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shroudcryptid · 2 months

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There’s a ghost, at the window of their inn room. Ethereal white robes shaped from liquid moonlight, dripping down to form cloth folds. Darkness pools at the underside, but there’s no trace of a human shadow.

The warrior, cold and still sodden with seawater, bares their teeth. Conceals the startled jump of their heartbeat. “Get out.”

The sleek, white cowl turns towards them, red beak eerie in the full moon’s light. “I have another gift for you, warrior. One undoubtedly more appealing, after your impressive showing.”

A growl rises in their throat, and their new sword scrapes from its sheath.

“Behold.” A clawed glove leaves its clasped pair against the small of his back, to gesture at a corner of the room. “A warm bath.”

There is indeed a new piece of furniture in the room. A large tub of steaming water, that would have taken at least three grown Roegadyn to carry in. Seeing it, they shiver, cold drops coming off their hair like a hound shaking itself. Another twitch runs through them, the urge to scratch at the salt residue upon their clammy neck, but they keep their arm on their sword with sheer willpower. Gaze snapping back to the Ascian, they growl again, louder and animalistic.

In response, the Ascian turns towards them, does a half bow. “I hold no ulterior motives here, beyond seeking your goodwill, and preventing your premature death by hypothermia. We have not yet had that conversation, after all.”

And then the darkness swirls around him, and he’s gone. Just in time for him, as their lunging sword pierces his outer robes.

The warrior’s momentum sends them stumbling against the window, luckily not shattering the panes, although their swordtip does stab a small hole in the wooden mesh supporting them. They stay there, breathing, listening for any hint they’re still not alone. Finally, though, they accept the solitude for what it is, and lower their sword.

It’s irritating, they think, how the Ascian thinks they’ll accept from him what they hadn’t from Maelstrom Command. They’re fine, and had worse in their years of surviving on their own. Like the time that pack of white wolves sent them fleeing up into a tree in cold Coerthas, clinging to the frosted bark for hours as the frenzied wolves paced below, until an unfortunate passing karakul caught the hungry yellow eyes. Or that time they’d sunk into a mudpit while fleeing a Morbol in Rootslake, flailing and scrabbling to get away and having that burning tendril wrap around their leg and hoist them aloft. They’d savaged it enough to escape, but those clothes had been unsalvagable. And yet, it could not be denied that Leviathan- that primals in general were an entirely different realm of danger.

A thrilling danger. One that they were, somehow, up to dealing with. And yet a danger nonetheless- one that, in this case, left them soaked to the bone and picking strands of sea kelp from their undergarments.

They’re in the midst of setting a fire when their linkpearl chimes. It’s back on the table, along with the contents of their emptied, soaked pockets. Said pockets, along with the rest of the garments, have been stripped off and are sitting next to the fireplace, to hang once the drips won’t put it out.

They stare forlornly at the little flame hungrily catching at the tinder, and rise to their feet, feeling like a hinge needing oil. The hempen blanket, their only covering, shifts around them, and they pull it closer around their shoulders.

“Mm?” They say into the linkshell.

“Thank the Twelve, you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.” Minfilia says, sounding exhausted. “Where are you?”

“My-“ A sneeze interrupts them. “….My room.”

“At the Drowning Wench?”

“Mm.”

And that’s all. They sit and feed the fire while waiting, but nothing comes. Except that then there’s a knock at their door. They begrudgingly rise to meet it, equipped with naught but the rough blanket and their sword.

Y’shtola, looking similarly tired, and with her front locks of hair hanging loose and freshly shining with herbed hair oils, looks down at the side stripe of their body showing. Raises an eyebrow. And then walks forward, making them step back and aside to not collide with her.

“I expect half the Chiurgeon’s office has heard of you refusing care. Perhaps rumors of the Warrior of Light’s death will spread in the morrow’s ten gil gossip prints.” She says, and sighs. “The bathhouse maids were… thorough. It’s a pity you weren’t there to divide their attention.” And then she sniffs the air, and turns to stare at the large, glaringly out of place stone bath, with its dark, unnaturally smooth and reflective surface, and the odd, geometric shapes of golden metal. “Is that… Marble?”

The warrior blinks. “It’s a bribe.”

There’s a pause, both of them watching the fragrant steam still curling from its surface. Perhaps it has fire crystals inside, the warrior thinks. Or perhaps it’s as simple as being Ascian bullshite.

“All I got were asassination attempts.” Y’shtola says, sounding mirthful. “Integrity is a virtue and all that, but perhaps partaking in this quite likely celebratory gift would be wise. What will happen to the rest of us when another primal is summoned, and you’re stuck abed with high fever? The water will cool regardless of your presence…” Her longing gaze hasn’t left the warm waters. “Indeed, I begin to wonder whether you simply dislike being warm.”

“….From an Ascian.”

Briefly, Y’shtola looks like her soul has left her body. Then she claps a hand to her ear holding her linkpearl. “Minfilia. If I’m dealing with this, so are you. Room 14.” And then she pulls her aetheric scope from her side bag, and starts edging around the tub.

Eventually, the Warrior’s room is filled with not just Y’shtola, and not just Minfilia, but Thancred as well.

“Maybe it turns to acid once someone’s inside it?” Thancred says, arms folded.

Minfilia frowns, and looks over to Y’shtola. “Is that possible?”

Y’shtola, crouching by the tub and brazenly running her hands over the stone, shrugs, only to be interrupted mid gesture by a tail-twitching yawn.

Over by the fireplace, the warrior is dozing off against the wall, wrapped in the blankets from their abandoned bed.

“Well.” Minfilia says, clapping her hands decisively. This is something that can wait til the morrow. We’ve all had a very, very long day.” She looks over at the warrior, who even the clap did not awaken. Their tail twitches in their sleep, though, proving they’re not dead.

“I’d prefer if they didn’t sleep in here… I’ll bring them to my room.” She says, sighing, and moving to wake them.

“I’d like to be at hand, the Chiurgeons didn’t get a good look at them.” Y’shtola says, standing upright.

Thancred looks back and forth between them. “I’ll sleep on the floor. If that Ascian does show up… I won’t go down as easily as before.”

Thancred does not, in fact, end up on the floor. He’s right there in the bed with the other three of them, on Minfilia’s far side, dangerously close to falling off the edge. He’s also drooling on the pillow he’s sharing with Minfilia.

The warrrior, stuck in between and under Minfilia and Y’shtola and their body heat, blinks sleepily at what they can see of the ceiling. They were right, this does feel safer. More ears to listen, more hands to grab blades… They haven’t been this safe since they left their clan in the Shroud.

…

The warrior promptly puts that out of their mind, and wriggles down lower into the blankets. Quietly, ever so quietly, a soft rumble starts in their chest. An answering rumble comes from Y’shtola, and they let themself fall asleep with a little smile.

The warrior wakes to Minfilia’s hair in their face. It’s tickling their cheek, but it’s also soft and smells like lavender. There’s a faint smell of low tide from somewhere, though. Their nose wrinkles as their eyes blink open, adjusting to the soft, rosy dove shades of dawn.

They’re the first in the stack of warm bodies to awaken, and as it turns out, they’re on the bottom. Wriggling out from under Y’shtola’s head on their chest is hard, as is Thancred’s arm gripping their waist from all the way on Minfilia’s far side. And that’s to say nothing of Minfilia being solidly upon their arm. Regardless, they manage, and shove down yet more feelings, including how they want to wriggle back into that warm spot. It’s not for them. Other people aren’t for them, they’ve learned that thorough lesson.

Their clothes have dried by the fire, although.... perhaps they indeed could have washed them. They don’t think that dead sea matter smell is going to come out, and oh so that’s where the smell was coming from.

Well. The fire was getting low anyways, they think, resigning themself to wearing heavier armor for a couple days, and nudging the tunic and breeches into the hearth. And then they quietly edge out of the room, to further investigate the mystery from last night.

The immense tub is gone when they get there, with only a faint smell of chamomile and a slightly higher density of aether in that room to show it was ever real at all. And mayhaps a damp spot or two, but it was hard to tell from the water the warrior had carried in on their hair and clothing.

They frown, and shrug, shambling off to the Bismark.

“Remarkable. Truly remarkable.” The Ascian says, smiling privately, for all that he’s ostensibly talking to them. “I thank you for granting me this indulgence. To see the strength that bested Lahabrea firsthand…” He trails off, and for the first time, his smile slips.

The warrior blinks, fingers gripping the sword’s handle, as the seconds of silence stretch on. Quietly, they wonder whether Ascians can get sucked into Echo visions. What would this one even see? Their boot meeting Lahabrea’s face?

“….Interesting.” The Ascian whispers, at last. Seemingly coming back to himself, the harshly pointed mask tilts like an actual bird, eyes beneath running over and over their face. “But just who were you?”

Their hand tightens on the sword’s handle, sensing tension, before the white robes blur, reappearing close, too close-

Metal claws curl around their shoulders as their blade sinks through his chest. Instead of blood, there’s a ripple of aether, his form destabilizing as his mouth parts in a gasp of surprise. There’s a moment of pause, the Ascian looking down at the sword sticking through him.

The warrior shoves forward, swiveling to pull their blade back as their shoulder slams into him. If he’d been a living, breathing person, it would have knocked the air out of him. As it is, all it does is send him flying back, hitting the cliff wall with another aetheric wobble distorting his form. The Ascian slides down the cliff, but somehow lands on his feet. It’s not a motion that a spoken with real, solid bones could pull off.

It’s offputting, but the extra confirmation that he’s not using someone’s body sets them at peace. Lets them focus fully on the danger ringing in their echo sense, the tensing of the Ascian’s aetheric shape. Their knees are bent, ready to spring forward at the slightest hint of a repeat aggression.

“How unfortunate.” The Ascian says, mildly. His smile is lessened, still there but passive, a mask akin to the red one. “It is knowledge that I offer you. The vantage point upon which to see this broken world as it truly is. It is healing, not harm that I would render unto you.”

Words have never come easily for the warrior, for all that they’re pushing themself for those around them. So they don’t say anything, merely bend their knees into a deeper crouch to spring from, and stare at the robed figure, watching his aether for hints of movement.

“I apologize for startling you.” The Ascian says, not sorry at all. “I meant it when I said I would like to work together. With your Scions, and you in specific.” And holding out a clawed hand, he takes a step toward them. And another step. And another, until his chest brushes softly against the sharp tip of their longsword.

That gloved hand hovers above the blade, palm up. But their focused eyes don’t leave his mask. Don’t relax.

The tension holds, neither of them budging. The warrior knows that they can hurt him, for all that the Ascian cannot be killed. Hydaelyn exhausted herself shielding them from Lahabrea, and thus they are on their own, but… they can take him, as he is here. And deep within themself, something wants to prove it. A something once silenced by fear and limits imposed by the horrors of the world around them, but as of late stirring once more.

The Ascian must see something of that writ upon their face, because that mouth flattens, and carefully, he steps backwards. The backside of his hand lowers to brush against the blade as he disengages. “Ah…. Then I must first lay the foundations for this conversation I want. Very well. Warrior of Light, know that my name is Elidibus. And we shall meet again.”

And with that, darkness twists around him, folding in on itself and taking him with it.

For a moment, there’s silence, and then the sounds of wildlife resume around them. Whether silenced through intimidation or simply not registered upon their senses, the warrior cannot say, but the screeching of a hawk, far above the wisps of sulfurous gas, makes their ears twitch. Still holding their bared blade, they turn, stalking off to relay their findings to Minfilia.

#ffxiv #this one came to life send help #long post

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shroudcryptid · 2 months

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Smushed a couple Unukalhai drabbles into one thing and tossed it on ao3-

Flames on his skin and death in his eyes send Unukalhai bolting upright and scrambling away, blankets falling away from his trembling form as he presses himself against the dark wall.

He comes back to himself slowly, realizing that there is no body with death-blank eyes in front of him, no danger to flee from. It’s…. Over.

It’s cold.

Trudging back to his bed, the warmth he’d fought so hard for has already left, sucked away by the cold of the void. And what use would his newfound spells be, when creating another source of warmth to hug against his skin would only see him waking within the next bell?

Before he can think twice, he’s gathering up his blankets, and trudging out the door.

The path is one he’s taken dozens of times already. His steps do not falter, as they carry him through identical yalms of pitch black stone, outlines of curves and diverging passages lit in deepest purple.

The door he stops before has a glowing, intricate sigil of red before it. A sigil that, by the grace of its master, allows him in.

The boy opens it narrowly, peeking through and then sliding in with his oversized cargo. Fumbling through it, he closes the door softly, and then turns towards the dense aetheric mass in a crystalline nest.

His mentor doesn’t look very humanoid right now, but Unukalhai isn’t scared. How could he be, when this is the one that carried him away from the source of all his nightmares. Who doesn’t protest as Unukalhai wriggles his way under a wide, twisting wing along with his blanket, although admittedly he’s quite asleep.

The scales are warm and soft against Unukalhai’s face, and the downy feathers catch his body heat immediately, enveloping him in gentle warmth.

Sleep comes swiftly, and the massive aether curling around his own reassures his slumbering mind. The only dreams that visit him are those of resting at the edge of a fireplace, with a furred pet vibrating in his arms.

It’s hours later that Unukalhai emerges from under Elidibus’s wing. His mentor has not awoken, and will not for quite some time.

Unukalhai is determined to have finished his given studies, to present to him when he does.

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shroudcryptid · 2 months

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Their hand tightens on the sword’s handle, sensing tension, before the white robes blur, reappearing close, too close-

That gloved hand hovers above the blade, palm up. But their focused eyes don’t leave his mask. Don’t relax.

And with that, darkness twists around him, folding in on itself and taking him with it.

#ffxiv #Elidibus #WoL #writes 10 million variants of this scene writes 10 million variants of this scene writes-

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shroudcryptid · 3 months

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Flames on his skin and death in his eyes send Unukalhai bolting upright and scrambling away, blankets falling away from his trembling form as he presses himself against the dark wall.

He comes back to himself slowly, realizing that there is no body with death-blank eyes in front of him, no danger to flee from. It’s…. Over.

It’s cold.

Before he can think twice, he’s gathering up his blankets, and trudging out the door.

The door he stops before has a glowing, intricate sigil of red before it. A sigil that, by the grace of its master, allows him in.

The scales are warm and soft against Unukalhai’s face, and the downy feathers catch his body heat immediately, enveloping him in gentle warmth.

It’s hours later that Unukalhai emerges from under Elidibus’s wing. His mentor has not awoken, and will not for quite some time.

Unukalhai is determined to have finished his given studies, to present to him when he does.

#ffxiv #unukalhai #elidibus #i have to look up yalms and malms every time

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shroudcryptid · 3 months

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Unukalhai remembers clinging to that pale robe, as the world twisted around him. As the sun set for the last time, shadows lengthening and stretching and consuming, even the burning thatched roofs of collapsed houses going dim. Remembers the strong arms around him pulling him away, through cold, and the emptiness of the void stretching all around them. Those arms the only thing keeping him from falling, and falling, and falling forevermore.

He remembers clinging to those unnaturally white robes even when they tried to set him down, for this person was now the only thing left in the world. And as long as his face was buried in colorless not-cloth, the world would still be there until he looked up.

He remembers Elidibus stopping his attempts at removing him, and instead… sitting. And wrapping arms of light-cast shadow around him, letting him hide deeper as he trembles.

#ffxiv #wip #unukalhai #anyways i'm having feels about this small child and the parallels with the (blorbo) one who takes him in who's also #one of the group that destroyed his world-#Elidibus why DID you save this one kid. Do even you know?

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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Year 8248, 14/25

Amon’s gotten stranger. He’s always been aggravating, but now he’s muttering to himself about despair and the universe. He’s gotten bolder, though. I’ve seen him talking with the Emperor’s visitors. What secrets is he dragging from the Ascians?

Year 8248, 14/30

Went to go pester Amon in his lab. One of the Ascians was there. The one in white. The diplomatic one, that was smoothing over the ruffled feathers from that ‘misunderstanding’. They both turned to look at me, and it was the creepiest voiddamned thing. I’m not messing with that.

Year 8249, 1/02

The Heavensturn feast was delicious. The chefs our Emperor took as spoils from Meracidia really were wasted there. I still hate that so many nobles bring their hounds in, though. It truly dulls the taste of glazed chimaera to know that those slobbering, repulsive creatures lay under the tables. Tried to listen in on the conversation at the high table, but it was too far. Don’t know if the Ascians even ate anything from their plates. What a waste.

Edit: Sidled up to the white one at the afterparty. He.... I think it was a he? Do Ascians have genders? Aren’t they as voidsent? Do voidsent have genders? ...Ugh. Anyways. He had a glass of the tastiest heavensdamned cider in his hand, and wasn’t even drinking it. So I just sidled up to him, asked if he was having any trouble with people- while eying up the glass- and he gave it to me! Eat that, Amon.

Year 8249, 1/03

hopital

Year 8249, 1/07

worth it

Year 8249, 1/09

Ugh. Amon got into my fucking lab again. Took another of my assistants. Fucker spilled HCL over my research notes too. Bet he hoped I’d try and grab them. That’s why I keep a backup with this diary, you dumbass.

Year 8248, 1/13

Ugghhh. My audience got cancelled when I was halfway through the door. Our Emperor just started yelling. It wasn’t like I could not hear him! Half the palace must’ve! Our Emperor has such mighty lungs. It was just one word, though. I guess the Ascian in white responds to Emissary, cause he appeared out of a void portal while I was taking my time leaving. Neither of them seemed happy, haha. Imagine being a diplomat.

Claudien’s eyes widen, as something in his mind clicks into place. Yes. Emissary was his.... his something’s role. His....h̵̜̣͇͂u̵̧̫͓̅͝s̸̩̓̃̽b̴̻͛̽̎a̸̱͆̽͠n̷̞͌ḏ̶̻̀͑͝ͅ ....obsession? Yes. Objectively correct.

Staring into space, his hand came up to stroke the curves of the large crystal on his necklace.

It’s... later, that he finally blinks back into awareness. The sun has set, and when he brings the back of a hand up to wipe the trickle from his nose, it comes away red.

Hm. He’s probably having too many energy drinks, he thinks. Or maybe he’s finally hearing the secrets of the lifestream! He’s been waiting for this!

He takes a step, and the ground rushes up to meet him.

His mouth is dry when his eyes blink open. There’s a blurry Sharlayan pattern on the ceiling above, and a couple of nouliths hovering over him. Also, once his eyes focus well enough to make them out, a rather unamused Sage.

“I’m not going to ask how long you were awake for. But please ingest something other than Red Auroch, next time.”

“-so yeah, there’s a bunch of them out there. Currently, we’re looking for more data on correlations between rank and mask type, but we’re also keeping in mind-“ His friend was still talking, but Claudien had eyes only for a paper on the pinboard. Drawn to it, he stepped around the table to get closer, fingers reaching out and tracing the lines of the sketch.

The Ascian’s mask was rendered in blood red. A sharp, beaked thing. Beneath it was a faintly smiling mouth, perfectly innocuous and neutral, yet still exuding menace.

The lines of the mask… they were well drawn. It was as if he could touch the thing itself. Run his fingers over engraved lines, gently hook his fingers under and pull it off his face, feel the perfect symmetry and balanced weight, hold it reverently and with respect for the office it symbolized, and lift it and the responsibility from his shoulders-

Claudien blinked.

-------

“I’m just saying, maybe those sources aren’t so reliable. Or maybe we’re reading them wrong.”

“We’re not going into this again. The language doesn’t line up, the robe designs, the masks thing, and also the texts have been used by generations of Archons. We’re not!”

There was a moment of silence.

“But we don’t know for certain-“

“ASCIANS AREN’T MHACHI GHOSTS-“

Claudien closed the door, not slamming it, yet still on the loud side. If it caught their attention… good.

With bags under his bloodshot eyes, he returned to his pile of reference materials. He would find more on the white robed Ascian.

--------

“Claudien! Claudien!” The under-Archon in question heard, rapidly getting louder.

Out of breath, an old friend skidded to a stop, leaning against the hallway’s wall and panting for breath. “You…. You’re on that... aster project now. ….Right?” He gasped, and then continued without waiting for an answer. “The new tome translations… There’s a mention of… a white….”

Claudien blinked. And then was shoving himself off that very wall, splitting so fast that all his friend could confusedly register was a fading yell of thanks.

Claudien stumbled back into his office, eyes wide. He’d had to race two other underarchons from the same hall that had overheard his friend’s announcement of newly translated Allagan tomes. And then there’d been the queue of others in line at the translating team’s rooms…. And the fistfight that had broken out…

He had it, though. He held in his hand a parchment version of the text in question, along with the passages in the original high allagan, should anything have lost important nuance.

#the conspiracy board au #i'll look up proper allagan year systems later teehee

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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The Ascian’s mask was rendered in blood red. A sharp, beaked thing. Beneath it was a faintly smiling mouth, perfectly innocuous and neutral, yet still exuding menace.

Claudien blinked.

-------

“I’m just saying, maybe those sources aren’t so reliable. Or maybe we’re reading them wrong.”

“We’re not going into this again. The language doesn’t line up, the robe designs, the masks thing, and also the texts have been used by generations of Archons. We’re not!”

There was a moment of silence.

“But we don’t know for certain-“

“ASCIANS AREN’T MHACHI GHOSTS-“

Claudien closed the door, not slamming it, yet still on the loud side. If it caught their attention… good.

With bags under his bloodshot eyes, he returned to his pile of reference materials. He would find more on the white robed Ascian.

--------

“Claudien! Claudien!” The under-Archon in question heard, rapidly getting louder.

Claudien blinked. And then was shoving himself off that very wall, splitting so fast that all his friend could confusedly register was a fading yell of thanks.

He had it, though. He held in his hand a parchment version of the text in question, along with the passages in the original high allagan, should anything have lost important nuance.

#ffxiv #wip #Claudien #the conspiracy board au

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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He materializes onto the source, aether twisting from a cloud into the shape of a person in the first place that comes to mind.

It is, unfortunately, the inn room that the Warrior of Light holds in Ishgard. He’s been coming here too often of late.

Their aether still lingers in the room. They’ve been here earlier this evening, and will thus likely be back to sleep.

He bypasses the table this time, eyes sweeping over the vase of blooming flowers. They’re pricy, in post-calamity Coerthas. Perhaps the inn keeper holds respect for the vaunted Savior of Ishgard.

From a mortal perspective, he can see why. They see someone who has granted them a stay from premature ends. The fact that their lifespan is absurdly short, and their existence fragmented and worth more in what it can become than what it currently is.... None have the perspective to see as such.

He sighs, although he does not draw breath. Deeply weary.

He trails forward, passing the table and its chairs, approaching the bed. It feels like them, and makes him remember warmth that he so desperately craves right now. Lahabrea’s death.... he hadn’t thought it would affect him. His workload, surely, but not these emotions he’d thought long-dead.

He finds himself sitting on the hollow they’ve left. He could phase through the mattress if he wanted, but he pulls his aetheric form into physicality. Curls up in the hollow. Lets his aether calm, slow, slipping into near-hibernation. Feels the traces around him of what should by all rights put him on guard, but instead quiets the grief and loss. Not drowns it out, but... softens it.

In his relaxation, he unfolds.

Something tickles the edge of his awareness. An approaching, familiar aether signature. The sound of a creaking door, and then footsteps on wood planks that vanishes. Returns, but far quieter this time. Tentative.

In his slumber-fuelled lack of control, a wisp of his aether decides to reach out, to connect with what is surely another Amaurotian that can respond in type.

There’s a shudder, in the aether it’s brushing like the back of a hand.

“Oi.”

He doesn’t respond, a vaguely humanoid twist of pale, grey, dense to the point of being visible aether resting upon their bedding. Oversized, ends more than spilling over the edge of the bed, making the pillows look like child’s toys.

There’s a sigh, and then the bed is dipping under an actual, physical weight. They wriggle against him, curling up against where his chest would be.

The effect is akin to an Ul’Dahn noble, attempting to sleep holding the fore-arm length infant coeurl they’d just bought.That they'll keep for the next year or two, until it grows big enough to eat them. Not that he’s awake enough to remark upon it, or to start petting furry ears.

Like this, however, the vibrations of their purr rumble through his very soul. Make it loosen, little knots and tangled snarls relaxing and going limp. He can’t feel temperature in this state, but it’s as soothing and reassuring as a mortal would find hugging a heated waterskin.

Elidibus is midway through saying a duty can fall to Lahabrea, when he remembers. He stalls for a moment, and plays it off as having meant Lahabrea’s followers, who have not yet been reassigned. Might not ever be. Might stay waiting for a sundered reincarnation of their much beloved Speaker to finally be found.

“I will assist personally, of course.” He says, mildly, as if he’d meant this turn of events all along.

And then he leaves. Turns, walks away, leaving the black robed sundered one nodding at his back.

Lahabrea had had this coming for millenia. He’d burnt too brightly, too furiously. Begun overextending himself, just to see more things ignite and come crashing down in flames.

Elidibus wasn’t sure where the stabbing pain in his heart was coming from. That did not make it hurt any less.

#instinctverse #elidibus #warrior of light

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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There was a heady power in having an Ascian gasping beneath him, Claudien thought, a fascinated smile on his face. Shackles held the Ascian’s arms above his head, binding him to corporeality.

It had been.... admittedly, too easy to catch him. There should be no way that an Ascian would be following him just to watch him. No. There had to be some deeper reason. Something he wanted to use him for.

“Is it my body you want? To walk around in my skin?” He mused, fingers tilting the Ascian’s chin up. That red, pointed mask still covered his eyes, but after he’d flinched away from probing fingers, Claudien had lost interest in removing it.

“I,” The Ascian began, before gasping, interrupted, as Claudien began to pinch his throat. “Don’t worry. That wasn’t a question.”

Beneath his fingers, he swallowed.

“I did always wonder what would make Hydaelyn’s foes so formidable.” He wondered, idly. “Perhaps if I examine you closer, I’ll make some discovery. And I don’t think you’d protest, would you.” Not from the way he was squirming up towards him between touches.

“And if it’s my body you want. Well. I’m happy to indulge you in one sense!" He says, brightly.

#ffxiv #drabble #elidibus #claudien #i swear i think elidibus is a switch i just like seeing him get topped

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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“I will assist personally, of course.” He says, mildly, as if he’d meant this turn of events all along.

And then he leaves. Turns, walks away, leaving the black robed sundered one nodding at his back.

Lahabrea had had this coming for millenia. He’d burnt too brightly, too furiously. Begun overextending himself, just to see more things ignite and come crashing down in flames.

Elidibus wasn’t sure where the stabbing pain in his heart was coming from. That did not make it hurt any less.

#ffxiv #Elidibus #wip #rethinking my tagging system and also i'm on a different device and eepy...#this was so short i just. didn't readmore it #instinct-verse #but can super stand alone

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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299 words, whump.

“After all, what is a convocation member to a god?” Athena muses to herself, arms deep in the innards of the utterly tattered soul that was Elidibus. She’s pinching and pulling at its fabric, stitching together some gaping holes and adding patches over others. Sanding away rough outer layers, deeming irrelevant and discarding his experiences of the last twelvefold millennia.

The dimly aware part of him can do naught but twitch in her arms. This… was what wanted to succeed Hydaelyn?

He can feel a compulsion settling over him, threads of her will stitching together his scattered parts.

For just a moment, the reconstructed essence of who he used to be overlaps with the him that is now. A common ground is found, the thoughts of the one he fought so viciously. Themis’s star. Elidibus’s bitter foe. Images of them ripple in his mind, overlapping and converging.

Elidibus hopes, dimly, that they’ll find and end him again. Before he can do too much damage to Etheirys, be too humiliated by doing this would be God’s will.

Themis blinks. He’s kneeling, and will stay there. He will.

Beside him, there is a throne. Athena sits there, eyes watching something only she can see. In Her hands, another soul is being twisted and reformed.

There’s a collar around his neck. An aetherial leash, tying him to Her. It pulls with Her movements, his head wobbling limply with it.

He’s being kept like a dog, a part of him screams. The scream echoes into nothing, though, and hazy blue eyes remain staring ahead.

His soul is a patchwork job, frayed edges pushed together and still merging and assimilating into a cohesive whole. As he sits there, another piece clicks into place, and his form twitches.

He blinks. He’s kneeling. He’ll stay here.

(Also on https://archiveofourown.org/works/53650492)

#drabble #ffxiv #elidibus #anyways. that line from lahabrea about elidibus being leashed at athena's side-

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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293 words, WoLClaudien, cuddling. Featuring @bunkahi 's WoL!

Claudien cracks open the door, squeezing through it with his precious cargo. He silently eases it back shut behind him, knowing just where to ease up for the door to not squeak.

The room is warm. Every heater in their dwelling has been relocated to this central space, to better insulate it from the winter storm setting record lows through the Sharlayan Isles.

Setting the bag down upon the ground, Claudien wriggles free of his thick outside coat, hanging it by the door. It covers a bit of the drafty crack, adding to the room’s fortifications against the cold.

Shedding layers, he approaches the room’s core, a bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Underneath, the bulge of a humanoid form is just barely noticeable.

He sets the bag down upon the nightstand, sliding under the covers and trying not to lose too much of the warm air.

There’s a squeak as he leaves it open too long, and he murmurs apologies.

The charmed warming rock she’s curled around has begun to lose its charge, so he reaches towards it, brushing over an arm in the process and somehow finding the tip of her tail, before channeling aether and replenishing the spell.

There’s a muffled chitter, and he smiles. “There’s food, when you’re hungry. Grabbed your favorite- Dodo and dumpling soup.”

In lieu of a verbal answer, the lump under the covers latches onto his arm.

Claudien laughs softly, squirming closer until he can wrap himself around the already curled shape. Her horns brush against his shoulders, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so he pays it no heed.

With two under the covers, it warms further, keeping out the freezing chill, even as the wind howls, leeching cold from windowpanes and walls.

#drabble #warrior of light #claudien #ffxiv

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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223 words, WoLErich, cuddling. Featuring @bunkahi 's WoL!

Erichthonios crawls into her blanket nest, wriggles into the space between pillows. Gently wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. He holds her firmly yet gently, as if by his arms alone he could keep out the world’s woes.

Sleepily, Aurora wriggles around to face this new heat source, and uncurls to stretch alongside him.

She’s on Erich’s chest when he dozes off, carried up and down with every breath that fills his chest. She’s flesh and bone and scale, but to him she seems as light as a feather, instead of the weight that pulls at her heels.

He’s soft, and warm. Her horn is awkwardly stuffed between them, the pressure noticeable but not worth giving up the heartbeat that resounds within it. His strong, healthy heart.

It’s entrancing. Comforting. The sound sits in her chest and in the back of her head, filling spaces where unpleasant thoughts would gather.

Her mouth starts to turn up at the edges. She’s already slept, but between the warmth and comfort, her eyes begin to drowse shut. There’s a fragile, liquid warmth in her chest, slipping through her grasp when she looks at it too closely. So instead, she lets it be. Lets it buoy her into just being, but.... happily so.

In the gentle darkness, in love’s embrace, she rests.

#drabble #warrior of light #erichthonios #ffxiv

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shroudcryptid · 4 months

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553 words, WolElidi. Werebeast AU. Insect cw.

How irritating, that merely scouting a job had led to this. The people in this border region of the Twelveswood were few and far between, and those with the eyes to notice his brethren even more so.

The massive, deep green paw flexed by his head, talons easily as long as his hand emerging and scouring furrows through the earth of the den. Casually, Elidibus pulled his outstretched arm closer to the relative safety of his body.

His hood was haphazardly pooled around his shoulders, the creature whose furry chest was pinning his entire torso and legs having delicately pulled it down, with those teeth that could have taken his head off his shoulders with greater ease. The creature that was now roughly grooming his exposed hair. Spined tongue sweeping through his shaggy mess as deep as a comb’s tines.

It… would be a hassle, to abandon this body when there was still the chance of getting more use from it. How long did this creature intend to keep him for, though? Already this was more work than he’d put into this body’s hair in the combined months he’d had it.

He said as much to the beast, more for himself than it, doing what little he could do to keep his mouth out of the dirt. His lips were still brushing it.

Barely an inch from his eye, a pale grub escaped from the clawed furrows, wriggled its way back beneath a scrap of rough bark. His eyebrow didn’t twitch, because he had more control than that, but it was close.

Seemingly in response to his comment, the beast paused in its attack upon his hair, and chuffed above his head.

Briefly, Elidibus wondered what species it was. It was a green unlike any native coeurl or torama. It had also far longer fur than them, a shaggy coat instead of a sleek covering.

The green fur brought to mind a creature he faintly recalled seeing an eternity ago, in the testing grounds of Elpis. Why…. Of all things, why had he managed to recall that. The person he’d discussed it with….

The memory slipped through his grasp, fading like mist before the sun. Above him, the creature abruptly let its head fall beside him.

He tilted his head to see, looking for any injury tiring it, and instead met a single large, yellow eye, angled back to stay fixated upon him.

“Surely you must grow hungry eventually.” Elidibus says, evenly. Meeting the beast’s intense gaze. “Am I to be sustenance, played with and stashed away for your later whim?” This vessel, at least. “Or will you grow weary of me and sate your hunger elsewhere? Devour those lesser beasts that call this wood home? How many it must take, to satisfy a beast of your size.”

His cast was interrupted by a massive paw slamming into his chest, the blow sending him crashing into a trunk. The wind fled his vessels chest, and as he gasped for breath, the paw returned to pin him, sharp talons growing from their sheaths and sinking into the wood around him. His head was just between two of them, brushing against his cheeks, so close to his vulnerable flesh that he couldn’t even turn. Lower, other talons were sinking through his robes beneath his shoulders.

#wip #ffxiv #warrior of light #elidibus

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