#violet chocobo

[chippersweetbaby]

my chocobo finally has the medals he deserves

[valkariel]

Electrope

Location: Heritage Found - Spire of Trial

Chocobo Color: currant purple Barding Head: Hades Barding Barding Body: Electrope Barding Barding Legs: Dragoon Barding

Shader: Faeberry Bokeh

[rottenpumpkin13]

Subject: Hypothetical Dialogue Commenced During Initial Development

Participants: A, G, S, Z, C, ???

Inquiry: What were the first words uttered aloud by these headache inducing gremlins individuals?

Side Note: If possible, please include anyone they were speaking to at the time as well as any reactions that merit details.

End Statement: ♥︎

 

Zack's first word: "Friend" (although it sounded more like "fwemd") Yelled it at a toad when he was a baby on a picnic with his parents. He was holding a cookie, saw the toad hop twice, and screamed "frieeeend!" insistently to get the toad's attention and maybe offer it a cookie. The toad hopped away. Baby Zack was devastated, in tears, and Mrs. Fair immediately had to go find another toad so her baby could share his cookie with it.

Sephiroth's first word: "Mama" said hoarsely, somewhere between a sob and a plea. He was less than a year old, on a sterile metal table under glaring lights, wires and needles in his arms. Hojo yelled at an assistant to note the word, made a joke about sentimentality being a flaw to be corrected later on, and continued with the examination.

Genesis' first word: "Apple" (sounded more like "appo") He was sitting in his little baby carrier underneath a Banora White tree on the Rhapsodos orchard while his mother fussed with his hair for a photo. He saw a shiny, violet Banora White hanging from a tree, pointed at the fruit and said the word.

Cloud's first word: "No." He was being offered a toy. Not a bad toy, either—a soft plush chocobo. He looked at it, narrowed his eyes, and said "No" with a tiny pout. His mom tried to appease him with it, give the chocobo plush a voice to maybe get him to laugh. Cloud screamed "NOOOO!!" and hid his face. She quietly put the plush away, wondering if maybe he didn't like that it looked like him—fluffy blond hair, round little face.

Angeal's first word: "Sword." His mother was hanging laundry in the yard, humming, the sheets ballooning in the sun while baby Angeal sat inside the the laundry basket among the clean linens. His father sat in a chair a few feed away, whittling a toy sword, simple, small enough for baby hands. Angeal pointed a tiny finger and said "sword!" His mother dropped a pillowcase, his father nicked his thumb in surprise. Angeal received the toy sword that night and cradled it in his sleep.

[bardic-tales]

The Red Thread of Godhood, a FF 7 / FWC fic

Summary: Sephiroth tends to Bianca, stitching her wounds and binding their fates together as they prepare to escape a haunted forest toward an uncertain future.

Pairing: Bianca (f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: Chocobo (unwilling companion), implied Shinra scientists (not directly present but referenced), Hojo, Diana Ravenscroft (mentioned in memory), Unnamed stable boy (deceased)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Blood, body horror, child loss/miscarriage, gore, graphic injury, implied torture, manipulation, non-consensual experimentation, violence, death, necrosis, forced impregnation/harvesting, unsettling imagery, animal use (chocobo under magical control), trauma, abandonment, stalking/pursuit

Author’s Note: This piece contains major spoilers for the original Final Fantasy VII and associated extended canon (Advent Children, Crisis Core, etc.). If you're only familiar with the Remake series, please be advised of spoilers and read at your own risk if you’re avoiding deeper lore until future installments of the Remake.

The forest beyond the Nibel Mountains breathed with a silence so complete that it felt unnatural. Not the stillness that comes with sleep, but a deliberate hush of a hunted world. Trees loomed like skeletal watchmen. Their bare branches clawed at the violet sky, and the moon, bloated and jaundiced, glared down through a fog that reeked of stagnant magic.

Sephiroth walked through the frost-hardened grass. The chocobo’s pale feathers had taken on a ghostly hue in the moonlight, and it followed mutely behind, led by a frayed rope scavenged from the stable where he had slit a stable boy’s throat before absconding with the beast. Presently, the boy's corpse still lay crumpled in the stable's hay, cooling beneath the straw like a discarded piece of trash. The stable had been silent when he left it, save for the whisper of gurgling gasps and the scent of blood.

She lay limp across the chocobo’s padded back. She was no more than a dark smear wrapped in a woolen blanket he borrowed from the stables. Her black hair spilled in tangled ribbons, sticky with blood and dirt, trailing around her. The weight of her unconscious form pulled at the saddle unevenly, but the chocobo remained calm under his spell. Its instincts shackled beneath the suffocating pressure of his will.

He reached the clearing by instinct, not memory: a place beyond the reach of the Nibel Area. This place was deadened and forgotten. The ground was soft here, as black loam split by veins of iron and ancient roots. He tethered the chocobo to a branch. Its eyes vacant under both the calm and silence spell and turned back to saddle bag on its side and the crumpled figure on its back.

She slid easily into his arms. Her body was too light. Too cold. He laid her gently on the blanket again. The thick wool cushioned her broken body, and for a moment, he knelt beside her as if in prayer. His coat fanned out around him.

Her wings were ruined. Once glorious and white, the velvet-black limbs now clipped and seeping from the joints. He did not look at them long.

Her wound. Sephiroth had seen it in his mind long before his eyes confirmed it. A grotesque, stitched mockery of her divine form: carved from her side, across her belly, looping up to rest beneath the swells of her pale breasts. This vivisection was not meant for healing but for harvesting. They had cut into her to find divinity, to breed her, to bleed her, and to fill her veins with Mother.

Sephiroth did not mourn.

He opened his pack and withdrew the bone needle he had also stolen and, now, carried since his emergence from the Lifestream, and thread boiled in antiseptic that reeked of mako and copper. His hands were steady. Of course they were.

He began to stitch.

Each pass of the needle through her flesh was a sacrament. No, a rite. Her hot blood soaked his fingers, as he longed shed his gloves at this point, and though her body remained still, his own nerves lit with phantom agony. The soulbond did not dull over distance or death. It never had. Her pain became his pain and was multiplied fourfold across their cursed red tether.

The string of fate was not romantic. It was never romantic. It was a glorious, godless parasite woven from the marrow of forgotten titans. It allowed him access to her mind, her history, her anguish. It whispered her memories into him like lullabies soaked in ether.

Even now, flashes assailed him: the scent of burning antiseptic, Hojo’s gloved hand pressing into her abdomen, Diana Ravenscroft’s laughter echoing through sterile halls, needles, IV drips of monster blood, and the loss of their unborn children—a flutter of warm cells torn from her and swallowed into cold glass.

He did not look away. He drank it in. When the final stitch tightened, he sat back. Blood matted her skin, painting her navel like a ritual brand. Her eyes remained shut.

He whispered, “Not yet.”

From the Lifestream, he summoned Masamune. The blade did not scream when it appeared. It sighed. It shimmered into existence like a lover arriving late with its black and silver length curved and terrible, gleaming with the memory of the massacre.

He only extended the blade enough for what was needed. With a motion that betrayed neither hesitation nor the pomp of ceremony, he dragged the edge across his right palm. The skin split with ease. He turned his hand and allowed the blood to fall, slow and thick, onto her pale, plump lips.

Bianca stirred. Barely. A flicker of breath swept across his palm as he pressed it against her lips and the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Drink,” he said. It was not as command but decree.

She did not respond.

He tilted her head with his left hand hand, as his fingers slipping beneath her hair which was clumped with dried blood. Her fangs were slightly exposed. Those delicate, beautiful razor-sharp teeth designed to tear and consume glittered in the moonlight with his gore drizzled upon her teeth like thick caramel. He pressed his hand harder against her mouth.

The connection flared like wildfire across their bond. Her lips parted reflexively, and the moment she tasted him, her body jerked. A convulsion shook her body against the blanket.

His blood was power. His blood was memory.

Through the tether, he felt the flickering storm of her thoughts, as images bled into him in fractured flashes: her first breath under Shinra Manor’s labs, the giddy voice of Hojo naming her ‘specimen N01’, the walls etched with her own blood, the sound of her wings breaking and being bound, and the scent of his coat when she fell into his arms after her escape.

A god does not weep, but something inside him buckled. She was his.

Not in the crude, possessive sense of mortals, but as the final constant in an equation that spanned worlds and stars. She was the marrow in his spiral into divinity and the thorn that refused to be burned away. He had tried, once, in the Lifestream. He had tried to purge the memory of her body, of their last moments, and her name. But Bianca had remained. As if the universe itself conspired to keep her tethered to him. Even now, she anchored him.

He lowered her gently back to the coat, smoothing her hair behind a pointed ear. Her pulse fluttered beneath her throat. It was faint but there.

Above them, the trees creaked.

He did not sleep. Gods did not sleep. Instead, he sat in stillness, the weight of the shortened Masamune across his knees, and watched her breathe.

Night wore on like the dying moans of a planet that had long ceased to care. The wind moved strangely here like it carried voices just beneath the threshold of hearing, whispering things that remembered him from before but that was blocked from his own memories.

At dawn, a sickly grey light filtered through the canopy. He stood, wordless, and returned to the chocobo. The spell still held. The bird blinked slowly as he untied it and led it to her.

Lifting her again, he felt the full measure of her fragility. Her body, though marked by celestial lineage, had been dragged to the brink. Her weight was less than it should have been, and her skin too pale. He wrapped her tighter in the blanket and placed her across the saddle again. The chocobo made no sound. It’s ivory feathers now streaked with her blood.

They continued to move west. The broken mountains loomed behind them now, and ahead, Rocket Town waited: an obsolete town, a corpse pretending to breathe. Beyond that? The sea. And, then, the Northern Continent.

His body would be waiting there, reforming in the Northern Cave, as he fed upon hatred and was being rebuilt from Mother's cells, dreams, and vengeance. Bianca would be safe once they reached it. He would make it so.

And if the world burned like Nibelheim in the process of keeping Bianca safe, it would be a small price to pay for Sephiroth. After all, she had already paid a far more terrible price.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[sekhithefops]

South of Midnight (East of Texas)

As I recently said in a post regarding New World Aeternum, I'm almost 40 years old and have been a gamer for the majority of those. I'm old enough to remember when "16 bit graphics" was considered a massive leap forward in technology.

But I'm also old enough to spot patterns in games. I'm old enough to see the repetitions. Sometimes its charming like how Final Fantasy always finds rooms for it's mascots; the moogles, the chocobo birds, the tonberries, and the cactaurs.

Sometimes... less so, like when you realize every single mainline Pokemon game is basically the same game with very little deviation until Scarlet/Violet (and even then it had a lot of things that irked me.)

As I said in that last post, anything new in the gaming sphere is more valuable than gold to me. A new story, a new sort of gameplay, a new concept, anything.

Enter South of Midnight.

South of Midnight is set in Mississippi in the modern day and follows the story of a young woman named Hazel Flood. As the game opens she and her mother are preparing to take shelter during a hurricane when disaster strikes.

The trailer they live in is broken free from it's mooring and swept off into the river, flowing downstream as Hazel, who was checking on her neighbors at the time, races off in pursuit as she realizes her mother was still inside the house.

Unable to reach it in time she goes for help from her only other relative, her paternal grandmother Bunny Flood.

From there she discovers a pair of magical needles in her grandmother's attic and becomes a Weaver, someone who is able to fix the threads of the 'tapestry' that binds all of creation.

Grief, pain, suffering, and loss cause the tapestry to become knotted, giving rise to haints, shadowy monsters who attack anything they see.

The story is basically a massive deep dive into the lore of the deep south of the United States, borrowing from legends of the area such as Hugging Molly, a monster who steals away children and leaves only red yarn behind.

As well as other folktales like a gigantic alligator named Two Toed Tom...

... and a talking catfish the size of a small whale, who simply goes by "Catfish."

The gameplay is very straightforward, an action platformer with some RPG elements where you can collect floof (I'm serious) to unlock new abilities, and the game itself is only about 9-10 hours long if you play straight through... but godsdammit I adored every second.

Like I said before, as a gamer something new is greater than gold to me, and while the gameplay wasn't the story absolutely was. The setting is one that almost never gets utilized in video games. I mean its Mississippi, most Americans just dismiss the state as "well things are rough, but we could live in Mississippi." I did myself before playing this, but now... I kinda feel like I was being overly critical of them.

The ending was also something I never really expected either. I went in figuring it'd be a huge climactic boss fight but what actually happened... well... I won't say, but it really stuck with me even now.

This is one of those games I really hope gets a sequel or DLC. Even if it doesn't I'm absolutely going to grab anything else the studio produces. Gameplay wasn't anything fancy, but the story and the music had me hooked from beginning to end.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 4 Reticent

“Argh! I cannot stand it!”

Dark Autumn looked up as C’oretta strode into the office and began—not so much pacing, as agitated bouncing from point to point in a semi-regular pattern. Violet bounced along, trying to keep up, but soon flumped onto her purple rump in the middle of the carpet, looking dizzy.

“So there’s this problem in the lab and Ryss and Zoissette are arguing about the aethercurrent variables except you know how they argue it’s not like a proper fight and it just makes me itchy and in the meanwhile they don’t want to listen to my ideas and Apple isn’t around where is she anyway I haven’t seen Meya today either come to think of it anyroad the variance in current isn’t the problem but those beanpoles are too in the clouds to listen!”

Dark finished the final column, signed off on the sheet, set it aside and sat back to give her full attention to the frustrated Miqo’te.

“Right? So I was doing the math you know I’m good at it for instance you forgot a carry there—” She had glanced at the sheet as she moved, upside down from her perspective, and the carry wouldn’t have been missed if there hadn’t been an energetic pink distraction in the room—“And so I tried to fix it cuz sometimes the best way to just get anything done in there is to just do it while people are having their debates you know and then suddenly I was being tossed out!”

Dark raised an eyebrow.

C’oretta sighed. “Okay yeah I know I need to show my work and not just fix it even if it’s wrong and that’s super itchy to see and also it’s really obvious like I don’t know how such brillliant people miss it but we do get distracted a lot maybe it’s too many cooks but I’m trying to do my part and help.

Dark shook her head, a light smile on her lips.

“I suppose I could just write it down ooh I should get a journal I could make it all cute with stickers and glitter okay maybe not glitter Silent Coeurl would murder me unless I did it outside so it doesn’t get all over the house and I can put the extra stickers on the chocobos’ beaks cuz that’d be adorable and then I’d have a journal with all my notes and ugh I guess I can write out the formulas and long division and whatever else Zoissette wants to see and then they’ll have to pay attention.”

Dark made a thoughtful grunt.

“They probably are done debating by now and maybe willing to listen especially if I look cute and promise to show them how I figured it out but oh could you walk Violet and give her a treat cuz we’re bound to go over time?”

Dark nodded.

“Thanks Dark you’re the best I feel so much better when we talk and I bet Silent Coeurl’s got a journal I can use I’ll need a cute pen too better make it five cuz I’ll lose them anyroad Violet you stay with Auntie Dark I have equations to share.”

She bound out, Violet sighing heavily as she moved over to drape herself over Dark’s feet.

Dark leaned down to scritch the small behemoth between her horns. The walk could wait a few more minutes as she reached for the last add sheet to fix the accounting error.

[iona-xiv]

— B A S I C S

Name: Iona Edelweiss

Nicknames: Little Sparrow, Edelweiss, Rabbit.

Age: 30+

Nameday: 13th Sun of First Umbral Moon

Race: Viera, Veena

Gender: Female 

Orientation: Bicurious

Profession: Retired Dancer, Adventurer, Barkeeper

— P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Chocolate brown hair, natural hair color is white

Eyes: Light Violet

Skin: Fair skin 

Tattoos/scars: a few scars from martial arts training but nothing to write home about.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: unknown, but believes they are dead - has an adoptive father whose whereabouts are unknown as well.

Siblings: No siblings that she's aware of.

Grandparents: None that she's aware of

 In-laws and Other:  She's in a complicated situation with her estranged husband, who's been missing in action for a while. She's torn between waiting for her husband and embracing the Pirate who's managed to mend a piece of her heart. Juggling between waiting for his return and exploring this unexpected new connection. She's caught amid tangled emotions. (lol I got carried away)

Pets: not really her pet but a small sparrow that appears once in a while.

— S K I L L S

Abilities: Dance, Martial arts, Mixing drinks, making people feel comfortable. 

Hobbies: performing morning callisthenics, crafting new drink recipes, shopping.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: open-minded, imaginative and creative, empathetic and compassionate towards others, energetic and enthusiastic.

Most Negative Trait: restless and quick to feel dissatisfied, can get emotionally overwhelmed, impulsive.

— L I K E S

Colors: Hunter Green, Jet Black, Pearl White, Dalamud Red, Gloom Purple

Smells: Vanilla, crisp air of the forest, Rain, Fresh bread, and sea air

Textures: smooth, soft, slick and fuzzy 

Drinks: Gridanian and Coerthas Coffees, Doman Tea, Ishgardian Mulled Wine

— O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: No, but doesn't mind if others do it around her. 

Drinks: Yes, she is a social drinker and can be an emotional drinker (It's a rare happening when she feels she is in the depths of despair and needs an escape)

Drugs: Has had no reason to want to try or do any.

Mount Issuance:  She prefers to walk, but It would be her Chocobo - Melonge

Been Arrested: Yes but escaped before booking

------------------ Thanks for the tag! @ardberts (I've been wanting to do an updated one of these!) Tag your it! @onburdenedwings, @zanse-the-gunner @candideangel @hydaelynshimbos @ciel-xiv @sparto @sie-sharp @peacock-mooncat @aethericfist @eorzeanflowers @uldahstreetrat @starforger @nyxvaledoeswriting @vazaymir @glendurgrodar @alixennial @kyrie-kahkol @sunneflower @notarchonzachlol

Sorry if you've been tagged :O and if anyone sees this and is inspired to try please do so tag me :D I'd love to learn more about your character/s!

[lomappreciationblog]

Random, but I always found Big Baby so cute among the enemy designs - it just looks so squishy and cute!

On an emulator I was able to actually get its Monster egg and had it as a pet, but so far no luck on my LOM HD file, I think it's one of the rarer Aquatic eggs. Also, I think some monsters appear as eggs based off the spirit influence on the location, so it might be my current map is lacking. Don't quote me on this though, a lot of the technical aspects of LOM flies by me haha.

I do wish Big Baby retained its enemy colors as a pet, the violet+green combo is nicer than the orange+purple colors pets have. Pets in general aren't actually too useful in battle admittedly, but I like how they look. I always kept the very first Rabite you hatch (which I now name Riri), and on an old emulator file I eventually got my favorites, a Big Baby, Poto, Sky Dragon and Kid Dragon. Of these, only Sky Dragon is competent in actual battle since their ice breath gives enemies a Snowman status, which also drains health. I always wanted Chocobo, but it only appears if your system detects a FF7 save file, I think? So I'm not sure how to make it appear in LOM HD. On my LOM HD file I almost always bring my dear Riri, and I think the pet AI may have been tweaked a little because I feel like Riri lands attacks more consistently now, but again, not really good on LOM's technical aspects.

[rojaceartandgaming]

I am loving what Rebirth is doing narratively in some parts but istg this is the worst open-world game I've ever played besides Pokemon Violet and has such egregious padding in places that didn't need it in the first place-

I just want to explore Nibelheim what do you mean I need to do a couple hours of looking around for enemies which makes grinding so much worse then in the og where you just had to go a couple steps and then boom! A battle! Easy exp!

What do you mean chocobos are *required*.

I just want to enjoy the story bc it's really really good - anyone else in the same boat?

[midnightmagicks]

Thank you for the tag @avampyone !! <3

Tagging: Anyone who is interested! <3 If you see this, do it :point:

—𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒔

Name: E'mal Khama (Birth name: (that he doesn't know) Kari Brotiðgrein/Brotinngrein Nicknames: One(1) single nickname that only @shadesofblades Baatu is allowed to call him: Mally/Molly Age: 55-60 (Give or take. Being adopted at a young age makes this Difficult) Nameday: 25th Sun of the Sixth Umbral Moon (Starlight baby <3) Race: Rava Viera Gender: Trans male Orientation: Gay gay homosexual gay Profession: Travelling entertainer, dancer, and duelist

—𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒔

Hair: Black. Very shiny and well taken care of. Eyes: Violet colored right eye and a blinded left eye. Skin: A warm tan-ish tone. Tattoos/scars: A tattoo on his forehead that often hides behind his hair. Two scars on either side of his chest (fantasy top surgery babey)

—𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚

Parents: E'dona Khama: Adoptive Mother (Alive) E'wyn Khama: Adoptive Father (Alive) Siege Einar/Vísyr Djt-Rok: Biological Father (Alive! E'mal has no idea though) Sunna Brotiðgrein/Brotinngrein: Biological Mother (Deceased) Siblings: Several. All assumed deceased. Grandparents: Unknown biologically and adoptive. In-laws and Other: Unknown Pets: Wisteria, his darling chocobo and Eclair, his white whittret.

—𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔

Abilities: Always one to give his all to a performance, E'mal has mastered the arts of Dancer and Red Mage in combo. He has learned to weave the magicks together to make shows surely able to capture the attention of passing crowds. But more than just street dancing, he is a capable fighter should he need to protect himself. Just....a little more flamboyantly than most. Hobbies: E'mal enjoys baking! He loves making sweets for his friends. He also enjoys fishing though he would NEVER admit that out loud. Another thing he enjoys is singing. That surprisingly doesn't come up as often as one would think in his performances as those are usually focused on the dancing and magic aspects.

—𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔

Most Positive Trait(s): Adventurous and Social Most Negative Trait(s): Self-neglectful and Emotionally Suppressed

—𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔

Colors: Red, purple, gold, green Smells: Lavender, sugary-sweet scents, spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, etc etc), leather

Textures: Velvet, Silk, Jewels. Rose Petals, Tree Bark, Fur Drinks: Spiced Teas, Fruity Alcohols, Hot Cocoa

—𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔

Smokes: No. Drinks: Occasionally. Socially. Drugs: No. Mount Issuance: His loyal and excitable adventuring companion, Wisteria. The light purple chocobo with an equally dramatic personality to E'mal. Been Arrested: No, but he almost was his first time in Ishgard lmao. Thanks Ezie for preventing that one.

[blessed-by-umbral]

Interweaving Paths (pt.1)

O: The nocturnal symphony which oft carried over the planes of La Noscea unfolded gracefully, as the delicate, satin veil of the sky was glided over a by a canvas of ethereal hues. The celestial expanse was enveloped by a velvety embrace, as the twinkling stars adorned the twilight sky with their luminous presence.

In the far reaches of the landscape, a menacing presence of rainclouds casted a shadow on the horizon, their ominous darkness rivaling that of the night sky itself. The looming threat of impending rainfall was palpable, as the clouds gathered in a foreboding display of unpredictability.

Ondrea exuded an air of authority as she sat confidently astride Curach, a majestic black buck of a chocobo with a beak that gleamed as if it had just been honed to perfection. His piercing orange eyes scanned the surroundings with keen vigilance, mirroring the sharp focus of his skilled rider. Ondrea's gaze remained fixed towards the east, where the radiant glow of Limsa's Aetheryte pulsed in the distance.

“Smells like rain.” A deep, drawled out voice emerged from her side. Cormac, a prominent Hyur, had faithfully served House Cress since Ondrea's youth. Despite not being related by blood, he was considered a part of the family in many respects. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her brother and his closest companion, Argrin, Cormac had a slim physique and an aristocratic air, which sharply contrasted with Argrin's more rugged appearance. “We should act swiftly if we desire not to be caught in it.”

Cormac's words resonated with truth, as Ondrea found herself yearning to avoid the clutches of an impending tempest, especially considering their cargo. A disheveled figure, concealed beneath a tangled veil of oily shoulder length chestnut hair, lay sprawled belly down on the back of a Cress Guard chocobo. Strangely, it seemed that the mere mention of hastening their travel caused him to emit a feeble groan, as if Cormac's words had stirred a deep sense of discontent.

Ondrea deftly manipulated the supple leather strap of Curach's reins and exerted a firm pull to veer him to the left. The ground beneath his colossal talons surrendered effortlessly, leaving behind precise imprints as he gracefully advanced. "Indeed, we shall proceed swiftly and head towards the west," she declared as she extended out her arm and gestured with a razor-sharp claw towards a dense thicket in the distance. "The banks of the river ought to be located approximately a mile in that direction."

The bound man received only a fleeting glance, as if his presence was of little consequence. "Any further outburst from him will be swiftly dealt with in a manner that he would undoubtedly find most unpleasant." Such was delivered in promise.

Cormac found himself unable to suppress the faint smirk that graced his lips in response to Ondrea's addendums. This was not the initial encounter with Ondrea's unique approach to work that he had experienced. He seemed to be one of the rare few to stomach it.

With a graceful swing of his leg, Cormac mounted his Chocobo, and with a swift and practiced motion, he skillfully wrapped the reins around his wrist, ensuring a firm and secure grip. "Hold on, now." he advised with little avail as his other hand gripped tight to the man's tunic. With a dignified chuff, his Chocobo took after Ondrea's, leaving behind a trail of swirling dust that danced in the ether.

As the pair advanced, they found themselves embraced and shielded by the veil of darkness. Nevertheless, to guarantee their unity in the midst of the obscurity of the thick forest, Ondrea would summon a burst of mystical violet-tinged energy that trailed behind her with a faint, shivering glow.

A discerning observer might catch sight of a flickering purple light dancing among the trees in the forest. Whatever could be rushing through the wood in the dead of night? M: The night’s veil would shroud the movements of the black and majestic chocobo while it moved with the 'prisoner' away, the woman dressing in black and her soldiers would certainly be well camouflaged to the average eye. But tonight’s observant was not the average eye. Instead, it was a man whose body had the taint of the abyss: A Dark Knight’s source of abilities and strength. Despite not being an expert of the dark arts, his body was partially but permanently changed because of it. Eyes that could see in the dark as clear as if it was day, a glimpse of the moonlight was enough to ignite the whole world ablaze, metaphorically, albeit black and white, unable to see colors and shades. The wearer of those eyes: A Tall, 6,2 Highlander man with a hair mixed between a sangria red and gray locks that indicated he was no youngling, descending to his face, one would see verdant eyes, a long and rough nose, with two scars, one on his left eye, going from the cheekbone to the forehead, and the other on his lip, close to the right side of the mouth, both seemingly from blades. On his hips, he carried a sheathed longsword, with a simple scabbard holding the steel blade inside, and for armor, he wore chainmail on top of leather, with leathery boots, a combination of armor and clothing that gave him the look of a wandering knight, intentional or not, it provided with serviceable defenses while not impairing his movement. And on his back, a black cloak, tattered from worn, and dirtied with the sand of La Noscea. What was this man doing in here ? Didn’t matter, plans had changed, for he watched the suspicious caravan delve into the forest, the purple lightning pushing him towards the decision of investigate, so he started descending from the top of the hill he found himself with, and as his cloaked billowed against the hitting winds of La Noscea, he would power walk towards the direction they went: Deep into the woods. His pace was fast, and his footsteps would forfeit stealth as they crunched into the sand closer and closer, he was not faster than a chocobo, however, and he was counting that they would be ahead until he would be able to see them, should they stop somewhere in the woods. He had many thoughts as he sprinted, what was going on ? Was this a cult ? A gang ? Officers of the law ? What was going on ? Whatever it was, it didn’t smell right for the Highlander, quite literally, as his nose would catch an odd scent, perhaps it was the magic, the figure riding the chocobo, or one of her guards. And… whatever it was from, it would send a shiver through the man’s spine, making him almost pause, and his eyes widening. ‘What is this?’ He thought, and with a brief pause, realized what it was: Fear. The instinct all men have, and one he was not used to feeling. ‘Why?’ he whispered to himself, and no one spoke back, he frowned, being afraid irritated the man, and more than that, his curiosity was much wider than his desire for ‘safety’. But as he continued to walk down the path, his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, the palm resting on top of the pommel, similar to how a knight holds its sword when posing, it brought him comfort, and a sense of security, to know that he had his weapon nearby, and at ready.

O: Undoubtedly, the powerful and robust strides of chocobos would unquestionably outpace the journey of any individual on foot. Nevertheless, Magnos would find himself surprised when the trail of purple strings of magic abruptly vanished with the approach of the the soothing sound of a babbling brook just ahead.

To the inquisitive and perpetually observant, he would immediately discern the figures of a triumvirate, with two individuals positioned on their mount while the third descended from her elevated position. From where he crouched, he could hear the crunch of stone beneath her boots.

As she gracefully made her way towards the meandering river, her lustrous ebony tresses cascaded like a luxurious veil of the deepest black, extending beyond the delicate curve of her lower back. The most captivating aspect of her countenance, however, resided within her eyes, which presented a captivating enigma. At first glance, they appeared to possess a resplendent golden hue, albeit subdued by the surrounding darkness, yet their allure remained undeniable. The infinitesimal dimensions of her pupil, resembling a minuscule puncture, was the more peculiar thing about her hues. It was as if she harbored power yet unlocked.

"This will do." Ondrea's voice carried a tone of finality, her gaze fixed on the flowing river as if it held the power to bring her plans to fruition. "Release him, but ensure his feet remain bound. I have no inclination for a chase," she commanded.

"You heard the lady." Cormac responded with a matter-of-fact tone that bespoke his dedication. As he dismounted from his chocobo, he deftly produced a hidden dagger and swiftly cut the ropes binding the man, allowing them to fall to the ground in a cascade of freedom. With an air of authority, Cormac implored the gentleman to rise from his hunched posture and as the man began to lose his balance, Cormac did little to assist and allowed for him to descend to the ground with a loud thud.

The scraggily man emitted another low groan, causing a pool of crimson liquid to slowly seep from the edge of his lips. Without any additional introduction, Ondrea swiftly pivoted on her heel and strode towards her captive. With a graceful crouch and a tightening of her leather-clad fingers, her gloved hand firmly grasped the back of his head, securing his hair within her firm hold, and jerked his face from the ground. The piercing gaze she directed towards him was intense, with narrowed eyes emanating a chilling glow of venomous green that seemed to ignite from the depths of her gaze.

Ondrea's hand descended and offered the man a tender touch with her leather-clad thumb as it glided across the apple of his cheek, then down to removing the traces of blood that adorned his mouth and chin. It was almost beautiful, the gesture, were the hand conducting it not attached to such a creature.

"I know it's you." The man choked out. "I can smell that foul magic on clinging to you---or is it you clinging to it?"

This caused Ondrea to chuckle a low, single note from the hearth of her throat.

"What use are powerful words when the tongue that they come from is as limp as its hosts backbone? Tell me, do you think you'll be saved?" To what exactly 'saved' was remained nebulous, though it was evident by the strict tone wrapping itself around her voice that she wasn't speaking on anything secular.

"By the flames, I will be purged and pure." The man uttered, his dry and flakey lips muttering the sentiment over and over again.

With a skeptical glance, Cormac fixed his gaze on Lady Cress, hoping that his expression would encourage her to conclude the matter swiftly. Unfortunately, Ondrea was not inclined to hasten proceedings unnecessarily. Instead, she forcefully pushed Cormac back onto the damp gravel near the bend of the river, emitting a disapproving click of her tongue accompanied by a sigh.

"Would you prefer to cut his tongue out, my lady?"

A pause followed, as if something peculiar lingered in the air. With a slow and methodical turn of her head, she peered out into the darkness. Searching. Watching. She raised a hand to silence Cormac's addendum, leaving but the muttered, repetative phrasing streaming from the man below them.

"--I feel something." She added, eyes scanning. "Someone?"

M: Having come to a stop following the trail of purple lightning, the man would turn to a different sense: his hearing, he heard faint noises coming from the river, as well as the gentle sound of the water sliding against the rocks bellow, and whisper-like voices coming to his ears, impossible to assert what was being said. So the man turned to follow the voices, and came to find the triumvirate close to the river. In there, the man witnessed the raven haired woman bring her hand to the man’s lips after roughly yanking at the back of their head, he watched as the so-called Cormac cut the ropes of the man and later suggested cutting down his tongue. He watched torture, or at least what he thought it was torture. He watched all of it from a bush, not making a sound, his gaze, verdant and piercing as a ray of sunlight through the night could not look away from the woman dressed in black. Every inch of his body begged him to go away… until he heard the restrained man speak about foul magics, then he knew why. Perhaps it was a sense developed by practicing the magic, perhaps it was a way that his intuition warned him that this woman could be far greater than he is on the arts of the occult, but he couldn’t just look the other way, they were going to kill a supposedly innocent man, and he would step in, his brain already looking for ways to make the innocent man less innocent in order to convince him to leave, failing to do so, of course. Before the man could have made the decision to intervene, that decision was made for him when he noticed the woman raising a hand, and watching as Cormac’s eyes scanned the surroundings after her warnings, if he could feel uneasy by her, then perhaps she could sense him. That did not come as a surprise for him, and even then, stealth was never part of the plan, he even thought to himself a phrase he often uses whenever he fails at such. ‘Subterfuge is the weapon of the coward anyway.’ And he stepped forward, coming out of the bushes, and making himself visible, first to those that could see in the dark, then to everyone else as the moonlight illuminated him. He walked with confident, calm steps towards the direction of the woman and its two bodyguards, unafraid, or at least, pretending to be. His sword was not drawn yet, but his hand remained on the hilt of the weapon, perhaps it was a gesture of peace, or perhaps he didn’t even think he’d need his weapon to retaliate if attacked. “Perhaps he might.” The man said, his red locks visible as the moon reflected bright sunlight into his surface, his voice was calm but deep, always carrying a menacing tone as he spoke, yet no anger came out of his lips. “Be saved, that is” He added, and pointed at the tied man with his eyes. Indicating he both had witnessed what happened before, and also to add a tone of sarcasm on his speech. He smirked at that, another sign of confidence, lessened by his own concerns. His eyes then moved from the two bodyguards to the woman. And he simply asked after a low sigh, one of tiredness. “Who are you people, and what are you doing to that man? And who is that man?” He expected not only would they not answer his questions, but also that they would ask questions of their own, questions the man was annoyed to answer. Or that they would draw their weapons and not ask anything, either outcome was not pleasing for the Highlander, thus the tired sigh, expecting inconveniences in the way. The way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he grinned briefly before, the way he held his sword, it resembles a classical knight of Ishgard, but with a twist. He lacks a shield on his free arm, he speaks with sarcasm and casualty when there is usually none, his smile is slightly crooked, and he has less life on his eyes. It was like watching the portrait of a Knight, painted without colors. His green eyes were locked into the woman’s, more than they were locked into the two bodyguards. Perhaps he knew she was actually the threat to him, or perhaps it was just that he had identified her as their leader. O:

Cormac and the second guard were the initial ones to shift their attention to the unfamiliar voice. The Cress guard quickly drew his katana, but Cormac stopped him with a single raise of his hand, indicating for him to remain at his position. The guard complied. With a slight tilt of her chin, Ondrea directed her gaze towards the man, her eyes shimmering like liquid gold in the dimly lit night that enveloped them. As the sound of an unfamiliar voice pierced through the surroundings, the man's eagerness to speak was evident as he hastily raised his head, panic etched on his face. However, before he could utter a single word, the katana was swiftly positioned against the side of his throat. Though it yielded to graze his skin, the threat remained palpable.

Her gaze lingered on him with an unabashed air, for it was not a mere fleeting glance, but a thorough assessment of his physical presence and demeanor. With a practiced eye, she took note of his height, build, and overall appearance, analyzing every detail, searching for hidden threats. After a moment, she took a step forward, casting an askance look at Cormac, as if to convey a sense of reassurance while subtly signaling the need for caution.

Ondrea's refined appearance was further accentuated by her elegant attire, which spoke of her elevated social standing. As she drew closer, Magnos couldn't help but notice the delicate bell trinket adorning her throat, a symbol associated with House Cress. Perhaps, if his memory served well, he'd have heard of such a symbol.

"Inquiring so extensively for a stranger is quite unusual. The majority of individuals with sound judgment would likely choose to leave in such a situation--but not you." The latter left her with a tone that signaled her own growing curiosity. "I am who presides over my ancestral line, alongside my Lord brother, Argrin Cress. You may address me as Lady Ondrea Cress." She kept her distance, though this did little to stop the man behind her from speaking aloud, almost pleadingly.

"They're going to kill me!" He shouted, though his proclamations were abruptly silenced when the back of the katana's pommel forcefully struck the side of his head. Collapsing to the ground, he let out a groan of pain. The Cress Guard, wearing a leather mask that concealed his nose and mouth, hissed at the man to be silent.

Unperturbed, Ondrea's gaze remained anchored to Magnos. Without hesitating, she confidently affirmed. "Indeed, that is the strategy. A gesture of kindness, as usually traitors to our name would meet far worse ends. Tell me, stranger, do you intend on witnessing his punishment or do you have further curiosities you wish to satiate?"

Cormac's response to the latter was immediate, as a single chuffed chuckle escaped his lips as he folded his arms across the breadth of his chest. Ondrea, however, remained placid and attentive to the man before her. M: The next sound was those of his footsteps, and the crunching of the chainmail armor that originated from the rings moving against each other. The redhead approached, with piercing green eyes that did not move away from Ondrea, until she finished speaking, then he briefly glanced towards the pleading man, and the two soldiers. When she introduced himself, he gave a low chuckle in response. Ah, nobility, things wouldn’t end well for him, he thought. “A pleasure, Lady Ondrea Cress.” He rolled her name out of his tongue, and despite the sarcasm, his decorum wasn’t lacking. “I am Magnos. No titles or surnames.” Yet his own demeanor betrayed him, white pearled teeth when he smiled, straight posture and there was a politeness in his tone, words were rarely abbreviated. One could easily pick up the Ishgardian Accent on his voice, he might not be nobility, but he surely was not a commoner. The name ‘Cress’ would ring a bell, something he’d read somewhere and never studied further, enough to recognize her words' truth, but not to know the depth of the problem he was in. He did not know any specifics of their family, other than being nobles. He shrugged in response when she addressed that individuals of sound judgment would have let it go, and not him, and he sighed. A tired, bored sigh almost. “Individuals with sound judgment, as you put it, are rats without strength to fight, only the cunning to hide and look after their own skin, and who can blame them ? Danger is… dangerous after all.” He implied that it was not a problem for him, despite his insights telling him to leave, he was already committed to finding out the story there. He squatted briefly to look at the pleading man as he shouted for his life, he gave a piercing glare to him, as if assessing if the man was telling the truth, or giving him crocodile tears in hopes of receiving empathy, he would know, sooner or later. His eyes returned to the woman as he picked himself up. He tilted his head sideways, and cleared his throat. “Oh, many more curiosities to satisfy. Call me a Concerned Citizen, what did this man do to warrant the punishment of death ? Is he an employee of yours that stole something he shouldn’t ? Or let me guess… did not address someone of status with the proper manners, hmmm?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice venomously, almost in a condescending like manner. His intention was to stir a response within Ondrea. Anger perhaps, or slight irritation, it was only when provoked that often people would reveal their true nature. He then looked at the old fellow about to meet his end. “Or perhaps he was an incompetent turd ? Perhaps he laid a hand on one of the other servants ?” Unlike Ondrea, which he addressed with sarcasm, his voice was not harsh and his eyes piercing with a glare, he too wanted to provoke a reaction on the man, maybe fear or despair, as that would also allow him to glimpse at his nature from within. Before the two would even answer, the Highlander squinted his eyes and glanced to his surroundings, it was clear that he was surveying the region, Ondrea would perhaps notice how the squint was not necessary, for he already saw clearly in the evening, and that the squint was to pretend not to. Something he did to fit on, or to deceive his foes into assuming the darkness would save them. Before he finally returned his gaze to the woman with raven hair and golden eyes. O:

The accent that rolled from his tongue struck to her ears like a familiar melody, and with it did it prompt her dark brow to loft with great inquisitiveness. "One would presume an act of trision reason enough for execution. Given your…" A pause followed, and before long her voice carried with addendum. "…stature, understands some of those limitations." Ondrea was no fool, and though he hadn't outright made a point of such an implication, she could very well distinguish that he was, to some degree, a creature of status.

As Magnos crouched down, the man lifted his gaze to meet his with a sense of desperation in his watery eyes. In that moment, he wisely chose to hold his tongue, fully aware of the imminent threat of being coerced by the glinting blade hovering nearby. Though, this did little to cease the wordless motioning of his mouth, as if silently pleading. When Magnos arose, Ondrea turned to meet his gaze once again.

The name "Magnos" felt unfamiliar as it rolled off her tongue. It seemed to rest uncomfortably upon it, yet her countenance betrayed such things. Nonetheless, she maintained an emotionless façade, as if the sudden appearance of this individual was not at all surprising to her. "The man who has piqued your curiosity is an individual who has taken solace in divulging information about our assets to an external entity. Given that our House is presently engrossed in the development of cutting-edge vessels for voyages to the Western regions, we deemed it appropriate to violate his contract as he so willingly violated his word."

Ondrea's gaze shifted downwards towards the pitiful man, a faint smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "He can attest to the fact that it was his own hand that inscribed his name at the base of that piece of vellum. He was well aware of the repercussions of his betrayal." These words caused the man to audibly choke, his expression a mixture of fear and regret.

"I did not intend to inform anyone, my Lady! I am committed to serving the Cress family with unwavering loyalty, just like my father and his father before me," the man exclaimed passionately. However, his words were abruptly cut short as Cormac, disregarding any formalities, swiftly approached him and forcefully yanked him up by the back of his hair.

"Enough out of you." Cormac's frustration was becoming increasingly apparent as he grew tired of Ondrea's slow progress. However, he wisely refrained from pressuring her to hurry. Instead, he maintained a firm grip on the man's hair, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles for a second time. Ondrea, consistently exemplifying her proficiency, diligently pursued her assignments with a tranquil and unhurried manner, unaffected by any external pressures or time constraints as they were effectively on her time.

"You may be a concerned citizen but I do find myself wrought with inquiry as to what exactly it is you intend to do? Do you intend to speak authority on a matter where you possess none?" The latter almost made her smile.

"Or will you concern yourself with observing instead, Magnos, the would be Justiciar?"

Cormac's focus shifted from his captive to Ondrea, who was met with a stern gaze that seemed to convey a message of pushing boundaries. As the closest companion to her brother since childhood, Cormac was familiar with Ondrea's behavior, yet he remained unsure about the stranger in their midst.

In spite of all circumstances, Ondrea appeared to be ready for any possible outcome. What she knew for certain was that blood would be shed this night.

Whose blood, however, remained nebulous.

⸸ Part two coming soon ⸸ Collaborative writing efforts with: https://magnosredheart.carrd.co/. (They do not have an IC Tumblr currently!)

[chippersweetbaby]

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

wip--last wish (5)

The medic grunted, shifting position as he reached for a battered leather satchel.

“I need to change the sleeping beauty’s bandages.  Or rather, the ones I can do while we’re moving.”

“Do you need m-“  Riven trailed off as Mathye waved a hand.

“Shoo.  I have it.”  He ordered, moving to kneel next to his patient.  The chocobo ‘kwehed’ softly as Riven moved away.  Mathye lifted the blanket, surveying the prone man.  Reaching out, he began to unwrap one of the arm bandages.  As the cloth fell away, he froze.  Hrist-who had been lightly dozing in the back of his mind, awoke upon feeling her dragoon’s shock and peered through his eyes.

<…What is that?!>

“What the fuck?”  Mathye whispered.  His focus had been more on keeping the stranger’s body alive, coaxing the broken bones and tired organs into beginning to heal, offering his own life energy as the fuel needed.  And yes, he’d been focused on the scales—a quick scan had judged the injuries beneath the bandages to have already been tended to by the first set of healers…

What is this?!  The skin of the stranger’s forearm—from elbow down to wrist—was the color of stone.  Yet when Mathye put a hand on the discolored skin, it was warm and supple to the touch.  No illness, the wounds-deep gashes and a first-degree burn—were healing. For all intents and purposes everything looked normal…save for the color of the skin in comparison to the rest of the arm, hand and fingers.

<This is no skin affliction we’ve seen before.> Hrist whispered.  Mathye felt a sudden weight around his neck and shoulders as his dragon moved to materialize in the physical realm, the better for her to see what he was focusing on. 

“It’s not.”  He murmured.  Gently, Mathye moved the arm back and forth, violet eyes taking in every aspect of the limb.  Years of experience and gut instinct was whispering to him something was wrong, but what exactly?  

<Are there more parts of him like this?>

“I don’t know.  I’d have to strip him completely and that’s not a good idea right now.”  Mathye answered.  Hrist trilled quietly, and then glanced at her dragoon as she felt realization spark in Mathye’s mind.

<What is it?>    She asked.  Mathye didn’t respond, instead letting his eyes roam over his patient.  He spotted a ghost-white scar on the shoulder—small, looked claw-like.  Setting the arm down, Mathye reached out, gently running a finger over the scar.

“…The flesh is quiet.”  He breathed.

<The flesh is quiet?>  Hrist repeated.  Mathye leaned back on his heels, making to roll up the sleeve of his right arm.  A large white scar took up the majority of the skin there, and he ran the index finger of his left hand over it.  Immediately his mind lit up with information—the amount of scar tissue, ghost-like echoes of when the wound was first inflicted, of when it began to heal…

“Our bodies can hold memories of wounds.  Physical or mental.”  He said.  “But when I touched that discolored skin…and that scar on him…there were no memories of how those things happened.  There should be a record…but there’s not.”  Hrist’s eyes widened in understanding, and she looked down at the blond man.

[talesfromeorzea]

Symbols

FFxivWrite2023 Day 6 Prompt Ring

Its strange how something so simple can represent so much. Erinia thought as she stared down at the ring lying there in the hardpack earth. 

Her mind drifted back to when her journey as an adventurer began.  The chocobo carriage leading to the city proper, the gregarious merchant Bremondt chatting her ear off the entire ride until they reached the gates where he gave her a simple ring of bone, nothing fancy, just a slightly enchanted ring.  

But that simple gift had meant so much to the Half-Elezen who had already traveled so far from her home.  And now here in this strange world where the sky was ablaze with a sickly white light and everything seemed off there was another merchant so like Brenmondt she swore it was the same man.  And now she stared at his ring lying there on the floor and she felt it marked a failure on her part, a failure to protect him.

He had been so kind to this wandering stranger, sharing a small fire, offering a drink and then advice on where the befuddled woman should go.  She had been so grateful to him and now here she was staring down at the ring that had been prominent on his hand hearing the Vieran Guard comment on how the ‘beast” she had just slain must have eaten recently.

Hearing that Erinia felt naught but rage and guilt.  She had just been talking with the man not a few moments before, she could have at least traveled with him to make sure he made it safely to his destination.  The anger was at the way the Viera spoke of the situation so matter of fact, was it so common that these strange, pale white creatures that resembled voidsent just ate travelers at such a frequency that it was met with cold indifference.

She was about to speak her mind to the other woman but stopped as she saw in her violet eyes the truth.  Although she had spoken of it so casually she was as upset as Erinia at the loss of the man. Erinia swallowed back the scathing remark she was about to make when she heard rapidly running footsteps heading their way.

Both woman turned to see a short man dressed in a decorated robe of red, black and white running from the direction of what Erinia could clearly see was the Crystal Tower.  As he slid to a halt catching his breath he began speaking with the guard explaining that Erinia was his “guest”.

As they made their way to the tower the hooded man began talking, explaining a few things as they walked and Erinia was only half listening to him at the moment.  She was slightly annoyed that he had just technically lied to the Viera who obviously looked to him given the fact that she addressed him as “M’lord” and had saluted him and showed deference even as she herself had been annoyed asking dryly if the Half-Elezen was a “Friend” of his.  

She was also happy for the words had be “another” and that meant that hers and Tataru’s assumptions had been right, the Scions were here in this strange world, the First as the hooded man explained.  It at least meant they were alive and if she knew them helping the beleaguered people of this world and for now that was enough for her. 

As they made it to the gates proper with the Tower looming over her a dozen different questions buzzed in her mind including the technically amazement at how something as simple as a ring could have such a meaning.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Prompt #25 - Call It A Day

Characters: Bexy and Mist The Black Shroud, 1, Seventh Umbral Era

"You don't have to do this anymore, Bexy."

Smoke still hung thick in the Shroud air, but the worst of it was over. The Calamity had come to it's violent conclusion not even a week ago, and had churned the land and every soul upon it into turmoil. Dirt and blood marred Mist's grey features, strands of hair stuck to her cheeks at awkward angles from sweat. Bexy had no doubt that she was fighting to preserve what she could; she only hoped the Gridanians held greater respect for the woman, now.

Bexy had only run and hid from the flames. Why fight for people who want you dead? She didn't care. Why should she? Bitter purple eyes glance to Mist; the only person in the world she had a whisper of trust for, and even that was delicate.

"There are... So many people dead." Mist speaks in a breathless tone, slumped with her back against a rock; no doubt Ouryu wasn't far to be seen, keeping the silent watch that the Chocobo often did. "...It's impossible to count the bodies back in the city. Who's to say you aren't one of them?"

It takes Bexy a moment, but the realisation eventually dawns on what Mist was trying to say. Barely tempered disbelief washes over her features as she shook her head, sending lengths of midnight hair spilling over her shoulders.

"And what? Do what, Mist? There's nothing out there for someone like me." She pauses, expression scrunched into half a scowl. "I can't trust people again. I won't."

"You don't have to. You just have to stop... This." Mist gestures vaguely at Bexy, to some mild offense from the Seeker. "So don't trust people. Go travelling. See the world or... Anything but this. Say the Coeurl died with the flames. They won't look for a dead woman, Bexy. Just... Please. Try. There's some good in the world, if you'd just look for it..."

"I doubt that." Bexy half spat back. Mist's words had given her pause, however. "Why do you care so much what happens to me? Because of our deal? Salomont was so close to having his hands on you before this. He's only going to get closer. You're not exactly inconspicuous anymore, Mist."

"He is, with or without your help, Bexy. I'm... Thankful for it. I am. But it has to stop. People are suspicious enough of me that i've been hunting the Midnight Coeurl so long and have never found her. Salomont won't think twice about doing something terrible to you if it leads you to me. He's noticed you enough. He's not some airheaded bard you can take to bed and pry for coin. He'll hurt you."

"So you're... What? Cutting contact? Pushing me away?" She sounds more hurt than angry, now. Mist's violet gaze settles on her own, but she refuses to let the sadness show. From the very sound of her words, she knew she had fostered some kind of trust with the Seeker, and was just as soon to break it. "I..." She pauses, and looks away, anger bubbling up through lips which she pursed shut.

"It's for the best. You leave and start a new life somewhere. Turn a new leaf. We... We can't talk like this anymore, Bexy. Least of all now."

"You just want the Gridanians to look upon you more favourably, rather than consorting with a criminal!"

"---I want you to fucking live, Bexy!"

Mist's sharp words are enough to quiet Bexy for even a moment, before she continues.

"If i wanted you dead, i've had more than enough chances and opportunities, don't you think? I won't deny that my newfound favor with the Gridanians will work to my advantage, but if i wanted that i'd turn you in! I want you to live, Bexy. Not be another obstacle for Salomont to cut down. Not to meet a grizzly end for the sake of a bounty. Make something better of yourself! You say there's no good in the world, so change it!"

Bexy stands in some quiet, wavering silence. Emotions surely swelled beneath the surface, her expression a collision of thoughts that she doesn't quite show. It's all dismissed with a long sigh from her nose.

"Fine. I'll go." Her reply is barked back, pained. "There will be no bards now, anyway. People won't want to part with their coin in the ruin of this wretched world." Sharply turning, Mist swears she can see the shudder of Bexy's shoulders, but she doesn't say anything for it. The Seeker continues. "Thank you, Mist, for what it's worth. I..." She swallows, but doesn't grace her with another look back. "...I'll try to find it."

Bexy turns her head only enough to see Mist from the corner of her glassy gaze, to which she's given a nod.

"You will." Mist manages.

"...We'll see." Bexy replies, before slipping away between the trees, into the ashes of the Calamity that still smouldered in the night.

[legendsoflarient]

Rats and Bridges

Rats.

Not a curse, but creatures.  Fuzzy things with large ears and loud squeaks as they wriggled and tried to escape her hands.  Violet hues stared at the squirming mass within her hands.  Six.  Rats.  Looking up at the grinning Au Ra woman who seemed oh so pleased with herself to pass along such an odd collection S’iyle was only more confused.

That confusion only served to let one of the squirming creatures free and she very nearly dropped the whole lot as one tiny rat scampered up her arm to take purchased on her shoulder.  Wide eyed she stared at it, but it seemed content with its new place of being now that it was no longer confined to her grasp.

Eying the thing as it groomed and cleaned itself she returned her gaze to the woman, holding her hands out as if to return the collection.  “I…um.  Thank you.  Really but I don’t-”

She never got to finish her words as the woman shushed her.  “Rats are valuable!  Take them for help with the bridge!  People want them.  You’ll see.”  Her puzzlement only deepened as the woman spun with a wave and hopped up onto a waiting Chocobo.  “Take care!  Enjoy them!”

S’iyle stood there, clutching five rats in her hands while one stared after the woman with her.  For an adventure on Highbridge in Eastern Thanalan this hadn’t been anything she had expected.  Thanalan was so different to what she was used to.  Gridania held vast canopies of towering trees broken by the occasional hill and small mountain threaded with streams and pools of cool water.  But here?  Scrub brush replaced the flora, and sand and dust became the norm.  She was sure she’d never truly get the sand out of her ear after stumbling over a rock and taking a tumble on her way here.

She’d only come this way due to a rumor of some odd jobs to be done here.  And now she had…rats.

Of all things, rats.

It was many hours later freshly washed and sitting in a tavern that she began to somewhat understand.  Four rats dozed in a small cage on the bench beside her while beside her plate sat the white rat who’d taken purchase on her shoulder.  She still needed to come up with a name for him but it seemed rats…were valuable in such an odd way.

This one though.  She’d keep him.  She’d already tied a red ribbon around his neck into a cute little bow.  If rats could be pleased he certainly did after she was done.  Still she had four more little creatures to find a home for.

One had gone to a family who used to have a pet mouse.

One still needed a name but she figured it couldn't hurt to come with her.

The rest would find a place to belong. Why not, who was she to deny the fact that Rats are valuable and people want them.  Watching her new little companion as he scampered down into her lap and curled into a ball earned a tender little smile from the white haired Miq’ote.  After all, this one was valuable to her now, and she certainly wanted him.

(This story is based on a very real encounter I had at Highbridge while participating in the Fate to protect it. I joined it about half way through and at the end I started to head off to do a bard quest when an AuRa lady who'd been there found me and traded me six Tiny Rats and said pretty close to what was said here in this story before running off again. I was as baffled as S'iyle was But I have a forever companion now and five more rats to figure out what to do with...)