#she was the ONLY A rank I needed after Serpent banner

[lunareiitic]

Finally finally finally I completed the love Libram. Rarest character in the game as far as I'm concerned.

[aetaliaxiv]

sentence (amelia/a’myshtea-system)

Before I stepped in, she was staring down the blade of a Serpent. An archer and lancer in the rear; another archer in the bush, behind us, to the right. They weren’t quiet. 

“ I’ll handle this. ”

Deep breath in. Open your eyes. Eye contact. 

Don’t crack the mask. 

— 

I remember wondering how wood could remain so dark. It gave the already-dreary officers’ meeting room, turned a less-cramped interrogation room, an extra, frustrating level of monotony that I wasn’t used to. At least the castrums’ metal reflected light better. 

It also meant that it was more difficult to communicate with the Serpents’ commander with eye contact, to read her, to figure out the intent of the conversation. But perhaps it was on purpose. Still, even my worst meetings were never in rooms so droll. I wished I could sleep. We needed it after sleeping with an eye open on those vehicles. 

The uniformed Elezen stood across from us, arms behind her, leaning on the wall. I stared up with what one would only call “proper form,” back straight, chin up. For a long few minutes, she stared. Perhaps I should have looked less… hypervigilant. Vigilance is a skill. Hypervigilance is a flaw, and one easily read. 

“You’re not the first,” she finally declared. A sharp string of words in the silent room, only interrupted by boots passing in the hall. “Nor the last. But you are the first of your rank we’ve seen.” She narrows her eyes. “And a Miqo’te. I must assume you weren’t born of the empire.” 

I didn’t nod. My eyes apparently did so for me; they glanced at the table, then back at her. That was enough. She huffed out audibly. 

“Regardless. We cannot simply trust you to walk free. As good as our wall’s forces are, clearly they are not impenetrable. Nor our men. Clearly, you must understand, with your experience.” 

My gaze turned down. I didn’t have an answer. She was correct. She knew I knew. 

“Alliance banner standard is a month of detention, three months with supervision. For you– for your crimes, we may have to consider longer.” 

A pause. Long, strung out. Somehow, the stained wood made it seem like the pause would close the walls in and crush me. 

My crimes. Mostly mine. I bore those. We could accept that. But neither the officer nor I weren’t savvy to how this really worked. I knew that.  

“...we can shorten that to standard if you agree to help us with intelligence and, of course, behave.” 

My stare slowly met hers again. I didn’t need to contemplate; the pause was merely to let it settle in, to let her know I understood. I did. I slowly nodded. 

“Good. Needn’t praise your cooperation, then. Simply do me a favor.” 

I raised my brows. I’m listening. 

“Figure out what you mean to do with your freedom. You have a month. You’ve made it. Congratulations.” 

“. . .” 

A few seconds later, she flashed me an amused grin. But there was something genuine about it. It was almost comforting. It took a few seconds before I realized what that meant: my mask slipped. Mouth agape, eyes widened, the pushing furrow of my brows softening. I snapped back to a downward gaze as she stepped out and the other guards came in. 

Freedom. Gods witness that. I’d worked so hard to get it, I didn’t know what it meant. 

Not to me, anyroad. What did a free Amelia quo Rhen, born of servitude, look like? No such thing existed in the past. 

I suppose I had the life ahead of me to figure it out. Or at least, I had two months to figure out a source of income. I still am figuring it out, years later. I’ll handle it. 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

CYOA: Emergency Mission

Your cellphone lights up on the lampstand next to your bed, rattling against the hardwood. You open your eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. 

You reach for the phone and bring it to your face. It takes a moment to register the words, “Urgent transmission” but once you do, you sit up and open the attachment.

The dark icon of the World Tree Executive Department Emblem on the corner of the phone may as well be a skull and cross bones.

“Urgent meeting: Be downstairs in an hour. Dress formally. Enter the black BMW with the License Plate 84-YLK-987. Talk to no one.”

The message wasn’t signed, but the secure channel was a stamp of legitimacy.

You leap out of bed and throw open the closet where your best dress clothes are held. Only an hour to ‘dress formally’? How formal? You wonder as your heart slams in your chest.

You’ve only been with the Executive Department for a year. Working in a team of your peers and overseen by at least one veteran, you’d qualified as an understudy. This night you happened to be on call. 

On-call assignments were the best. You were in Munich, a bastion of the Secret Society. This place was filled with agents with ten times your experience. For the past three days, this was like a vacation: Beautiful summer weather, beer, music and art! You never thought that they’d need you.

Questions swirl in you mind as you descend the hotel elevator. The door man greets your courteously as you exit the rotating door, but per your instructions you say nothing and simply nod.

The sleek black BMW immediately pulls up and stops in front of you. A glance at the license plate confirms its identity. You open the door and get in without hesitation. 

As you shut the door and look to your right, you startle. Sitting next to you in the back seat was none other than the elite agent, Chu Zihang! His amber eyes seemed to glow at you from behind his dark glasses, like the eyes of a monster.

You’d only heard rumors about him: His effectiveness, his violence, those golden eyes that could freeze any hybrid in their tracks. You’d never thought you’d meet him in the back of the BMW. Looking at him was like looking into the eyes of a dragon.

You suddenly realize that you’re staring, the car is moving. Chu Zihang hasn’t said anything, no doubt giving you time to get over the shock. “A mission has gone critical.”

His deep voice was even and held no emotion despite the heavy implications of his words. ‘Going critical’ was the jargon for the death and injury of an agent on the job, in the middle of a mission. Secrets of the dragon clan were likely involved.

He hands you a black leather folder labeled “Rank A” in golden embossing. You open it and the mugshot of an agent stares back at you, stamped with letters “MIA” in red.

“A museum is holding a charity sale tonight. One of the sellers may be aware of secrets of the Dragon Clan. She was investigating the museum when she went missing.” 

Chu Zihang folded his arms over his chest. “I know you’re new at this. But your performance so far has been flawless. This is a chance to continue your training.”

You flip through the folder to find a black credit card. 

“On that card is 50 million dollars to make bids of your choice at the sale. You’re to bid on items that will most likely catch our mark’s attention.”

“Do you know who our mark is?” You ask him.

“We don’t believe its one person.”

“I’ve... never done this before. What should I bid on?”

“There’s a list of suggested objects. You may choose any one of those. Anyone who approaches you after that bid, try to get information out of them.”

With that, you pull in front of the museum, an old limestone expansive building hung with bright spotlit banners announcing the sale. Men and women in extravagant clothing were climbing the stairs to the open entrance.

“This is your stop. Good luck, Agent.”

That was it? All the information he was giving? You get out of the car and shut the door. You lift your chin and stride up the stairs, pretending you belong there. But most of the people here looked older, people who likely made a fortune in industry, finance or the stock market. By your youth alone, you seem to stand out.

You enter the main entrance, a large marble statue of a greek god battling an ancient serpent beast greets you. A man with a pile of fliers hands you one. “Will you be buying tonight?” 

You nod and he points you towards the gallery. The gallery is spread with a bright red carpet. Paintings, sculptures and ancient relics are on display. You weren’t aware that museums actually sold things in their collection. As you look over your brochure, you manage to find the three items Chu Zihang had suggested to you.

Which one should you bid on?

A. “The Eye of Horus” - A ceremonial relic worn by ancient Egyption priests during funeral ceremonies for high ranking members of society.

B: The Hunter’s Mask - An ancient mask used by Indian hunters to ward off attack by tigers.

C. “ Yamantaka, Destroyer of the God of Death “ -- 18h century painting from a Tibetan Monastery

(Please select in by 6:00 pm EDT 10/26/2020 to play)

[ares-golden-ram]

So I wrote something on Hedy’s past and what ultimately brought her to Earth, it’s also on AO3 if anyone wants to read it from there here’s the link! I have proof read it so many times I can’t even understand if it makes sense anymore so please feel free to point out any mistakes! 

The // sign at the end of specific sentences represents a time skip!

THE RIGHTEOUS (THE HIEROPHANT/STRENGTH)

I notice her the moment I walk through the golden doors of the Royal Hall, the corridor is completely empty except for us and I subconsciously hold my breath. I freeze in the presence of the right hand woman of the Monarch because despite this being a place of passage it feels like I've intruded a very private moment. The knight is facing a stained glass window depicting a flaming sun rising before a barren ground, she fits perfectly in the illustration as the daylight hits her metal body making it glisten in golden accents. I can't bring myself to talk, I've never seen the android on the battlefield but I've heard the stories, listened to every single retelling of her feats, one wrong word and I'm done for. She turns around and all I can do is stare, she's not as big as other war bots, the model of her screen is older but sturdier and on it her expression is ever-changing, the pixels reforming every so often to display what she feels. She's frowning, the line that is her mouth forms waves every time she speaks and right now her soft humming creates constant soft ripples, she's holding her sword in a tight, clawed grip. Her stance relaxes and a soft jingling sound catches my attention as she sheathes back the weapon. Electronic Escort Droids don't have antennas, those things are useless for such technologically advanced forms, yet she wears one, both ends are fused in her casing and in it a small number of silver specks can be seen, embedded in the wiring. Spoils of war, or even better, trophies. Sword shards, tips of modified arrows, bullets...and they say EED aren't vain. In her defense the whole planet sees her as the symbol of hope, the bringer of future harmony and peace, having a fake halo just means she fully embraces her role as The Guardian as everyone seemed to call her since she started to rank up in the military.

"Are you going to stare a bit longer? I have places to be you know".

I realize my mistake but my mouth is dry and I can't think of some reasonable justification, another moment passes and just when I start to wonder if she'll draw her sword again the sound of her laughter fills the hall, clear and sharp, like coins falling to the ground one after the other.

"Please, forgive me but this joke never gets old!" She says as she touches her chest, mimicking the organic gesture of needing air. "I'm aware of the moniker civilians have given me but please, call me Dee" she extends a claw in a very careful manner trying to look as harmless as possible, "I'd love to stay and chat but our Monarch awaits us".

ENLIGHTENMENT (THE HANGED MAN/THE TOWER)

The moment we are deployed on the battlefield I know what I must do, the few soldiers I took with me are my first objective, less than a dozen but they're the only ones I was able to recognize after their secret meeting. How could they betray our Monarch? He's a strict ruler but just and compassionate, he doesn't want this war any more than anyone else yet they accuse him, dirty his name while carrying his banner. I'll keep him safe, I'll kill the traitors and move on, the unlucky bastards should have been more careful. I unsheathe my sword, the only companion I can always seem to trust lately, and I get to work. //

She begs me, crying and screaming for absolution, she didn't know any better. I sink next to her, carefully fixing her hair behind her ear, the organic ones are always too easy to kill, too emotional.

"Why?" I ask, she's not a threat anymore and I need to know what could ever justify their treason.

"They talk! We...we spoke to one of them, Tix wounded one with a poison arrow but the venom was taking too long. He begged to be killed but we were too shocked to do anything".

"Nonsense, the Belkaith don't speak. And they sure as hell don't implore for mercy, the only thing they'd ever talk about if they could would be war and violence".

"I know it's insane but that's the truth, we were fooled! I ask you to read this, please-"

I strike her as soon as she reaches for her pocket, I don't have time for the blabbering of a scared traitor but unexpectedly she still moves, trying to save a few papers from either getting soaked in her own blood or catching fire thanks to my sword.

"I'm sorry". That's what she tells me as her eyes go blank, the papers fall gently to the ground and I extract my weapon from her body, the flames go out as soon as I sheathe it back in the scabbard.

I pick up the letter and instantly recognize the Monarch's hand writing, the fancy lettering and short sentences compose a threat. I recognize a few more names the letter is addressed to other than the ones of the soldiers I just killed, I guess his majesty knew of their treachery already, maybe I should have talked to him before attacking them.

Something's off, the more I read the less it all makes sense, the writing becomes more sharp towards the end of the page, sloppy as if he was in a hurry...or scared. I read the letter over and over again until it's imprinted in my code and all I can do is stare at the page, my mind completely blank.

I get up, store the letter in one of the pockets on my belt and start walking towards the sound of blasters and screaming, like a ship following a siren's song. //

I finally reach the heart of the battle and as I pull out my sword everyone stops. I turn around to check what caused the abrupt change and there, slowly lowering through the sky his ship appears, radiating a soft glowing white light. The first thing that comes to my mind is home, how many times did I sigh of relief spotting his vessel after a strenuous battle? Now that feeling travels all the way from my heart to my stomach and then to my limbs like fire following gasoline trails.

"My dearest, please come on board I believe we need to talk"

His voice sounds so comforting, so much so that for a moment I'm tempted to say yes, to climb inside and be saved from this nightmare, I want to hear him say it's all a misunderstanding, I must have gotten it all wrong! Except for the fact that he is here and that alone confirms the very awful truth.

There are so many questions swirling through my mind: Why? Who else is in on this? Does everyone know? Am I the only one who was fooled? I served by his side for years fighting for our people, how could he do this to me?.

If he's a monster then what am I?.

A blinding rage possesses me, the flames engulfing my sword creep higher and higher, my vision blurs with tears, I can't trust my voice right now so I do the next best thing to make him and everyone else understand. I raise my sword in his direction then turn it towards me and with a sharp motion I slice my antennas, severing the halo on my head. I cut down my puppet strings.

It doesn't hurt, the anger makes it all feel numb, the only thing I'm aware of right now is that I'm surrounded, enemies on every side and the only way I can leave alive is by fighting them until I can't and then fight some more. The message has been understood loud and clear, he doesn't waste a moment and immediately gives the order to kill me, the Belkaith yell in their ancient guttural monosyllabic sounds that I was too presumptuous and stupid to identify as a language and resume their assault as if the order was given to them, my companions don't touch me, they're baffled by the situation, shocked by the Monarch's words. I can't hesitate, can't repay them with the same kindness, the spell breaks as my first attack pierces the armor of a fellow soldier and everyone tightens the grip on their weapons.

"Traitor!".

"The Guardian has forsaken us!". //

My sword is in pieces, the legendary Maramakula is destroyed, the head of the sea serpent that was engraved in the handle is just a few steps away from me, I was a fool to think that I could face them all.

"What good is a knight without his sword?"

"And without a king!" they laugh, so easily turned against the one they idolized just a few hours before, I can't blame them. All of a sudden the same feeling of when I saw the royal ship washes over me like fire burning my every circuit. I cling to it this time, feel it rage in my heart and soon enough it feels like a volcano is about to erupt inside of me.

"What the fuck is she doing?"

"How am I supposed to know? She's disarmed anyway stop wo-" He doesn't finish the sentence, can't really, not when right in front of him the grass burns and the blood from the corpses of fallen enemies and fellow soldiers alike starts bubbling.

My whole left arm is on fire, the deepest red I've ever seen dances around my limb with a life of its own. With a reinvigorated spirit I rise from the barren ground, the sun shines its blinding golden light on my armor.

"Good thing I'm not a knight anymore, then" That's the last thing I remember before the overwhelming strength of this new power swallows me whole.

METANOIA (THE CHARIOT/TEMPERANCE)

I wake up in the little shelter I built in the last few months I've been stranded on this new planet, I have no idea what its name is but I've never seen so much green in a single place. I grab a clean pair of shorts and put them on, slowly make my way to the kitchen where I down a cold cup of oil, I'll never get used to the taste. Today I need to go to the stream and wash my clothes, then I'll get back to the fields, I've been trying to plant almost anything I could get my hands on in the meadow near the shipwreck but nothing seems to take. //

I'm still unsure of this whole 'clothes' concept, I'm not organic, I don't really need them but for some reason seeing me bare makes the villagers feel uneasy, so I humor them most of the time and only take them off when I need to do some heavy work, they're too constricting for my taste. As I'm hoeing the soil I can't stop looking at the ruins of my ship, barely visible from behind the thick foliage of the nearby trees, sometimes I think how unhealthy it must be to see the reminder of a failed past life every day yet somehow I always end up here, staring at this horrible monument perfectly depicting my foolishness, my anger, my mistakes.

The sun is going down, painting the barren field in reds and oranges, the colors softly shimmer on my body and the warmth of it all makes me recoil as the haunting memory of someone else, someone I no longer want to remember, tries to surface. I fall to the ground trying to make myself as tiny as possible, folding in on myself, I want to escape from this place I want to run away from it all once more. And then I see it, between the tears clogging my vision, a small sprout trying its hardest to grow between the cracks of the unwelcoming soil. The symbolism is clear, almost like a cruel joke from the universe itself, so I laugh like I haven't in years.

[chrysalispen]

ii. sullied, the whole world's fountains;

AO3 Link

In the wake of the primal's fury came the rain.

Hail and icy water, more suited to the autumn months than midsummer, beat down upon the ragtag remnants of the command pavilion, dripping in chilly rivulets from the slick oilcloth of the tents and turning the ground into freezing sludge. The back end of the storm cell that had set a raging blizzard upon the whole of Coerthas had ripped open from the influx of aether, confounding most serious rescue efforts.

The leaders of the realm's city-states and their military commanders huddled beneath the windbreak (for at this point it was little else), each in their turn staring out over the near-opaque haze of mist and smoke that blanketed what remained of the Carteneau Flats.

No one spoke in a voice louder than a murmur, rousing themselves only when messengers entered the area to deliver news. Dalamud's descent had disrupted and disabled most linkpearl communications, so the Grand Companies were in most cases reduced to runners on chocobo relaying messages from post to post.

Though none were thus far willing to say so aloud, most of the assembled were waiting for the storm's fury to lessen sufficiently that the Flats could be safely traversed and the dead could be cleared from the blasted wastes below. Any observer passing might notice that no voices were raised-- but just as was the case among the rank and file, the tension was so thick one could practically cut it.

Presently an elezen man in the bright yellow of the Twin Serpents knelt before Kan-E-Senna, proffering a sealed envelope. Conversation among the Padjal's circle faded from a subdued buzz to silence as they watched her take the document, crack open the seal, and unfold the parchment.

Pain twisted its way across her face as she read its contents, tilting the corners of her lips into a trembling downward arch.

"Seedseer?" Raubahn Aldynn said gently.

The big Ala Mhigan had a voice that carried and a laugh she could pick out in a room of thousands, but even he had been reduced by sorrow and shock to a shell of himself, forced to watch the endless parade of death along with the rest of them: the corses of friends and countrymen and adventurers who had fought beneath his banner, bundled into sackcloth and laid on a cart. There was some small hope for those who had been in the drop zone, but it was very small indeed.

He tried again.

"What news from the Twelveswood?"

Kan-E-Senna released a sigh that carried the weight of an entire nation.

"The Twelveswood burns," she said. "And Gridania fares little better. Fully half the city was destroyed. This missive is from Brother E-Sumi-Yan; he and the others go to quell the Greenwrath as best they are able. The Shroud will become nigh-uninhabitable in short order, I fear."

"Bloodydamned imperials," Raubahn swore, slamming one heavy fist on the nearby table. After a moment to collect himself, he continued in a quieter tone: "Will it spread, do you think? The fire?"

"The Wailers have protocols to build firebreaks. They are deploying 'round the large settlements." She folded the parchment and tucked it into her robes. "The worst of it is near the border with Mor Dhona, but this rain may serve to hold it at bay---provided the wind does not change course."

"If we need to deploy-"

"We have no one left here to spare as it is. I will have Vorsaile send people back to the Shroud as we are able, but we must needs take stock of what numbers remain." She turned to the runner, her kind smile strained at the edges. "Send word back to Bowlord Levin: Pray have the Black Boars aid in evacuations, and bolster all defenses at the firebreaks. They must hold, at all costs."

Timidly the youngster queried:

"What of the Garleans? They-"

"Will cause us no mischief now. The imperials have their own worries, likely to match our own. Now go, with all haste."

Hastily sketching a salute, the runner scurried out of the pavilion and back towards the post where he'd tied off his chocobo. She waited until he was out of eyesight before sinking into her chair and burying her face in her hands.

"Would that Louisoix's binding had worked," she murmured. "We won the day, but the cost..."

"I know."

"What should become of us all, if the Black Wolf--"

She didn't need to finish her question. They had brought their combined strength to bear against one, one imperial legion, and it was all the Grand Companies had been able to do just to hold them at Carteneau while the adventurers (which ones? her mind cried, overtaxed and frustrated and on the verge of panic. which adventurers?) had confronted Nael van Darnus at Rivenroad.

All here were painfully aware that the Eorzean Alliance had fought the Empire to a draw only because the XIVth Imperial Legion had elected not to take the field alongside her steel and magitek-clad brethren. Should they now choose to take advantage of the decimation Dalamud had wrought, Eorzea was in no position to offer even token resistance.

How will we recover? We have barely the means to see to the pieces that are left, much less-

Kan-E-Senna forced herself to push that thought away.

Time enough later to worry about Gaius van Baelsar. As she had said to the boy, the Black Wolf had his own problems, and she would not compound their woes by inviting trouble.

"Our own numbers were badly culled by the primal, and I don't doubt that Nanamo will have a damage report of her own for me soon," Raubahn said, into the prolonged silence. "But if there is aught the Flames can do to help, you have merely to say the word. U'ldah repays her debts. You know that."

"I know, General. Thank you." Her hands dropped into her lap, where they fidgeted anxiously for lack of Claustrum's smooth, reassuring grip. She'd propped the staff against the side of the tent where it stood still alongside the assortment of weapons from the others. "...I will be taking a unit into the Flats at cockcrow to search for survivors and heal the wounded."

"The storm will make it slow going."

"Even so, it is the least I can do. I would not sit here in relative comfort whilst others die in our names."

He did not protest further; both of them knew it would fall upon deaf ears.

"Very well. Merlwyb and I will take count of our people and our supplies while you do that," he said, glancing across the tents to where Admiral Bloefhiswyn stood in hushed conversation with her storm marshals. "We do have one more important matter to discuss before we adjourn tonight, and that's what to do with any prisoners."

"We are taking imperial prisoners if able, yes? That was what we decided?"

Raubahn grimaced. Her question was pointed, and for good reason; the argument on this point had been much louder when it had actually happened, and Kan-E-Senna had won only because Louisoix Leveilleur and the others had backed her (no doubt hoping for further intelligence-gathering), and now-

Now the wise old Sharlayan was gone.

Thal's balls, he thought dismally. So many faces gone or missing since the drop. And no time to take stock of the dead right now, much less scrape together the personnel for search parties.

"Aye, that's what we decided, right enough. You already know my opinion of it and Merlwyb's likewise, but we gave our word and we'll not go back on it now. She's passed the order along down her ranks and I've passed it down mine. For better or worse, if we find any of the enemy alive, we'll take them into custody where possible."

"Good."

"Mind you, I've told them if there's any too far gone or too hostile-" He stopped at her pained expression. "...I know, I know. But you are well aware these are likelihoods, Kan-E, and I'd rather not risk getting more of our people killed than we already have."

"Don't see what the point is in taking prisoners," Merlwyb said flatly, joining them at the table at last. Her storm-grey eyes fairly snapped with ire and her gait was a long and decisive stride; just as Raubahn's laugh could be heard in a crowd, Admiral Bloefhiswyn's very presence could fill a room on its own.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a waste of manpower, if we're just going to have them all swing from the hangman's noose the second they get back to the cities," she continued, leaning her weight against the other side of the war table with one hip and folding her arms across her chest. "I suppose it's not very honorable of us, but lining up the VIIth Legion on a gibbet is as good a warning shot as any to fire across van Baelsar's bow."

"No, Admiral," Kan-E-Senna said firmly. "I will not be a party to any such thing. No public executions."

Her blunt statement of dissent, as calm as it was quiet, cut through the agitated chatter of the gathering. As ever, she rarely raised her voice, but then she rarely found it necessary. Though the Padjal appeared young and delicate, all assembled in this room knew that the impression was a false one.

Even so, Merlwyb's expression grew positively thunderous.

"The White Raven dropped a swiving moon on our heads and we're supposed to what--let his forces frolic through the fields all the way back to Garlemald? To regroup so they can finish the job? You've seen the devastation!"

"I will be receiving a very close and personal view of it tomorrow morning. Far more than I shall ever want to see." She looked at them all in turn, her leaf-green eyes solemn. "I still say no. These people are prisoners of war and will be treated accordingly."

"War criminals, more like," the roegadyn snapped. She shoved her seat backwards in a gesture of frustration and braced her arms on the table's surface as she leaned forward. "And the distinction hardly matters."

"Seedseer, as much as I'd like to argue otherwise, she has the right of it. 'Tis not like the people of the realm will see it the way you do." Raubahn's rough-hewn face was pale, drawn, and haggard, for all that his words were carefully measured. "Should the enemy not suffer some consequence for the havoc they have wrought, we will be seen as ineffective--if not outright sympathetic to the Empire. Well you know that could cause trouble for all of us down the line."

"The majority of these soldiers were conscripts given little choice in the matter. To force them to-"

"People are going to expect-"

"...To force conscripts, Merlwyb," she repeated patiently over the angry interjection, "to pay with their lives for a circumstance they could not control goes beyond mere dishonor. It would be naught but cruelty, not to mention the very barbarism of which the Empire accuses us so freely. Such an act would only play into their propaganda."

"If Limsa gave a tinker's damn about the Empire's opinions of any of us," came the flat, matter-of-fact response, "we'd not have spent the last score of years and more harrying their patrols on open water."

She'd half expected that answer and couldn't help a smile. Still, it faded quickly as she returned to the matter at hand.

"Very well, then can we not agree there has been more than enough bloodshed on Nael van Darnus' account? On both sides?"

"Surely you don't believe the VIIth would have shown any of us the same compassion?"

"Of course they wouldn't ha-"

"Or," Merlwyb continued, "that the people suffering and dying for this folly will be satisfied with anything short of Garlean blood? Reparations must be made."

"And they will be made. But not like this, I beg you. Both of you." Kan-E-Senna cast a glance over Raubahn's shoulder, peering through the partially open tent flap to the cratered wasteland that had once been such an open, fertile field. Wreckage and earth were still burning in places below the cliffsides despite the pouring rain. "I harbor no more love for the Empire than either of you. But I look to what must be done in the wake of this disaster. What our people will need most desperately now, and in the coming days and weeks, is food. Shelter. Medical attention. What they do not need is a violent public spectacle, no matter how much their anger demands it."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Work-release, of course," she said simply, as if the answer were obvious. "We make of them wards of the city-states and set them to a labor of our choosing, then free them once their time has been served. They can help with rebuilding efforts. I suspect we shall need all the hands and backs we can find, and now is not the time to be selective."

Silence fell over the tent, then-- but Merlwyb was finally offering a slow nod of acknowledgement.

"A certain justice in that," she said, her concession somewhat gruff but no longer heavy with outrage. "They helped break Eorzea, so their punishment would be to help fix it."

Kan-E-Senna was far from ignorant of the particulars of statesmanship, and she knew that they should at least understand that aspect of her proposal, if naught else. As she'd hoped, it had struck true. The Admiral was, if not exactly mollified, a bit less eager for vengeance, at least in the immediate sense.

"That said, it's not likely that all of the prisoners are going to be conscripts," Raubahn pointed out. "There'll be purebloods among them too- true Garleans, not just the poor sods forced to fight under the ivory banner. Most of that lot aren't going to be grateful or cooperative no matter what we do, and I can't say I'm comfortable with the notion of a bunch of zealots walking free."

"I said nothing about letting any of them walk free, much less those like to remain loyal to the Empire regardless of circumstance." Kan-E-Senna left out a soft exhalation, relief lessening the furrowed lines that worry and fatigue had carved into an otherwise youthful face. "However, even in their case I do not think it fair-minded to condemn all for the obstinacy of a few. We will do what needs must, of course, but I would not put them all to the sword sight unseen."

The big man shook his head, but his expression was one of capitulation. Merlwyb wore a wry smile.

"I think you're being dangerously softhearted," she said. "But for the sake of argument, I suppose we can make the attempt."

"An attempt is all I ask. Despite our differences, they too are people." Kan-E-Senna's answering smile was serene. "And if I have learned naught else, it is that sometimes people can surprise you."

~*~

"Miserable bloody weather," Bryngeim Ahrmbraena muttered.

With an annoyed sigh the Seawolf woman braced one heavy boot against a mud-covered rock and wiped away a mixture of sweat, grime, and rainwater from her brow. In this weather about all the gesture did was move the dirt around her face. Mor Dhona's humidity was harsh enough in midsummer, but she'd vastly preferred the cooling canopy of the rainforest to the blasted waste it had become in so short a time.

As she took a moment to catch her breath, she watched the faces of the half-dozen men and women who followed her, their own faces pale and pinched with exhaustion -- all of them were running on next to no sleep, herself included -- and squinted into the smoke and mist and the sheets of cold rain to scry for any signs of life. For the last four bells, every now and then someone would catch a movement out of the corner of one eye only to be disappointed when it was just a battle standard or the bloodied ruff of a dead chocobo that had caught the northerly winds.

"Ma'am?" asked the yellow-clad Duskwight archer at her side, taking note of her scowl. Bryngeim glanced back over at him, then once again to the sorry lot trudging at her back, and wiped another handful of cold water from her face before adjusting the heavy axe resting on her shoulder.

"Ah, 'tis naught, Idront, pay me no mind. I was woolgathering for a moment. You haven't seen anything?"

The man's brow furrowed and he shook his head. Drops of cold rainwater flickered off the corners of his ears with the motion, but he barely seemed to notice. "No, ma'am. Nothing yet. Might be a good idea to spread the search out a bit."

"Hm. See if we can find anyone we might have missed? Not a bad idea."

"Yes'm. There's a sector a few yalms off-" he gestured to the vague suggestion of a shape through the mist, "-that isn't tagged yet."

It had been her idea to take a strip of bright-colored cloth from... repurposed Grand Company tabards, tie them to a piece of wood or any other bit of debris that might serve as a marker, and thrust them into the ground at set intervals to mark areas that had already been searched and cleared.

Some had thought it ghoulish, but to Bryngeim's mind the dead were hardly able to make use of the fabric; better they be used to enable the survival of the living.

"All right. Just keep your eyes open. Don't stray from line of sight." For all they knew the enemy was still out there, looking for likely 'savages' to cull. "Call if you need us. And if you come across anyone too far gone..."

She trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Idront looked away from her, the protrusion in his throat bobbing visibly when he swallowed at the implication of her words- but he gave a short, resolute nod before striding off into the wet haze. While they all agreed that it would be the height of cruelty to give anyone false hope, that didn't mean any of them relished the idea of putting down one of their own.

Of all those who had survived the crimson moon's descent, a few hundred survivors among the combined Grand Company units were able-bodied enough to take on active duty. Bryngeim's captain in the Foreign Levy had relinquished his command; his last act had been to suggest that each squad should take quadrants of those portions of the field that were still passable and search for survivors.

The surviving commanders in the Maelstrom had enthusiastically agreed to the notion, and for the last twenty-seven bells they'd been sending units out in shifts. What had truly amazed her was the way all of them, without really much discussion, had cobbled together what functioning units they could until further notice.

Thus far, they'd only managed to clear a small segment of the area a quarter-malm beyond the cliff where the interim camp had been struck. All of the reformed units were now taking turns looking for more survivors, with mostly middling success. They were to check every corse on the field for signs of life, without exception. Many allies had been trapped underneath destroyed machina, or beneath the dead themselves: too injured to walk under their own power but perhaps still able to be saved by the few remaining healers if their hurts were tended quickly enough.

It was dirty, grim, and thankless work, for all it was necessary. Every minute of every bell counted: every breath spent in idleness a breath that might be stolen from an injured ally awaiting rescue.

And further searches were becoming nigh impossible, now that the weather had taken such a poor turn. The temperature had plummeted in the space of the last eight bells, and a supercell had blown over Silvertear Lake, part of a massive front that scouts said was dumping snow on Coerthas in the middle of the damned summer, seemingly out of nowhere.

Worse, the storm had broken open over the Flats on the latter side of their shift. Had there been a better outcome they'd all be back at the campground seeking shelter in the mess pavilion with a pint and a bowl of whatever currently passed for rations until the worst of the storm had passed. But the sky wasn't going to stop pissing rain just because she didn't like it.

In the meantime, night was falling fast and the haze from the rain and lingering smoke had made visibility even worse.

By the Navigator, we'd be that lucky to find even one person as things are now-

There was a tug on her sleeve.

"Oi, Bryn."

"Hn?"

K'luhia Zhisi, a fellow privateer in the Limsan navy and sergeant as of twelve bells past via dead man's boots, was leaning in a conspiratorial sort of fashion towards her. The rogue's gaze drifted briefly towards the newcomers to their group before they settled on her friend's face.

"Guess I should've asked before, but... ye never said what the higher-ups wantin' us to do with the ruffmans?"

"Eh?"

"Garleans," she clarified. "Should we find any still breathin'. Are we supposed to... you know..."

Bryngeim faltered.

"Ah. That."

"Aye," K'luhia said with somewhat exaggerated patience, "that."

Shite. Obviously she'd meant to say something to the others as part of their briefing, since it was just as likely they'd find survivors from the enemy ranks as their own and they all needed to be prepared for that eventuality. But in the rush and the unending grind of the search and her haphazard attempts to fill her superior's shoes, compounded by encroaching exhaustion, she'd just... well.

Godsdamn it all, she'd forgotten to brief them about prisoners. Of all the basic things she could have forgot-

Twelve, L'sazha, why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?

Bryngeim pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head with a weariness that was in no wise an exaggeration, pushing past her grief. She had her orders regarding the imperial soldiers, all right---and she misliked them heartily, and she knew the others were like to favor them even less, but there was no help for it now.

"Brass says put down any that're too hostile or too wounded, but otherwise we're to take prisoners back to the camp and hold them until they can be moved."

As expected, a fierce scowl creased her underling's brow, nearly matching her own. "What- why?"

"You never mind the 'why', Lu. Ain't ours to be asking."

"The hells are we saving 'em for?!" K'luhia fumed, her ears flattened against her head with her displeasure. "They're murderers, thousands of times over! They deserve worse than death! If I were in charge I'd-"

"Sergeant." She saw the woman's twitching tail and ignored it. "You have your orders. Don't make me repeat them."

The rogue made something like a feral growl in the back of her throat but otherwise kept her retort to herself, sheathing the dagger in her right hand with an almost savage thrust.

In truth, Bryngeim wished she could agree aloud, but doing so would only undermine what little authority she had. She could not fault her subordinate for her anger. The breadth of her own grief and fury seemed nigh boundless and she didn't for a moment think she was the only one.

How many good men and women had they lost? Her own captain and best friend lay dying slowly and painfully in the Alliance's makeshift infirmary, his body burned nigh beyond recognition by Bahamut's unholy fires, beyond saving even by magical means, and he was but one of many. Scores more had died to the Empire's damnable war machine. Already there were rumors trickling down from the command pavilions that debris from the fallen Dalamud had laid waste to entire villages, that parts of the Twelveswood were on fire, that Limsa had partially collapsed in on itself--even noncombatants hadn't been safe.

How many more were they going to lose? To weather? To time?

"Lu, look-" she began, but before she could continue there was a shout some few yalms distant:

"Ma'am! Captain Ahrmbraena, ma'am, come quickly!"

[kusunogatari-a]

[ SasuHinaMonth Day Eight: Twins ] [ @sasuhinamonth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, pregnancy mention ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ]

He honestly never thought he’d make it this far.

As a child, he’d declared his intentions to restore his clan. Of course, back then, he’d not been fully aware of how precisely to go about it. At twelve he knew the basics of family-making. The A to B of it. But he’d had no plan - no one who meant enough to him to consider making his - eugh - wife. He’d simply assumed that, when the time came, something would work out.

Then everything began to go awry.

Sasuke’s detour into Orochimaru’s tutelage hadn’t been expected. Nearly three years of his life spent after abandoning Konoha alone, save for the other underlings the serpent sannin had acquired.  And when he was no longer useful, Orochimaru was tossed aside, and new sources of power taken up. Hebi - later Taka - was...a difficult thing to put into words. They weren’t his team from Konoha. Nor did he really want them to be. He had a mission, and they were to be tools to accomplish it. Yet despite his best intentions, they still grew to be a cohesive squad...and though he would never admit to it, they grew to mean something to him. But nothing like what he needed for a clan. Karin and her infatuation were...off-putting. He could never picture them as a couple, so he disregarded her.

Reuniting with Sakura after the war was...awkward. It was clear she viewed him in a different light. Not that he could blame her after everything he did. She tread on eggshells despite insisting she was still in love with him. The whole thing seemed far too contradictory, so she too was scratched off his imaginary list.

...though at that point, he really wasn’t sure why he had one anymore. He felt...different. Everything he’d gone through - everything he’d done - made him question if such a normal life would ever be possible. He’d done terrible things in the name of what he thought was right...when in the end, he was largely wrong.

True, the shinobi world had much to atone for - much to change. But he’d gone about it all wrong.

For a time, he’d buried himself in missions, thinking that the high-ranking assignments would help him feel...useful. Like he was making up for his mistakes and helping create the better world he wanted for his - for...future generations. But even that seemed empty.

So instead, he rebuilt the police force. Rebranded it, and called upon his Hyūga allies. Together, the wielders of the village’s most powerful eyes kept watch from within, while his brother and the ANBU did so beyond the walls. He began to reconnect with people again. They grew familiar to him, and he in turn to them. Trust slowly built between the remnants of the Uchiha, and the people of Konoha.

And one person he found himself unable to avoid was Hinata.

No longer heiress, she instead focused on her shinobi career. A jōnin not long after the war’s end, her own tasks grew higher in rank. But with her clan becoming a significant part of the village’s safety, she eventually decided to give it a try.

As chief, it was his task to initiate her. And she did well - far better, admittedly, than he expected. So she too joined the ranks of the force’s officers. Curious, though he would never admit it, he took a few tasks alongside her, just to see how she would do.

Her compassion yet sturdy morals made for a perfect policewoman. Understanding to those who needed help, and unforgiving to those suspected of wrongdoing. The line she drew between the two was well kept.

It impressed him.

But more so was her ability to see him just...as a person. No one special. She treated him with respect for his rank, but nothing else. There were no sidelong glances, as though wondering if he were going to suddenly snap. Though not intimately trusting off the bat, she grew to work with him well, and soon the pair could read one another’s movements and react fluidly, like extensions of the other.

It was that, more than anything, that caught his attention.

He asked to spend some time with her outside a shift. She agreed. It’d been a quiet afternoon, but still speckled with conversation. They quickly discovered parallels in their pasts and paths. Sasuke found himself eager to know more, and she seemed just as curious.

Neither could say exactly when it happened, but it wasn’t long before friendship bloomed into something...different.

And it was then Sasuke knew that - maybe, just maybe - he’d changed enough to give the future he’d imagined as a child another chance.

To everyone’s surprise, their courtship was rather short. They’d grown so accustomed to one another, it seemed pointless to wait. So a mere four years after the war, and less than two since becoming comrades under the police force banner, Uchiha Sasuke married Hyūga Hinata.

And it was only a few months after that, they discovered she was with child.

It had seemed almost...surreal. A child’s naive dreaming over a decade ago was becoming a reality. The clan was growing again. Scarcely able to believe it, he was hit with even more surprising news at a later checkup.

They were having twins.

Agreeing to let the sexes be a surprise, both seemed almost unbelieving. True, her father had been a twin, but Hinata hadn’t expected to have them herself. It would be the second pair in her husband’s clan now.

And it’s now that Sasuke holds his wife’s hand, taking every bone-breaking grip as she works to bring them at last to the world beyond her womb.

The white-haired medic wastes no time or effort, helping speed along the process until two wailing voices filled the birthing suite.

One boy, and one girl. Both with feathery wisps of dark hair...and mismatched eyes, mirrored gazes.

Unprepared for names, the pair decide to wait and think. Once the babes are cleaned and returned to their mother, Sasuke stares with an intense, one-eyed gaze as his hitai-ate covers the Rinnegan. He hadn’t even taken time to change from his gear upon hearing Hinata had been admitted.

“...which do you want to hold first?”

Flickering between them, he wordlessly takes up the boy. A dark eye sits in the left socket, and a pale in the right: opposite his sister. He’d wondered how the bloodlines would interact, but...he’d never expected this.

Letting her daughter nurse, Hinata watches him with a soft, warm smile. Sweat-soaked bangs cling to her brow, dark circles beneath her eyes. As soon as the pair have had their fill, it’s clear she’ll need her rest. “...what are you thinking, Sasuke…?”

His head slowly shakes. “...I can’t...begin to tell you.”

“...are you happy?”

“...more than I could ever say.” Looking up, his expression is so unguarded, he almost looks as childlike as he did when still a genin, eyes alight with both wonder...and perhaps a bit of fear. “...it hasn’t really...sunk in yet. But…” He looks back to his son. “...it’s like...the empty spaces in my chest are...full again.”

His wife softens. “...I’m glad.”

“...thank you...Hinata…”

     Word count: 1205      Cumulative: 9561      Goodness, I had a full day irl, but still managed to get this done xD It’s just about midnight, but it still counts as being on time, right?      I’ve actually never made next-gen SasuHina kids, so...honestly these are very spur-of-the-moment. Also hence no names because it’s late and I’d want them to be more thoughtful than tonight will allow, lol      Anyway, not much else to say, I suppose! I’d better skip off to bed soon, but I hope y’all enjoy this latest entry for the ship month. We’ll be back at it tomorrow, time allowing! <3

[eorzeaisnotcrash]

Beast Tribe Tendency

“I just want to fly”

I don’t feel like getting ordered around by Alphinoob today, so I go check on some suspicious activity in the North Shroud. I find Ixali stuff! But before I can decide what to do with it, two Ixal walk up to claim it. I think I can take them, but instead of fighting me for it, they just grab it and dare me to come check out their project. Well, it’s this or get talked down to some more by the princeling. JoJo goes to Ehcatl and meets... some pretty nice people who have no intention of worshipping a primal who only cares about herself. Chief Totoloc wants to build an airship that will take him and his homies to the Ixali ancestral homeland, where their wings were more than vestigial structures. JoJo is immediately interested and willing to do anything she can to help with such a project, which is good, because she’ll be crafting a lot of stuff. (And she’ll get her eyes pecked out if it’s substandard.) There’s also a Lalafellin engineer who tries to stick his nose in it, but ends up being blown away by the awesomeness of the blueprints. We’re all crew now. No going back.

MOST AWESOME MOMENT SO FAR: Some haters decide to come from their logging grounds, attack an engineer, and break his wing. The Ehcatl Nine’s refusal to ride the Garuda hype train makes them heretics in these guys’ eyes. Chief Totoloc points out despite the uselessness of their prayers, the fanatics already have lots of air... between their ears. Sir, I am a Serpent officer and I have to arrest you for that murder. Meanwhile, I’m told I count as a sister of Ehcatl because I’m out here making the good stuff.

“I’ve been through the desert on a drake with no name”

Shame on me for forgetting who asked, but my help is wanted in Southern Thanalan because quite a few merchant caravans have been attacked recently, with the poor victims dragged away for tempering. When one dude decides to put greed over caution, JoJo waits up late with him to see if anything is going to happen. Sure enough, some Amalj’aa come around... but before I can get the violence going, another Amalj’aa, wearing blue instead of the bad guys’ usual red, advises me to stand back and let him and his friends handle this. After the merchant has learned his lesson, Hamujj Gah invites me to visit with his Brotherhood of Ash. JoJo gets to be privy to some of the workings of a society of BAMFs who want to preserve their ancient and proud (and primal-free) traditions. And the Brotherhood will welcome anyone if they’re tough enough, which is why a Miqo’te hangs out with them. She doesn’t like me much. That’s okay. I’ve existed to her for about three minutes and so she has no way of knowing whether I will or won’t fold like wet tissue paper in a fight.

MOST AWESOME MOMENT SO FAR: Well, I get called “honored ally” every time I come around, which feels great in and of itself. One of the tasks I do for the Brotherhood involves destroying barrels of flammable material -not by myself, but atop a fire drake. So I get mad respect, EXP, multiple forms of currency, and a sweet ride to burn things up for justice! *cackles madly*

“Skipping through the forest”

One day I get asked to check on some poor nerd who got lost in the Sylphlands. JoJo greets her little friends and learns of what her inner 12 year-old admits would be a pretty funny prank... if the guy was around to get pranked, that is. Voyce is found not too far from the entrance to Larkscall, doing his best to not die of fright. I’d say it would be time for him to change his undies, but thanks to the prank he’s no longer got any. But there’s a reason for this visit of his: apparently once every so often, a special little sylph is born. If the touched ones get their corrupted hands on this kid it could spell disaster for everyone. As long as we’re looking out to stop that happening, JoJo may as well stick around and lend a hand with other things.

MOST AWESOME MOMENT SO FAR: A very happy sylph lets me ride on her goobbue pal, who, when directed, will spew a moldy sneeze on groups of touched ones who have huddled together to plot... something. I get a mean laugh out of seeing the haters flee to take a bath. And riding this goobbue is just plain fun, especially when the sylph says that she can tell her buddy likes me too. It’s the most adorable schadenfreude in all Eorzea. (Well, in all of 2.0 anyway. I don’t know what cute friends are waiting for me later.)

“I hope the Sahagin love their children too”

Another one of the things JoJo gets sent to help with is the aftermath of a shipwreck. Some of the survivors need potions and some just need first aid, but there’s one lady I can’t do anything for because what she wants is her missing son. Then everyone looks out at the sea, where two Sahagin have appeared with a small boat. In the boat is a little boy. Their task done, the Sahagin leave without a word, but after the mom has quit hugging her son, he holds up a necklace. Obviously it’s not his. He knows his mom would be very upset if he tried to return it to its rightful owner, so JoJo goes instead. That’s how I meet Clutchfather Novv, who states that the inhabitants of both land and sea value their kids, so of course he’d reunite that family. He’s raising his own family in this particular spot because their old spawning grounds got wrecked in the Calamity, and his group in particular isn’t interested in fighting humans as much as they are in not dying out. Helping a hardworking single dad save his people from extinction? JoJo can’t turn her back on that.

MOST AWESOME MOMENT SO FAR: As in so many families, the older siblings help out. I get some good fighting in by request, but if I had to go with just one thing Fyuu has asked me to help him with, it would be vandalizing those Coral Trident banners set up to taunt the Maelstrom. Fyuu is a savage.

“Hey jerk, YOU work”

Some explosives have been filched from Camp Overlook. They know who did it and where they went, so JoJo accompanies Storm Sergeant Skaetswys down a path to the bottom of the nearby cliff. Five seconds later, we’re surrounded by kobolds... and five seconds after that, the kobolds surrender. The 789th Order seem to be as dangerous as they are highly-ranked (hint: there are fewer than 790 Orders). I don’t think they’re tempered, either. JoJo hides behind a nearby furnace just in time to hear a pickman from a much higher-ranked Order threaten to hurl everyone into said furnace if they don’t do better at their jobs. Skaetswys is so disgusted by the lack of guts displayed around here that she sticks around to chew out the leader while I look to see what else needs doing.

MOST AWESOME MOMENT SO FAR: Having to track down several small bombs to tell them Ba Go didn’t really mean it when he called them fat, and won’t they please come home? When they do come home, JoJo gets scolded for interrupting a “moment.” Honorable mention goes to Ba Go’s beef with king of slackers Bo Zu, who at one point decided to make a meal of bomb fingers. Not his bomb fingers, of course. Skaetswys is right, someone really needs to teach these guys self-respect and self-reliance and discipline. I wonder if this is how Hank Hill felt in some episodes.