#relsar manasse

[relsar-xiv]

"I can't say things went all that well for her after she left the Solace and your care, though I understand the reasoning behind her doing so," he comments in a measured voice. "Because of such, she'll likely be leaving Eorzea, permanently, and not return until well after the kingdom's been freed."

The former proprietor froze when he mentioned that she was leaving. "I'm sorry, what? She's leaving?" he blinked with a confused look on his face.

There's the faintest of twitches at the corner of his lips, an upward turn that lasts a fraction of a second. A bandaged hand waves towards the Southeast, indicating a direction in comparison to where they currently are now.

"As far as she's concerned, she's leaving nothing but painful memories and failure in her original mission, Mister Ramsey," he explains calmly. "Instead of a Dalmascan hero, she found a broken lecherous drunkard. She thought she found someone who wouldn't hold her back from her work, only to have them betray her as well."

His hand lowers to the arm of the chair, and he leans against the armrest heavily. He gives a shake of his head as his eyes close before opening once more to focus on the other man. "But, if you do wish to see her before she leaves, she's off at the only ally against the Empire she's found - a free company with rather deep pockets, here in the Mists."

"Here in the Mists? Then I will find her." The other man is resolved, his gaze slipping from the redhead and heading back to the door. He couldn't really just up and... No, he could. He could leave him there and break out looking for the place where she'd gone.

He reaches over and picks up the cloche, brushing the dark felt off a little, despite the fact that there's nothing on it. Feathers are straightened with an idle motion as his tone shifts a little.

"I don't need to remind you that she is a princess, and all of the pitfalls and expectations that come from such, I'm sure," he adds as the feathers are adjusted. "Squabbles between different cells of a resistance movement are one thing, the politicking of nobility and officials is another."

"Aye, aye. I'm aware the politics is something that needs must be watched over because she is in a position of power." The other man agreed, raising to stand. "I only want what's best for her." The other man went on to speak, regarding him with his gaze. "I have only ever wanted to see her in good standing with all she meets and in good health."

The corner of his lip twitches again, flickering upward before the expression vanishes. He stands as well, moving to place the cloche back on his head before motioning towards the door with a bandaged hand.

"By all means, Mister Ramsey. Haste is likely for the best, lest my sister makes regrettable mistakes and becomes bound to them," he answers, moving to follow the other man out of the estate. "Best if you don't mention this little visit. She's stubborn, and hates it when I interfere with things."

"I suppose we part ways here until... Well. Some other time. I'm sure we'll meet again sometime." The dark-haired man added, offering him a nod before heading off in the opposing direction.

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Prompt #13: Results

Open.

Still clad in armour, he sits on the edge of the bed in the Drowning Wench, taking two long, deep breaths before he lifts his hands up before him, hands opening wide. His features contort with pain, but he forces his hands to open wider, and wider, until they are fully extended.

Close.

Bending his arms at the wrist, he begins to close his gauntlet-clad hands over the course of three breaths, the pain changing in tone and texture, his hands halting in their movement briefly before he fully closes his hands.

Out.

Five breaths, as he moves first his left arm forward, extending until he cannot, his fist still closed. Three breaths, and it retracts, the right moving to make the same motion. The pain shifts again, causing another grimace, but he forces his arm to reach as far as it can, keeping his fist closed as tight as he can. Even as his expression contorts from the burning sensation that flickers through his hand, he raises the left to join the right.

In.

As the light dies with the setting sun, he opens both hands and pulls them back towards his central mass, breathing deeply five times. The pain begins to fade as he relaxes his arms and hands, letting them settle into his lap briefly.

Result.

There was a time when he couldn't move his hands at all, and each day he did the simple exercises the village wise woman had shown him, he recalled that time. No aetheric healer had been available to him after they escaped Nalbina, the nearest safe village having a wise woman who knew her herbology and anatomy well. Having been sliced apart, the muscles and tendons in his palms took some time to heal, and still often caused him pain, particularly when he wore the armour. Even though they had lost much of their dexterity and speed, he could move his hands again, at least enough to finish becoming a knight.

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Prompt #24: Undertones

Water glittered in thin strands, falling from the cliffs far above, flickering over the stone face in the afternoon sun. Docile water sprites, content with their hidden sanctuary, float above the pool, and along the shelf that clings to the right side of the canyon. Sounds are muted above the roar of the waterfall, the clash of the watery ribbons into the shimmering pool below, though the chirping of birds, the chirping of insects, the distance sound of the dock at the end of the gorge flutter through the rush of water.

A lone figure waits atop the shelf of stone, gaze turned towards the myriad strands of water that lace down the cliff-side, the shadows of the gorge helping mask his expression. Red hair danced in the wind created by the cul de sac of stone, tips lashing across the metal trimmed eye-patch with a faint whisper. Multitudes of blades are sequestered on his person, none visible to the naked eye, though he knew that his quarry would realise that.

Yet, still his quarry willingly walked into the trap. Rel had insisted he would take responsibility, accept whatever punishment was handed down to him, even if it meant death; part of him couldn't blame Rel - if he had spent nearly thirty years apart from a twin of any sort, he might have wavered in his own convictions. The cold, rational side realised the danger the plan that the bastard prodigal child of Dalmasca carried, and couldn't accept that someone like Rel had gone along with it, after thirty years of playing dead.

The sound of footfalls against the loose grave that covered the shelf drew his attention, causing him to turn back towards the thin strip of land that lead to the alcove. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, the pit of his stomach beginning to gnaw at him. Something was wrong with the situation, so variable he wasn't aware of had been introduced, he could feel it. As he watched the finely dressed man approach, his senses honed to a razor's edge as he tried to find the missing piece of information.

He caught sight of the man standing at the edge of the stone shelf, noting all the small changes to the man's body language. While Saber was capable of controlling even the minutiae expressions of his body and face, he had known him long enough to see through even the most marshalled of expressions the rogue could give. The other man was tense, more tense than he had seen him since they first met some ten summers ago when the brash young man took over his father's work, becoming his keeper.

Still, he strolled down the canyon at a leisurely pace, whistling one of the old Dalmascan tunes he often turned to during long walks. These songs, hummed or whistled, often let him notice whether another of his kinsmen were in the area, and while from time to time, he would notice an expression of familiarity cross someone else's face, no one had ever confronted him about it. It often let him ferret out Saber long before he could otherwise find the man. Today, there was little need for the technique, given the other man was standing out in the open - aside from perhaps reminding the young man who he was dealing with.

"You needed to speak with me, Saber?" he inquires casually as he enters the end of the gorge, hands resting lightly along the pockets of his pants. "I expect that this is over something of import, given the Bismark wasn't used."

Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, he nods in acknowledgement of the greying knight's assessments. Arms folded, he moves across the stones, uncovered eye locked upon the other redhead, mind considering everything that must be effected in the span of minutes. He halts but a handful of fulms from his former friend, giving his best sardonic smile as he ceases his advance.

"Little gets past you, Rel. I always liked that about you," he mentions, head shaking two or three times. "You've generally been easy to work with, more so than most of the people I have to deal with."

It was his turn to have the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The words that the other redhead used did nothing to veil why he had been called here, to a remote location where it's hard to hear anything but the sound of the waterfall and the rushing river. Instincts primed, eyes finding each and every weak point the mercenary possessed, along with the strengths he had.

Weaknesses, strengths, and the six or seven daggers the other man had hidden beneath his jacket, pants, and boots.

Taking the situation in stride, Rel proposes in a quiet voice, "You don't have to do this, Saber. Think it all through, kid. Orders are not often as specific as you think they are."

A scoff falls from his lips as he watches the dead man, a shake of his head causing the tips of his hair to flutter across the eye-patch. He had expected Rel to try to get him to reconsider, leading him to think of myriad arguments against it. Anger began to rise to the surface, and he silently cursed Valera for putting him into the one position he'd hoped he would never have to be in.

"You know better, Rel - I warned you what would happen if you listened to that piece of shit noble," he retorted, unconsciously shifting the blame from his life-long friend to the fallen hero. "There were other ways of going about what you wanted, parading around looking like the dead prince was the worst possible one."

He had to keep the mercenary off balance, buy enough time for his fail-safe to prepare. And so he shrugs at the younger man, shaking his head as his arms deliberately spread to either side of his body, palms turned at an angle towards the other redhead. He keeps his tone steady and even, audible above the roar of water, but he refrains from yelling.

"Come on, Saber. You said yourself the distraction had its uses. What happened to moving our emissaries around?" he inquires, shifting away from why they were both here. "With Imperial eyes on me, and my sister, you said a good number of them could be moved to Doma without notice. Get them to Lord Hein without their prior locations being revealed. What happened to the promise of making the best use of my folly?"

Despite his efforts to choke down his anger at the other redhead, his nature gets the best of him. He lashes a finger out at the older man, sneering at his words, countering, "None of that is any of your concern anymore, Rel. What's done is done, and it's time to lay in the bed you've made. I ain't gotta answer a damn question, so stop asking them."

His hands lower, dipping inside of his pockets as adrenaline rushes through his form. Breaking into a dead run, he launches forward, blades sliding from their hidden holsters, turning towards the man before him. Aware of the fact that his quarry possesses a far more powerful weapon, his blades hone in on the man's palms, seeking to undo all the years of work they'd put into regaining the dead man's lost strength.

A thin strip of fabric wraps around the mercenary's left blade, jerking upon the weapon hard, shifting the alignment of his attack. Her ward jerks to the side, hands lowering as the blades go wide as she pulls hard on the rest of the apron. There's a flick of her wrist, and the fabric slips away from the blades, threads severing against the edges, though there's plenty more fabric for her to work with.

The mercenary's attention shifts towards her, his expression incredulous yet highlighted with fury as he's now forced to defend himself. It was not lost on her that had the attack struck true, her ward would be defenceless. Instead, she gave him the moment he would need to turn the tables, as her apron would only last so long.

With the younger man's attention on the maid, the elder redhead gives a soft sigh as he reaches towards his back, as if to draw a blade across his shoulder. His hand nearly closes into a fist around the air, when a flash of illumination from beneath the leather strip on his right wrist explodes. Cobalt metal halts his fingers, and they wrap around the hilt of the blade, pulling it from the aether at pace, swinging it around his form and into position.

Her gamble had paid off. Her master had warned her that her charge may possess a blade that matched his sister's, but they hadn't had time to discuss it before it's needed. He had asked her to buy him some time, should the mercenary chose to attack, but she didn't have confirmation as to why.

Now she did, the raw aether bleeding from the blade causing goosebumps to flicker across her skin.

"That's enough, Saber," her charge intones, bringing the blade to bear. "Don't do this, man. You're leaving us little choice."

Attention shifts, the single eye of the redhead flickering towards his former friend, a grimace twisting across his lips. He moves to resume his attack on the other man, shorter daggers being traded for longer ones as he pivots on the ball of his foot, sprinting towards the knight. She sighs at his recklessness, his anger, recalling the day she had attacked the man who would become her master.

Wrist twists, the apron lashing out, one end of a tie held in her hand, the rest of the fabric fluttering forward, the second tie finding the mercenaries' wrist, wrapping like a whip around it. A grunt escapes her lips as she yanks back on the apron, forcing the man to spin towards her direction, his footing stuttering as he attempts to stay upright in the wake of the velocity change.

"Eyes over here, boy," she growls, her voice rough and unrefined - a startling contrast to the girly dressings she wears.

Sneering, the man slices a blade through the apron strap that holds his wrist, aether coalescing along the now free blade as he flicks it in her direction. The blade distorts, splitting into myriad thinner blades that begin to assault her. Separated from its target, the apron flutters back towards her, twisting this way and that as she dances back, the fabric deflecting well over half the flying blades, while the rest bury themselves into the stone beneath her former position.

Her charge sighs, twisting his blade towards the other man, making a slight slashing motion at one angle, before shifting to make another slash in the opposite direction, creating a cross of aether. He finishes the movement by slicing the blade through the centre of the cross, and the sound of shrieking metal echoes through the canyon, the mercenary's blade almost exploding in his hand.

Throwing the weapon as it begins to rip apart, the hot-blooded man curses at his former friend, "Fuck, Rel, goin' right for the throat, eh?"

She surges forward, the half-shredded apron lashing out again as she spins on the ball of her foot to generate more kinetic force, wrist flicking the ribbons on either end outward, aiming for the younger man's foot. The fabric connects, but fails to wrap around his ankle, and the mercenary continues his charge at the knight.

At the last second, the young man's form collapses, aether surging forward and past the guarding blade, twisting back into his shape on the other side of her charge. A smaller blade slips from its hidden sheath, and the mercenary spins around, driving it into the other redhead's side, burying in flesh.

Breaking off his attack, the mercenary darts down the path leading out of the gorge, slipping into the shadows as he flees. The knight drives the sword into the stone, parting it like butter as he leans against the Blade for support, gasping in pain. Fleeing attacker forgotten, she rushes to her charge, slipping around his body to inspect the wound.

She was no chirurgeon, but she knew that withdrawing the blade would cause his blood to flow more freely, while moving him with the blade buried in his flesh would lead to more damage, the sharp edges rending more tissues with each movement.

Her hand raises to the linkpearl at her hear, activating the small device as she growls, concern slipping into her words, "Master Valera, we've been attacked. The prince is injured, and we need help - moving him is not an option."

((L’enah, the maid, is one of @thelionofdalmasca‘s characters, and I feel ashamed at having to write her according to his design. Also, more pictures in a minute - taking too long to get them all.))

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Prompt #27: Fling

Seven Summers Ago

He awoke as the sun's light filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a warm, yellowed glow. Eyes adjusted gradually, as the events from the prior night come flooding back into his mind, causing him to look to his left, blinking.

A pretty Highlander woman lay beside him, still fast asleep. They were both naked, and it dawns on him that the two had been uncommonly drunk the night before, and that she had invited him back to her room; apparently, he took her up on the offer, though he didn't remember such clearly, nor did he recall the walk to the room.

Vague impressions of the rest of the night come and go, though he couldn't recall the details of everything, and was unsure of the order of what had occurred after they'd reached the room. A twinge of guilt coursed through him, as he delicately slips out of the bed, eyes casting about for his clothing.

He finds that his shirt lies on the centre of the desk, while his trousers are tossed along the side of the fountain. His shoes are on opposite sides of the room from one another, his socks in much the same state, and his hat is hanging on the banister of the bed. It takes a long moment to collect everything, as he puts each garment on as he moves around the room.

Aquamarine eyes glance back to the woman sleeping in the bed. Her darkly tanned skin is a stark contrast to the cream sheets, her red hair startlingly like his own, though she had no freckles to speak of as he did. That hair had been tied up into a tail at the crown of her head, but over the course of the night, the binding had loosened, and now was off-centre as it lay against the pillow.

There's another twinge of guilt, mixed with regret, as the hat is placed upon his head, and he turns to leave the room. With a final glance back at the woman, a soft smile plays across his lips for a brief moment, before he slips out of the door, shutting it as noiselessly as possible behind him.

He doesn't make it all that far from the inn before there's a blur of motion, hands grasping the front of his shirt as he's slammed back into a wall. A familiar face, marred by a dark leather eye-patch, abruptly fills his view, snarling as he gasps for breath after the impact.

"What in the seven hells do you think you're doing, Rel?" his handler growls, mere ilms away from his face. "My situation teach you nothing, did it? Gonna run around, not thinking about anyone but yourself?"

While he shouldn't be stunned by the rogue's reaction, he's caught off guard, having no recollection of the man following him the night before, even before becoming intoxicated. Although he was unsure, he believed that he wouldn't have done as he had, were the younger man present - not after the trouble the mercenary had with his own unfortunate history.

His bandaged hands reach up to grasp the hands clawing into his shirt, trying to pry them open as he answers, the regret flickering into his words, "Saber...I-- I'm sorry, I had no idea..."

"You're supposed to be dead, Rel. Dead. Dead men don't have children, so don't go putting yourself in a situation where that might happen," the other redhead hisses, refusing to release his shirt. "You can't be there if that happens, Rel. You can't. Do you want another kid to deal with what I had to?"

A soft sigh escapes his lips, his hands remaining around the mercenary's, although he stops trying to pry them open. Aquamarine eyes meet chocolate ones, concern, guilt, and regret flickering through them as he tries to calm the rogue down, voice going soft as well, "You're right, Saber. It won't happen again, I swear. I won't be like your father, I pr--"

The sentence goes unsaid, as he's slammed against the wall once more, the rogue snarling intensely, "He is not my father. Never call him that. Never."

Coughing, he nods his head three or four times, as vigorously as he can while winded. His hands tighten on the other man's, again trying to soothe him as he murmurs, "...right, right. I'm sorry, Saber. I truly am."

After a long moment of glaring at him, holding him up against the wall, the mercenary's grip lightens, and his feet can be placed firmly against the ground. The younger man shakes off his hands as he releases his shirt, raising a single finger in the scant space between them. His singular gaze is still harsh, condemning.

"Do it again, and you'll regret it," he hisses, hand lowering as he turns to move away. "I don't want to have to kill you, Rel. Don't fuck up again."

He gives a long sigh as the rogue slips out of the alleyway, and back into the crowded street, vanishing from view.

"I don't want you to have to kill me either, Saber," he replies, his voice lost to his friend. "I won't fuck up again, I swear."

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Prompt #4: Saving Time

He had been waiting patiently for some time, resting on the bench beneath the giant willow tree. He could have simply sent a message back to his sole contact within the resistance, tried to confirm information that way; however, he had been given information about who else was from his home, and that the man was already involved with his sister’s work. And so he elected to address matters with the freshly minted Captain, instead of waiting for weeks for information to make it back to Dalmasca, and then return to him in Limsa.

The great tree obscured most of the presence of the person waiting, and he was dressed casually, as he often does when in the Mists, near his home. There was a slight pause as he attempted to discern who was waiting for him, but the boy seemed entirely unfamiliar, especially with his cloche blocking most of the view of his face.

As the knight approached, he raises his head slightly, glancing up at him. The knight makes his inquiries, and the conversation turns in the boy’s favour; the Lion was not aware he was now Captain, confusion dancing through the knight’s words - he thought that he was the Captain, not the knight. Unable to keep his answers vague, he answers, mentioning his sister’s decisions about the man.

This was not what he had been expecting; he had expected a quiet night at home, waiting for his charge to return from...wherever she was at. Instead, now he was unsure of whether he was trapped in another delusion, or if he really was speaking to someone who might well be dead.

Very slowly, he removes his hat, setting it aside before looking back up at the knight, well aware of what was about to transpire; he was, after all, a dead man walking, regardless of whom the knight thought he was speaking to. He disliked the feeling that came over him as the knight looked into his face, fully - the look of someone who had seen a ghost.

Although scarred, the face staring up at him was hauntingly familiar, even with the red hair. Despite the fact that he knew his reaction overwhelmed him before he could mask it, the boy calmly stared up at him with indifference, as if he expected such a reaction. Questions flooded from his mouth, one after another, none of them seeing to phase the boy. It was not a conversation to be having outside, that much was clear.

He follows the knight down the small path that leads to the estate door, agreeing that the conversation likely isn’t one to be having where others can overhear; he did, after all, have to maintain his death, and speaking openly of his past was the last way to keep that hidden.

With a faint hesitance, he leads the boy to the door, holding it open for him. The boy is all too aware of the fact that that the treatment is unnecessary, however he fails to recognise it, even as they enter and he confirms that he is just like his sister.

He leads his visitor down into his study, settling down onto the couch opposite the boy, still unnerved by his appearance, his manner; his sanity is questioned, every time he looked to the boy. More questions were asked, so many running through his head, to the point where he can’t decide what order to ask them in.

He remains calm, explaining - at length - how he was at Nalbina, a simple page barely having made squire to one of the knights who was regularly stationed there. He omits the fact that as a page, he had - from time to time - attended the man the knight suspects him to be; he didn’t want to upset his sister’s ruse entirely. Speaking about the moments before his near-death caused a heaviness in his cheat, one he suspected the knight often shared.

The story the boy told him made him even more unnerved. It was enough that the boy looked just like the boy - no, man that he had failed, though it was like the boy before him was far older than his charge had been when Nalbina fell. The eerie similarities in the outcome of the battle for them was all too much for him; the lines between who the boy was and who he might be blurred hard.

He confirms to the knight that any way it was sliced, he should be dead, and so he became so. While both himself and the man his features mirrored had died, according to any and all records the Dalmascans and Garleans had, raising his head and drawing attention would cause far too many questions - just as the ruse of his sister, and others, drew attention from where it really needed to lie.

He fights the delusions trying to overcome him, the scar flickering away, only to flicker back into sight as he stared at the boy who told him everything and nothing, much the way his sister did. In his sight, the boy’s hair shimmers from red to blond, his dress clothes to knightly armour. His urgency at the fact he must remain dead not entirely lost, but perhaps not for all the right reasons.

There are far too many questions for one evening. And so he draws the conversation with the knight to a close. There will continue to be questions, he’s all to sure of it, so he informs the knight that he can be contacted by uttering a a phrase that all Dalmascans should know to the barkeep of the Limsan Adventurers’ Guild.

“Sword in hand, a warrior clutches stone to breast,  In sword etched he his fading memories.  In stone his tempered skill. By sword attested, by stone revealed.”

Words cut deeper than any sword had, as the boy recited the last words that Ba’gamnan had as he lay dying, before the Zodiac stone erupted in his grasp, and changed him from Bangaa to monster. Memories of the Captain murmuring the names of their highness's, right into his ear as he stared at the boy. Shock riddled his face, his body, a visceral reaction to having to ever utter those words himself.

The knight’s reaction is lost and not lost upon him - hearing the words every Dalmascan knows was like to spook any of them, especially as a passphrase. No excuses are made, however, and he excuses himself for the time being, having learned far more than he would have had he sent missives back to the East.

((Images were taken by both myself and @leothesimperingmidlander after much delay due to my computer exploding. He got a really amazing shot of Rel that wasn’t used, that I’ll be putting into his LFRP whenever I get a chance to get it done.))

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Prompt #19: Gelid

Strolling casually along the docks that pass for streets in the city-state, the redheaded man makes his way to the Bismark, whistling a sea shanty as he travels. Upon reaching the culinarian's dreamworld, he breaks for the terrace, looking around for the man he's supposed to be meeting. It doesn't take long to find him - the pinstripe shirt is striking enough, but the Ishgardian cloche was a real stand out in Limsa Lominsa.

He waited at a small table for two, glancing up at the gangplank leading into the restaurant. He often felt self-conscious about being out in public, but was doubly so today, a bandaged hand reaching up to tuck more of the cropped, blond hair beneath his cloche. His eyes spotted the eye patch on a man who had entered the terrace, and nods to the mercenary with a tight-lipped smile.

Pausing at the table, he nods to the dead man, smirking a little before taking a seat. Casually, he picks up the second menu, glancing over it while making small talk with the well-dressed man across from him. "Picked a fine day for this," he comments, his voice a little rough, despite the fact he speaks better than most Lominsans. "Sunny skies, nice breeze, comfortable location."

He nods faintly, motioning for the other man to take a seat. The dead man wastes little time with more pretence than necessary, cutting to the chase with the merc across the table from him. "Listen, I need a favour, Saber," he begins, looking out over the water. "I'm sure it's pretty clear there's been a bit of a shift in plans."

"You're blond, and you shouldn't be," he states in a cooling voice. "What in the seven hells are you meaning to pull, Rel?" He takes out a flask, drawing a long sip from the container, eyes focused on the man across the table from him.

"The situations have gone a bit sideways, of course. I'd never pull this if there wasn't something crazy going on," he answers the drinking man, sighing as he looks back to him. "Three suns ago, she was almost killed, and if hadn't been the fearless creature she is, Valera would have possibly died as well." There's a pause as he shakes his head, murmuring, "Lion made a pretty good point to me, afterwards," he states, not expecting the other man to understand, "made me aware that there may not be another chance to set everything right with her."

He takes a moment to sigh broadly, shaking his head in disappointment, before digging into the conversation, his voice chilling further. "Since when did we give two shits about what Valera's thought? That coward's been doing nothing for the kingdom since the incident with the Captain," he complains, a faint growl underscoring his cold voice. "Fuck him. We have our orders - you gotta keep a low profile, and stay the fuck away from your sister. You know she'll try to get you to do the same bullshit she's pulling - and you can't, Rel. I won't allow it."

Although he had hoped the mercenary might warm up to the idea, that hope was dashed as the other man lit into the situation, and then into the Lion himself. He raises his hands at the implied accusations, at the attempt to veto what was about to happen. "Look, I get that you don't appreciate heroes much, if they don't keep at being a hero, but this is serious - I've never even heard of something like the thing that nearly killed her," he retorts at the redhead. "Whether it results in you having to take me out, I am going to go meet her, before it's too late."

"Looking like that? You're actively going to wander around, looking like an even deader man, while she's running around with everyone convinced she's your cousin?" he hissed, icy voice low and mean. "It is going to result in having to do something about you, notably so if it causes some sort of riot within the Empire. I don't want that job, but unlike you, I'll follow the orders given to me."

His bandaged hands lift, motioning in unison at the other man as he tries to alleviate the situation. "Yes, looking like this, Saber. Valera had an idea, one that would send the Garleans into a fit, like you're predicting, but you can't deny that it'll make one hell of a distraction," he explains in a low voice. "Both of us showing up, blond, like our cousins, having tea right under the Empire's noses, then both of us drawing their eyes to the West by being a bit obvious about where we're going. For all the rust that's covering the Lion's axe, he's got a good point."

This rundown gives him pause, and he considers what the dead man is telling him, stroking the five o'clock shadow that seems to be a constant presence on his face. A couple of breaths later, he murmurs, "We certainly could use the distraction. Could get a handful of people over to speak with the high and mighty Lord of Doma while their eyes are averted." The flask is pulled, and he takes two or three more swigs before looking back to the other man, nodding once. "Fine. I'll do what I can to cover for you with our lovely superiors, but don't think that means I won't carry out any orders they send my way over this," he adds, that frostiness returning to his voice.

Bandaged hands raise, pressing together before him as he smiles, ignoring the stern expression the other man is giving him. "That's all I'm asking for, Saber. Just buy me a little bit of time, and I won't try to stop you if they tell you to get rid of me."

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Character Roll Call

Character Roll Call!

Blatantly stolen from @carmen-ffxiv​. It’s been a few months since I really outlined anything like this so. Also, keep in mind that EVERY character I create may have a backstory to them but not all are necessarily available for RP.

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AVAILABLE FOR IN-GAME ROLEPLAY:

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Epis (Bayaqud) - ‘Assistant’

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Main-ish

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Ashla Manasse - Rebel Princess

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Main-ish

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Claire Brea - The Oncoming Storm

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Main-ish

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Kym’a Thavma - Linguist & Scholar (& Allagan Relic)

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt-ish

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Relsar Manasse - Ghost

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt (Ashe’s twin brother)[publicly believed to be dead]

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

'Saber’ (Aike Reinder/Saber Dalmasca) - Shikari

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Vekja (Druslan) - Thavnairian Courtesan

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

R’ana Surya - Cheshire Vagabond

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

Safiya Stormcrow - ‘Dancer’

IN-GAME STATUS: RP Alt

AVAILABLE PLATFORMS: Discord (Upon Request)/ Tumblr / In-game

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THE TRUST SYSTEM

Your character has been converted to an NPC for the newest trust sytem. What is their job class/role/and AI behavior? Who is in your trust team? (From the G&G Discord prompt channel)

Claire

Role: Support DPS Class: Whirling Corsair (too much pain for good name) [RDM/DNC/MCH hybrid] AI: - Lets the tank pull, but they'd better be damn good at seizing aggro because she might wait for them to get 2 abilities off before going full throttle. - Doesn't seem to trust healers much, and will toss a heal or three if anyone (especially the tank) gets below 50%. - Uses pistol(s) at range, aetheric blade upon Corps-a-corps. - Dance partner's RDMs first, but will swap partners multiple times during the fight to keep on the highest DPS. - Might shoot party members if they annoy her. - Doesn't take gil or non-purple/non-blue treasure, makes comments about not having a need for gil, but liking relics. - Definitely steals your LBs, especially LB3s.

Kym'a Thavma

Role: Support Healer w/some DPS Class: High Arcanist [SMN/SCH/ACN mix] AI: - Overheals: if you don't have an Adloquium or Succor shield on you, Ky panics and puts a new one on you; always casts Succor as shields fade, won't let the tank drop below maybe 80%. - All the Summons: - despite its dangers, Ky keeps a SCH fairy (usually an Eos) active along with an Emerald Carbuncle, whilst cycling through the Egi and Demi-Egis as needed. [Adapted for new SMN off older Ky qualities] - Timid Unless Panicked: Largely, the boy is quiet and observant, until things go sideways, at which point he gains something of a frenzy bonus to healing and DPS, at the cost of a DoT-like effect upon his person. - Stuttering Eorzean: Although he speaks many a dead or foreign language without trouble, he stammers frequently in Eorzean. - The Sacrifice: Although he hesitates at using an LB if things are going well, should shit hit the fan, the boy's LB3 is a near-arena wide AoE spell that damages and paralyses the enemy whilst raising (if necessary), healing, and shielding the party at the cost of all of his active summons (ACN constructs present at location and elsewhere are used in the sacrifice and cannot be summoned for 30 minutes, and then may only be summoned one at a time every ten minutes till full compliment is replenished).

Ashe of Dalmasca

Role: DPS w/Ruler traits (Ruler from FGO) Class: Rebel Princess [RDM/DNC w/scattered abilities from other classes] AI: - Rebel, Rebel: Ashe gets a DPS bonus against Garleans. - Rebel Yell: Ashe can extend that bonus to allies on the long off-cooldown timer. - Rebel Waltz: A channelled ability that grants the dance partner a buff to crit hit, that stacks up to three times. Charges of Rebel Waltz can be traded for an attack by Ashe that lunges at the target before performing a series of targetted slashes and thrusts with her blade as she dances around the enemy. Damage bonus if the target is Garlean. - Rebel with a Cause: Temporarily summons Jurien Ashur to her side (if not in the party), who will either shield Ashe from one attack (which causes the summons to end) or delivers a series of Samurai attacks for ~10 seconds. - United We Stand: Highest level limit break requires Rebel Yell and Rebel with a Cause to be available. Once the LB bar is full, Ashe can cast RwaC followed by Rebel Yell to unlock this ability. This ability raises all allies on the battlefield with 10% health and the Rebel Yell buff.

Ashe’s Trust Team

- Relsar Manasse: DRK w/some PLD abilities. - Saber: Shikari [NIN variant] - Vieno: Seer of the Mist [AST variant]

[Note: United We Stand is based off an LB3 Ashe was given by the group I first started RPing with after making her. Side mention to @jurien-ashur for being a Trust ability. >.>]

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Age: 24

Birthday: 21st Sun of the 5th Astral Moon

Race: Midlander Hyur

Gender: Fluid

Sexuality: Unconcerned

Marital Status: Complicated

Hair: Bright red with copper highlights

Eyes: Aquamarine

Height: 5′3″

Build: Lithe, androgynous

Distinguishing Marks: Thousands of freckles all over her body.

Common Accessories: Knee-high boots, back up foci, aetheryte jewellery, auracite jewellery

Profession: Mage

Hobbies: Research, painting, dance, violin, revolution

Languages: Common Eorzean, Dalmascan, Garlean, Hingan

Residence: Lily Hills, Gridania

Residence: Garamsythe Waterway, Dalmasca

Birthplace: Dalmasca

Religion: Light of Kiltia

Patron Deity: Faram

Fears: Capture, death, the total loss of her homeland

Spouse: None

Children: None

Parents: Alive, whereabouts unknown

Siblings: Relsar Manasse (deceased)

Other Relatives: Suspected aunts, uncles, and cousins all over Othard and Dalmasca.

Pets: None, currently

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Smoking Habit: Somewhere along the line, Ashla picked up smoking cigarettes, socially. She never got addicted, but sometimes will smoke while having a chat, or whenever she’s anxious. Drugs: Not something she does. Alcohol: Social drinking, maybe paired with a cigarette from time to time.

Ashla arrived recently in Eorzea and has actively been seeking work, as well as allies for some sort of “revolution”.

Often considered odd for how formal and polite she is - she doesn’t use contractions when speaking, she tends to use honorifics heavily and has a very faint, refined accent.

OOC Hook: Ashla is from Dalmasca, and has been given aid throughout her life by the Dalmascan Resistance, many of whom she has no idea who they are or if they’re using their real names. Anyone can step into the role of a Dalmascan Resistance member whose aided her, or one of their allies, with some pre-RP conversation.

In-Game on Balmung or Mateus. Tumblr DMs (if mutuals) or asks. Discord information upon request.

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Day One— Introductions

30 Day OC Challenge

The Princess of the Heart

Known Names: Ashe of Dalmasca, Ashe, Ashla, Ashelia

Full Name: Ashla Manasse

A Dalmascan Hyur who is on the run from the Empire. Her once deeply sun-kissed skin has been paling as she has largely had to remain indoors, or literally underground.

The Sand Rat

Known Names: Fia, Safiya, Stormcrow

Aliases: Agnetha, Amala, Caterina, Kadri, Kaisa, Kaethe, Katarzyrna, Katoka, Katrina, Kaya, Tahira

Full Name: Safiya Stormcrow

This former refugee nearly lost her life when she was visiting family and friends in Rhalgr’s Reach, having arrived not long before Zenos’ assault on the hidden base of the Ala Mhigan Resistance. She has since been recovering at a close friend’s clinic, she’s working to return to dancing in Costa del Sol.

The Shikari

Known Names: Saber, Saber of Dalmasca

Full Name: Aike Reinder

Raised beneath the yoke of Imperial occupation, this Dalmascan Hyur joined the Resistance at a young age, after leaving home far before he was ready to do so. He’s since inherited a mission that was originally entrusted to the man known to be his father; in truth, he’s a bastard, and the man his mother married adopted him, quietly behind the scenes.

His internal violence is caused by his life being a lie, a deep-seated of betrayal, and the harsh realities as life beneath Imperial rule.

The Oncoming Storm

Known Names: Claire, The Fury of Halone

Full Name: [Redacted]

Little is known about this Hyurian woman Momodi dubbed Halone Incarnate shortly before the Calamity, beyond the fact that she’s not from Eorzea, was within Limsa Lominsa the night of Bahamut’s rage, and is quite independent, much to Maelstrom Command’s dismay. Having owned a free company, and several subsidiaries, since just after the Calamity, she can more than afford to erase whatever records exist of her.

The Dead Man Walking

Known Names: Rel

Full Name: Relsar Manasse

Listed amongst the dead at Nalbina Fortress, no matter how it was sliced, this Dalmascan Hyur has been keeping a low profile in Eorzea since the age of ten. Bearing myriad permanent scars and injuries from his near-fatal confrontation during the fall of the fortress, many make the mistake of underestimating him.

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Prompt #21: Repast

They had arrived early in Kugane, though it seems as though he walks through the streets alone, as the maid that had left the Mists followed him more like a shadow than a person. He wasted no time in heading to the district of Shirogane that had been passed on to the woman, where the meeting was going to take place. It was an unfamiliarity to him, and he wished to have time to explore before the evening get together - to find escape routes, to find anything that may be useful to his work, to perhaps even calm his nerves.

Although there were far fewer stalls here than there were in the Markets, he idles at two or three, memorising their offerings, tucking the information away for future reference. He asks a number of questions to the first merchant he finds, about both his wares, and the district in general. The merchant is more than willing to answer each and every one, in hopes that custom will be due to his diligence.

Following the directions the man had given him, he makes his way up the stairs, humming faintly as he wanders along the finely crafted stones that make up the street. Much and more distracts him, though due to how little time there is before the meeting, he passes a some of the stalls by.

Another merchant, another round of questions, another manifest of services and goods pocketed. The merchant at this particular stall explains to him the basics of Hingan writing, something which he feigns a lack of knowledge about, his responses giving the shadow following him time to explore. With a smile, and a faint nod of his head, he moves away from this stall as well, heading further up the road.

The last merchant he visits has a variety of items, most of them for the kitchen, though he has different street-side delicacies for purchase. Given that he was already feeling butterflies in his stomach, he orders a three strips of teriyaki, and an order of dango, along with a large cup of green tea from the merchant. Pleased with the results of their conversation, the man advises him to relax in the garden ahead while he eats.

Sitting beneath a large umbrella, he first takes one or two bites of the strips of meat, eyes scanning the area. The Koba Goten looms behind him, the place where in a short time, the Lion and his charge would meet him, and so he does his best to memorise the layout of the gardens, and plan different methods of escape, should the occupiers of their homeland decide to move upon them. The shadow that has followed him moves through the streets leading to the garden, learning each escape route, before returning to its centre, whispering in his ear confirmations of his thoughts.

As the light begins to fade in earnest, he takes three or four bites of the dango, thankful that his stomach doesn't yet reject the offerings of repast, even as his nerves become more and more jangled. He hopes that he will at least be able to manage the tea that will be present at the meeting, but he is sure that eating now was for the best; his sister would never let him live it down if he vomited in front of her.