” ― Catherynne M. Valente

He returned to his rooms.  Henriette long ago departed, his mother in her solar, knitting likely, he couldn’t hear the sound of her rocking chair creaking.  His father probably in his office.  The entire house quiet, all save the sound of wind rattling shutters somewhere and the old manse creaking in protest.

In the bathroom he removed the filthy things he’d been working in all day and climbed into the bath.  Usually he remained there for a time, soaking in the warmth.  This time, he washed swiftly, wanting his bed instead.  

The sound of Otolin’s voice remained with him.  The halting way he spoke.  Taking time to consider his words.  The silence.  Silvestre knew these things all too well.  How patient everyone around him had to be to let him gather his thoughts.  They were nothing alike, the pair of them, and yet they were brothers to something inexplicable.  Something forbidden, that even their own minds tried to shield them from.

The gaps in their memories.  Silvestre’s far more severe, but Otolin’s just as concerning.  The skills they knew, yet knew now how they came to have them.  The language.  Perfect as if they grew up speaking it.  But how could they?  Neither of them were Garlean.

Were they?

He curled up in bed, pulling the coverlets tight around his body.  He needed to find Otolin and speak to him again.  Or Brighid, to tell her what all they learned together.  Still a puzzle, but one that suddenly had a lot more pieces to fit together and painted a larger picture.

He just wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that picture was.

(Otolin belongs to @otolin-xiv.)

[thanidiel]

Character Summary - Xiaohu

art by @gyrabanian

alias/nicknames. Xiaohu, Chitora, 'Pretty Face', disposable identities

gender. cis female

age. 26 (by age of reckoning)

zodiac. Unknown (Scorpio)

abilities + talents. being an 8head

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Ancestral & Kami worship

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, Hingan, Doman, Garlean, Auri, Eorzean Sign Language.

family. Qiao (Mother); Jing (Father, deceased); Jian (Brother); Mei (Sister); Chenglei (Brother); Ai (Sister, deceased); An (Brother); Adrian Suzaka, Felore Soleil, Vander Thuun, Kowa Brimaine (Sworn Bonds)

(most intimate) friends. Breandan Ducaille, Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose, Severine Sauvageot, Kowa Brimaine, Vander Thuun, Ayla Thatcher, Elise Ebonheart, Evilie Voutellievre, Adrian Suzaka, Avenai Wyverne, Torithas Bloodtalon, Rhys Pent, Esen Dazkar

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / responsive

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 5'2"

scars. Raking scar tissue on the left hemisphere of the cranium.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

Nightmare - Halsey

TV Head - Elliot Lee

That's Okay - Hush Sound

Isolated - Chiasm

Rise - Zamilska

[dawning-star]

Seeking . . .

The task she had been given was simple in nature, yet in some ways it seemed everything but that. Finding just any place could be easy. Finding an area more alive with aether? Maybe that was a little less easy. Yet more and more these days she was becoming aware of it. Gaining a feel for the world. A new perspective even. Connection. It was odd, almost an unintended side-effect to actually focusing with a purpose. Beyond merely trying to complete a task and channel.

Or was it all a part of the training and the man far more cunning than she sometimes gave him credit for. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him, yet that thought wasn’t at the forefront of the xaela’s mind. Far from it, in fact.

The search had sparked a bit of an internal debate for the woman, with each barefoot step she took along the shroud, heading further from home fulm by fulm. Seeking, ever searching for that little place to report back with and complete the assignment handed to her. So that the next step could properly begin. However that would go.

That idea of furthering her own growth excited her...yet terrified her at the same time. It was hard for her to put into words, or would be if anyone had ever asked her about that. Truth of the matter was though, she’d yet to confide in anyone those steps that she was about to be taking. Rinalys was truly on her own here, one foot effectively in front of the other, quite like each step she now took. Her right foot which connected her with the land, the left merely mimicking lest she fall on her face. It was quite likely she would never truly grasp a feel on that side ever again.

At least, beyond the pains that still wracked it on a rare occasion. Somehow she knew that wasn’t about to go away. For a blessing, such a thing was infrequent. Though it had been some weeks since the last bout.

Shaking such thoughts from her mind, the woman would ease back into the task at hand. Feeling the earth, seeking and sensing what felt right for her. Deeper such steps carried her into the Shroud, the Twelveswood being the only land that felt really right to explore for the goal. It had saved her once, surely it would help guide her along the path of her growth. That was what she felt at least, and ultimately the choice was hers. As well as to continue the path...or well, start on it in a sense. That first chakra.

Otolin had provided her with an example. Or well, shown her how his worked, the strain it had on him in turn. The first had been no surprise to her, having seen it some moons before. But he had gone further when the topic had come up about hers. Frankly, she hadn’t been prepared. Likely still wasn’t in some ways. It also left her wondering what would...or could happen. Sowing that seed of fear for worst case scenarios that may or may not come to pass. Yet it would be her own hill to climb, wouldn’t it? For better, surely in the long run. Rin knew she wouldn’t grow otherwise, no matter how taxing each step from there on would be. For a grace she had his guidance for as long as he would offer it to her.

For now though, her steps on the path carried her further, deeper within the Southern fringes of the Shroud. Along earth, grass and flowing waters to where sparse crystals marked the land. The place, Urth’s Fount was it? Somehow along the way she had gone past the kalongs, boars and keds to come to a stop there. Thoughts and senses really had consumed her in the process. Yet it had paid off. Or so she thought, unless she misunderstood her task entirely. The feeling she had told her she was on target, however.

“This could do nicely. I hope.”

- - - - - - - -

Something something @stone-xiv mention because he's probably going to make her suffer soon.

[snakemoltsiren]

If I'm butter, then he's a hot knife He makes my heart a CinemaScope screen Showing the dancing bird of paradise I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter If I get a chance, I'm gonna show him that He's never gonna need another, never need another

[swingbeard]

Just wanted to give a quick shout out to @quelfabulous, @entropytea, & @kinari for their help in taking down Alexander - The Soul of the Creator (Savage) tonight to get the mount.

That fight is still a little bit of a challenge even with an undersized and over-geared party, but it’s still a really fun time! We ran the raid a few times and were able to get everyone who ran a mount.

[set-in-stone-writing]

9. fair

Not an ideal situation.

Otolin goes tumbling and tossing through dirt and stones, but eventually comes to a complete stop face-down. No sounds except for a long sigh. 

He’s always hurting to some degree. 

Getting clobbered in the chest by a big beefy arm courtesy of a voidsent isn’t anything new.

He slowly gets up to the sounds of a derisive snort and a keen, killing look. It’s ready to do something. It wants to go. It wants more. It wants-

It wants to fight.

“... alright, alright,” he offers with a little shake of his head. “... give me a moment…” 

It doesn’t really heed any words.

The creature begins to charge. 

“... oh.”

Fangs bared, claws at the ready, big feet stomping and stamping and-

BOOM! 

The sound follows the flash. 

In comes a familiar figure garbed in black, a gunblade of steel and red death in a hand, penetrating the creature and exploding in one fell swoop. His face is covered in blood, but his teeth are pearly white, standing out in the miasma of color and carnage. 

“Ha! Fuck you!” 

Otolin has barely gotten up, and so he just lays his head back down for a few. A sigh. 

He’s just going to lay right here for a moment.

“Not everyone gets to make explosions with just their hands and feet! MUST BE FUCKING NICE!” 

“.... Arismont, please.”

“No, no, I get to bitch. I get to complain once.” 

The creature, which had gone flying in the opposite direction, begins to get back up to its feet and lets out a roar.

Arismont just smiles and brings his weapon around to bear, loading another cartridge in the chamber and slamming it shut. There’s a satisfying mechanical sound, a chunk-chunk, as it does so. 

“And now that I’ve saved your ass, Otolin, I’m going to get my mo-”

The voidsent is already on him.

“Oh, fu-”

BOOM!

The sound follows the flash.

Otolin is on the creature’s left in an instant, and lets loose with a right fist that connects with its jaw. It goes flying again, tossing and turning in the air, before hitting a nearby wall and crashing through it in a heap.

“Come the fuck on!” Arismont exclaims, dropping his stance. “That’s not fair!” 

“... you said you would only complain once,” Otolin retorts in that deadpan tone. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

xxvii. hail

otolin, what is it like to be a god?

it’s… nothing good.

but you go back to it?

when… when i have to.

do you enjoy it?

no.

why not?

because that sort of thing isn’t for people. being a person is better.  being otolin is better. 

there’s no point in being a god, being… a king, if you kill all the people, who would hail you. 

[vermilionwinds]

Character Summary - Remeraux

alias/nicknames. Rem, the Crimson Corsair (briefly)

gender. cis female

age. On the cusp of 31

zodiac. Virgo

abilities + talents. Marauder, sailor, war veteran, resistance tactics, Red Magic (sort of), knot-tying, singing, fiddle playing

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Devout follower of Llymlaen, but considering the worship of her is mostly sailing superstitions, she doesn't spend much time in services. Lights a candle and makes offerings when she needs guidance, though.

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, conversational Hingan, conversational Bozjan

family. Birth Mother (Celestine, deceased), Birth Father (Pierrent, deceased), Sister (Rosamonde), Adopted Mother (Danifa Nadasch), Adopted misc parents (Xavier Folchambres, Athilda Glass) (Many others, deceased)

friends. Severine Sauvageot, Breandan Ducaille, Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose, Tohkta Qestir, Jeanne Castelle

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (violet)

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 6'8

scars. Many. Lascerations, bullet wounds, burn scars, scattered all across her torso, arms and legs. A thin line of a scar across her right cheekbone. A purple-tinted knot of scar tissue on her left-side, roughly the size of her fist.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

RUNAWAY- Half-alive

Sarah - Derina Harvey Band

Another Town, Another Train - ABBA

[dragons-ire]

#6 - Avatar

Mister Pike.

The coy appellation had come out of that first meeting all that time ago. Sitting on the couches in Severine's apartment, while Otolin laid out his ideas. All three of them in a flux of some kind. Moving between one place and another. Crawling out of the dirt. Tearing aside rotten leaves so new ones could grow.

A man who'd been called Crag in a forgotten-past and a woman the urchins in Pearl Lane already called Saint Savage spitballing words for Breandan's favored weapon until he spat out the word they used to describe the units and kinds of polearms they fashioned in Otolin's ostensible homeland.

As if that was the sole reason. Here he was, just the Ala Mhigan's Pike.

It seemed to be one of the Ala Mhigan in questions' favorite party tricks. Savage. Crag. Pike.  As he made the brief introductions and pointed out each of them with a light gesture of his powerful hand.

And they settled in, and he hung and placed things in the office space he lived in as much as worked in that he liked looking at. That reminded him of places he'd been and people he'd been there with.

And on the wall behind his desk went a framed sketch of a lonely statue, half buried in the frost of the Western Highlands. A caped figure in a helmet bearing a lance. A monument people just called The Pike.

Children in Ishgard learned this story young: Haldrath the Dragons-Eye. Ishgard’s first Azure Dragoon. A king's son who tore a treasure from the skull of their great enemy. Who eschewed title and prestige in favor of vengeance, in going to the field and staying there to keep his people safe. 

How many times had he yammered about it to his sister on the estate when they were small? Regaled Silvestre over campfires in the snow while they rubbed their hands and watched the skies?

Noone seemed to tell it anymore.

(Mentions: @stone-xiv, @severine-savage, @loadedmemory, @witchespromise)

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast