#Edarien

[thedarknesssings]

Edarien Secariot.

#ffxiv #elezen #duskwight #screenshot #edarien

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 12: Wagging Tongues

Prompt: Dowdy - FFXIV Write 2023  Characters: Rainimont, mentions of Edarien (@thedarknesssings) Content Warning: None

Rainimont had always been a gossip-worthy figure in Ishgard’s high society. A Viscount who, despite his marriage to his husband, the Lord Consort, most considered an acceptable match for their unwed daughters. After all, a Viscount would need heirs, and there were a great many individuals on offer for him. 

Not that a single one held his interest beyond the polite smiles he was required to give them. There was no allure for him in them, neither physically nor for many of them in their personality. That wasn’t to say, of course, that he didn’t find them conventionally attractive. But one could admire the beauty of a thing without desiring it. 

The practice of keeping a mistress, whether private or public was one he found rather dowdy. When so much of Ishgard was making progress towards a brighter future, and breaking traditions that they had held dear in regards to certain societal standards, why would he allow such an antiquated practice to dictate his life and his relationships? And yet, Rainomnt stepped onto the dance floor and bowed to the next woman in line. 

Gossip already flowed like chilled champagne from the lips of those around him, and he could hear everything from suggestive commentary to aspersions on the state of dress of the young woman he danced with. This was the other reason he found the practice to be distasteful. He and the charming young woman whose hands were perched on his arm and shoulder? They were both little more than fodder for the wagging tongues of a criminally bored and deeply overzealous crowd.

He barely glanced down at her dress beyond her neckline, and his answers were firmly negative to any overtures suggested. He treated her with the utmost respect as required by her station and all of the politeness dictated from his own status. And then he stepped away as she offered her hand to the next, far more eligible individual who had signed her dance card this evening. 

Rainmont, meanwhile, stole away to the refreshment table, comforted to find Edarien already there and waiting for him with a second glass of wine perched in his fingers. 

“Another one?” Dare asked as he glanced past Rain to the woman who had moved on in her choice of partners, and the older woman beyond her, casting a chastising look at her daughter. 

“Another one.” Rainimont confirmed with a sigh, lifting the glass to his lips to take a sip. “Save me, mon amour?” His words warm as he pressed a gloved palm into the small of Edarien’s back. The stem of his wineglass hooked by curling fingers, and Edarien’s gathered to hand a moment later. The two empty glasses were set onto the tray of a passing servant as he steered his husband towards a set of doors that let out into a sitting room. 

A cowardly tactic, fleeing as he was. But he would chalk it up to a strategic retreat, and let the wagging tongues do their job to spread the scandal of another of the Viscount's refusals. One day, they might get the full picture.

But he doubted it.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #[ Rainimont ] #Edarien

[houserosaire]

Prompt #1: Cross

Sometimes he dreamt of the river. A silver ribbon cutting through boundless fields of rolling white, its treacherous current hidden beneath a layer of ice. Snow dusted that ice too, half hiding another danger, narrowing the breadth of the water, making the ice seem as if it might provide safe footing. Neither thing was true. Beneath that smooth silver ribbon death roared, its frigid song muffled by the silence of winter.

Silvaineaux could feel the river rumbling under his boots even from its verge. Like the songs of dragons it hummed in his very bones, reminding him of its presence. “We cannot cross here.” He said to the others he could feel at his back. “I remember it in summer. The current is too fast. There is…”

But his words might as well have been more muffled than the dirge of the river for no one heeded them. He watched them flow past him in a current of their own, splitting around his form and streaming out onto the ice. He did not see their faces, for his eyes were fixed on the gleaming ice beneath their feet and they didn’t look back. Yet he knew them as they passed by familiar postures, by snatches of their voices drifting back to him on the wind. Ser Valerian, Florent, Seraphin, scores of others he had seen cross another even more permanent boundary.

But then other familiar shapes pushed past him. Honore paused to smile at him as he passed. Inwa, Edarien. Sui.

“STOP!” His own shout echoed in his bones like the rumble of the river but their feet were already on the ice and they did not even look back. Instead he listened to the first thin silvery crackles of the ice beginning to give way. Cracks formed and then spread, swifter than thought, spider-webbing across the river. The rest of Priarch flowed past him, not one of them stopped.

He knew his own armored weight would finish it. Yet, though the ice was now screaming under each of their steps none of them seemed to notice or hesitate. He stood alone on the bank of the river and felt it exulting under his feet.  

As the first crack became a break he leapt forward, arms outstretched to catch hold of all he could reach. The ice shattered. He could not feel the scraps of fabric he grasped or the warmth of the body his arm encircled through the metal of his armor. But he felt the river when it reached up to catch him and tore them away again.

The cold of it burned like fire, the current caught him and the weight of his armor dragged him downward. Darkness swallowed him, tumbling him, sweeping him along with scraps of broken ice and bodies he could not catch hold of in the black. The unbroken ice further along the river closed over them and though he lunged at it, all his strength could not mar that silver ribbon.

Silvaineaux woke as he always did from the dreams of the river, to his own thrashing in tangled bedclothes and his shouts echoing off the wood and stone of the walls. His own blood rushed in his veins like the current.

#FFXIVWrite2022 #Silvaineaux #Sui #Edarien #Inwa #Priarch #ffxiv rp #nightmare things #my writing

[rain-grey-falcon]

Prompt #11: Drowning

Prompt 11: Free Write - FFXIV Write 2022  Characters: Rain, with Edarien (@thedarknesssings) Warnings: NSFW, M/M pairing, explicit content, implied asphyxiation, mention of blood. Notes: Happens directly after this.

Rain gave one last glance over his shoulder at Edarien’s sleeping form on the bed before he let the curtain fall closed and eased the door beyond it partially closed. Everything felt bleary still, and the heel of one of his palms lifted to rub against his mismatched eyes as he swatted out a hand to turn on the heating system attached to the tub. The rush of water from the faucet into the empty basin covered the sound of his movements, of bare feet padding against the warmed floor while he crossed it to pull himself down a set of towels from the shelves. 

The memories of last nights dreams still lingered on the edge of his senses, like a phantom that didn’t want to be banished from his psyche. He could feel a sensation like remnant whispers against his skin. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, and he tried to filter out everything but the calming sound of water filling the tub. 

He just needed a little while to breathe, that was all. To banish the fact that he felt heavy and weighed down. A pressure against his chest that reminded him all too much of drowning. His shoulders lifted and rolled back to straighten his spine and he dropped the pair of towels he’d fetched onto the side of the tub. He leaned forward to check that the motion and sounds in the bathroom hadn’t woken Edarien. Finding the mage still asleep, he finally set fingers to working on the ties of the loose pants that he wore to sleep in. 

A tug drew the knot free, and sent them on a slide down his hips onto the floor. They fell into a pool at his feet that he wasted no time in stepping out of. A short stride and a quick step up and then subsequently down sank him into the steaming water on a soft hiss of breath. He was as quiet as motion would allow, sinking into the tub with care until he was submerged. 

A hand reached for the faucet and the water cut abruptly, plunging the bathroom back into muted silence save for the low sigh that parted his lips. He eased further down into the water, long legs stretching until they covered the length of the tub, until the water rose and only his chin and face remained above it. The tub was massive, or most people would count it so. But somehow even all of that extra space for his limbs felt too cramped and too tight.

His gaze remained focused on the ceiling above him, where wood paneling gleamed in the light of the lanterns that illuminated the bathroom. He could have gone to his own. He perhaps should have gone to the bathroom adjacent to his own. But he was reluctant to go any further than the distance he was from the mage in the other room. Perhaps it was the oddity of his dreams propelling him into keeping himself as close to Dare as possible. 

Perhaps it was the vague recollection of a hand easing down his arm when he woke in groggy discomfort earlier. It wasn’t the first time he had woken to the feeling of Edarien’s hand on his skin, easing fingertips across him. No, that had been regular the first few nights in his new existence, though he often pretended he didn’t notice. Merely shifted subtly in his sleep to ease closer. 

Maybe even more than his dreams, it was the reminder of Dare’s hand on his skin that had him so tense, had such a pressure weighing him down. He had wrestled with bouts of desire as who he was before. With a burning passion that stayed constantly coiled at the center of his chest. He could have indulged it for days and not been satisfied. Rain was different. Rain was less like a wildfire and more like a storm.

For him, passion was not usually consuming, not usually distracting. For him, it built slowly like a bank of storm clouds. Churning and roiling as air currents clashed together–himself and Edarien–until his mind felt like it was nothing but the flash of lightning and the great shuddering crashes of thunder that shook the sky. 

Rain was barely aware that he had slid further back up in the water until he was only partially submerged and water lapped across the hard planes of his abdomen. Not fully cognizant of it until one of his hands was traveling down his skin from where it had fallen across his stomach, drifting down towards the hardening length of him where it lay draped against one of his thighs. Mismatched eyes lidded as his hand wrapped around the base of himself, his head kicking back to rest against the edge of the tub as a groan welled up in his throat. 

No, that building sensation was far better than he expected it to be, increasing the tightness in his chest and the sizzling burn that was arcing across manipulated flesh. His eyes fell closed on that first stroke, his hips rising to press himself through the tight passage of his own closed fist. The sound of the water around him was less quiet as it splashed against the inner walls of the tub. 

When Edarien woke, he found the room quieter than usual, absent the soft sound of breathing that usually came from the floor beside his bed. With a heave the mage rolled beneath the bedding, easing his torso over the side so he could stare down at the floor where Rain usually lay. The bedding was put aside, and he might have considered that the Ishgardian had left early. 

And then he heard the soft sound of a groan and splashing water from the bath. Ice eyes widened slightly and he turned himself suddenly to once more lie flat on his back on the bed. Rain was in the bath. Rain was in the bath and making noise. Quiet groans that could easily be discomfort. A continuation of the dreams that he’d had earlier? His awakening had been such an abrupt one in the early hours of morning when the room was still pitch black that for a moment, Edarien had worried about him. 

It had passed when Rain had ultimately fallen asleep under the hand down his arm. But had something else happened? More dreams? Worse, problems? Some instability that he hadn’t accounted for? Another groaning sound came from the bath, along with the sound of water on the tub and his head lifted from where it had come to rest on his pillows. He should probably go and check on him. That was the responsible thing to do, wasn’t it? 

“Rain?” His voice was still low, low enough that it should reach the man in the bath. And it might have, had Rain not been so thoroughly distracted by where his thoughts had taken him, and what his hands were doing to himself. When Dare’s name was called back to him, it was in that same low and rumbling groan, and though he’d been in the process of swinging off the bed to stand up and go and check on the man in the bath, he suddenly stilled, one foot on the floor, the other half dangling as though he’d been suddenly frozen. 

“Dare,” he called a second time. The sound was sinful on his lips, hit the ears like velvet and eased its way down his skin in a way that had him clearing his throat. “Come and join me?” Dare’s second foot had just hit the floor and he’d pushed himself to stand when that invitation rang out. It knocked the air right out of him, and he stood there for a moment, silent, like he’d forgotten how to breathe. 

Right, air in, air out, don’t turn red. His mind wandered to a conversation on the bench in the study and he stepped away from the bed, the silken sheets falling away behind him. He pulled the curtain aside and pushed the door to the bathroom further open. And had to remind himself a second time to breathe. 

Rainimont lay sprawled against the back edge of the tub, facing the door. His hips were lifted, and Dare could see the head of his rigid cock sliding through the grip of his hand, palm working across the head of him, hips lifted just high enough to thrust himself up from the water, for the work of his hand to be visible. The rest of him was no less a sight; water running rivulets down his skin over straining muscle, lidded eyes fixed on him like he was something Rain wanted to sink his teeth into. 

His eyes were sweeping around to take everything with such intensity that he barely registered the crook of fingers on the hand that beckoned him over. Blue eyes narrowed and he straightened, stepping over to his side as imperiously as his sleep rumpled state would allow. Whatever drowsiness lingered had quickly faded at the sight and sound of what was going on in the bath, and he stared down at Rain from above, forcing his gaze to remain on his face. 

“I thought something was wrong.” His tone was chiding, rougher than he might have planned for it to be. Rain’s hand hadn’t stopped working himself over, and he’d lifted his eyes to focus on the mage’s face. Every time his hand worked some particular part of his shaft, every time pleasure hit a building peak and his eyes flared wider, Dare could see it. His teeth grit a little as he had to work to keep his gaze from prowling down lower. Not that Rain was making that particular feat easy on him.

“Something is.” Rain replied. He didn’t hesitate to reach for the mage who’d come closer, to slide a hand up to wrap around Edarien’s wrist and draw him in closer. Until he could splay that hand he’d grabbed against the center of his chest. 

“My heart’s fit to burst, can’t you feel it?” Rain asked. Dare uttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse as his hand spread out across Rain’s skin, flattening there and pressing him down against the back wall of the bath. He hadn’t expected the sudden flare of heat in the other man’s eyes, though he should have expected the sudden snapping challenge in them, in the way that the hand on his wrist snaked upwards, latched around his shoulder and drug him down. 

“I meant something serious.” The mage hissed at him. Dare’s hand planted on the back of the bath and he stood there, bowed over it, blue and black hair a curtain around his face where he’d been pulled down into such proximity over Rain. Ice blue eyes searched the teal and silver below him. He wanted something. Anything. Some sign of deception, some hint of potential betrayal. Anything that might give him a reason to step back out of this room and shut the door behind him.

“Is the way I want you not serious enough for you?” Rain asked. Damn him. All he found was bare and honest arousal that was focused so intently on him he was ready to curse. The hand on the back of the tub tightened, and he contemplated for just a moment climbing into the bath atop the other man. Why shouldn’t he? There were a dozen reasons to do so, and maybe a dozen more not to. The hand that was still holding Rain pressed down against the tub lifted under the resistance of his body pressing back up, the man attempting to rise up onto his knees. 

He wasn’t going to drag Edarien down into the bath with him, but so long as the man was in such close proximity, so long as a hand was on him, he was going to make it as difficult to resist as he could. As if he didn’t already know the temptation he provided. He could have pulled back. He should have pulled back. 

Instead he leaned further over, and put his lips to the edge of Rain’s ear, murmuring against the shell of it. 

“Work yourself, Rain.” The words were so soft that Rain might not have believed he’d heard them until Dare’s splayed hand worked itself up, fingers curling around his throat, Dare’s thumb pressed against his chin so he could angle his head further back, until the back of it came to rest against the back of the tub.  “Until you burst.”

He’d expected a lot from Edarien’s presence in the bathroom with him. Had hoped that maybe the mage would crawl into the tub with him, though he knew that was wishful thinking. What he hadn’t expected was the whisper against his ear, the hand at his throat tipping his head back. The trace of a tongue along the edge of his ear in the wake of those words. 

Rain’s hips bucked and the work of his palm across his length became almost frantic, a pumping rhythm that Dare’s quietly commanding words did nothing to discourage or quell. Edarien was poignantly aware of the building storm in Rain, of the arousal straining at his own night clothing. He had precisely one chance to keep control of this, and his gaze turned to trace down the entirety of Rain’s body below him. 

If he wanted him, he could have him, and he knew it. If Rain asked any more insistently, he’d be more than tempted to simply join him in the tub. Instead, the Ishgardian beneath him was being calculated, even in an arousal so heady that he was struggling to control his every breath. Though Dare’s hand was on his throat, they were circling one another, waiting to see who bent and who broke first. Who crossed the invisible lines that lay between them like a woven net.

Something else took the strings they had one another wrapped in and gave them both a vicious tug when the hand that Rain had gripped his shoulder with instead slid up to tangle into blue black hair and Dare found himself anchored in place, as readily as he himself had anchored Rain. He couldn’t help the smile that curled onto his face as black spread across his eyes like a shadow, until the whites of them had faded out of sight. 

Rain was like a feast of sensation, and Edarien was going to consume it all down. One monster devouring another. His husband was reaching the end of his tether, and he finally drug his gaze back up to Rain’s face, to stare at him once more. Hunger bottomed out the core of Rain, left him hollow, and when he saw the shifted change of Dare’s eyes he surged upwards to seal their mouths together on the barked out curse of his name. 

The whole of him burned alive where he lay, anticipation tormenting him until frustration boiled into release and lightning sparked along his nerves, the force of it making his vision go white. Edarien gave as good as he got, teeth sharp against Rain’s lips, until blood trickled sweet and hot into both of their mouths. 

Rain never drew back, didn’t pull back until the last stroke of his hand ceased, until he’d poured the whole of himself out, and breathing demanded that he gasp for air. He dropped his lips away from Edarien’s, unsurprised to see the red that stained his lips, not doubting for a second that both of them had been painted red in that brutally forceful kiss. 

“Join me.” Rain invited him a second time, the words insistent. “Or at least let me help bring you to the same.” Dare stared down at him in what was almost confusion while the shadows in the room lengthened. He opened his mouth to reply, the hand on Rain’s throat sliding down towards the water. What ultimately stilled him wasn’t Rain himself. Or even his own mind.

It was the sharp knock on the door to the bed chamber, jerking his head up and away, giving a hiss as Rain’s fingers disentangled themselves from his hair. Whatever else he might have said dying on his tongue as he shoved away from the tub, straightening to march out into the bedroom. 

He needed wine. He needed distance. He needed to get far enough away from the bathroom door that the sound of Rain moving through the water didn’t continue to echo in his ears. Far enough that the man’s soft but frustrated laughter no longer followed him. 

Fuck.

#FFXIVWrite2022 #FFXIVWrite #[ Rain Grey Skies ] #[ Rain ] #[ Edarien ] #[ Monsters in the Dark ] #[ Pitch Black Maelstrom ] #The second part

[roses-and-grimoires]

Prompt #26: Break a Leg

Characters: Idristan, Edarien @thedarknesssings​​​​​​​​​ Warnings: Alcohol

The air is filled with voices chattering, the clinking of glasses, the scrape of stools against hardwood, and, rising above it all, a crooning voice belting out the words to some old Ishgardian ballad. Or at least, the two men tucked away at one of the tables think it’s supposed to be crooning; in actuality, it just comes across as strained and flat.

“Blessed Fury, but this one is even worse than the last,” the paler of the two complains to his fellow. His words are slurred and his face flushed; there are several glasses that reek of brandy scattered around his side of the table.

“They’re not as bad as the one... two bars back?” The darker of the two sounds unsure, for they had rather lost count of how many bars they had stopped in by this point in their pub crawl. Except then the singer’s voice cracks on a particularly high note, causing Edarien to wince and reach for the bottle of wine to pour himself another drink.

The sight of this causes Idristan to bark out a laugh. “Do you wish to take that back, Edarien?” he inquires, words that cause the other mage to give him a thin-lipped frown followed by sipping pointedly at his drink. The Ishgardian, for his part, leans back, his eyes wandering over towards the figure illuminated on the stage. Another botched note rings out, causing him to grimace.

“Fury, but either one of us could do better than that,” Idristan muses, shaking his head as he does so. But that seems to give him an idea, for he has stopped and started to eye the other man sitting across from the table at him. “You could do better,” he repeats, his tone more insistent and with a gleam in his eye. The Ishgardian sure had gotten An Idea, and now he seemed committed to it.

A fact that Edarien was not sure that he liked. He scoffs softly and shakes his head. “And why should I be the one to do so?”

“Because it is clearly causing you the most pain,” the Ishgardian declares with a smirk, one that earns him a glower that he pointedly ignores. “Come on, Edarien, what do you have to lose?” he presses. “Just one song.”

Edarien gives Idristan a long, long look, one that suggests that he was perhaps weighing up the costs of doing one song versus having the Ishgardian nag at him. Then his lips part on a soft sigh. “Fine,” he declares in exasperation as he rises to his feet. But there is a sharp gleam in his eyes as he suddenly reaches across the table to grab onto the other man’s wrist. “But you’re coming with me.”

Idristan stares for a few moments at this, clearly taken aback; then he lets out another breath of laughter. “Very well,” he says about as smoothly as someone very sloshed can and rises as well. The two stagger over towards the stage where the last singer was just finishing their attempt at a ballad. Idristan opens his mouth, perhaps to suggest a song, but he is very much ignored as Edarien steps forward and murmurs something to the miqo’te running the sound system.

Idristan tilts his head as he watches this, a silver brow arching then rising higher as the sound of drums and guitar started to blare out from the speakers. Now it was Edarien’s turn to look smug as he spots the confused look on his friend’s face. “What’s wrong, Idristan? Didn’t you want me to sing?” He flashes him a grin. “Don’t tell me you’re going to back down now because of my song choice.”

Idristan clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Hardly,” he declares, before stepping up towards one of the microphones as Edarien takes the other. Words appear on a screen nearby as the song builds in tempo and intensity in sharp contrast to the slow ballad just preformed. Idristan does his best to follow along with the rock lyrics, but he soon finds himself distracted.

For Edarien was stealing the show. He seemed to know every line by heart, his voice ringing out as he moves with the music, seemingly completely at ease on the stage. No, more than that; the other mage was getting into it. His energy is infectious, to the point where Idristan just stops and stares for a few moments, before quietly reaching into his pocket and pointing his tomestone at the mage.

He manages to capture about a verse before Edarien comes over towards him and thrusts the mic in between them, the better for both to join in on the chorus. A smile breaks out on Idristan’s face as gives up on getting video and gives in, the two finishing the song on a high note that leaves them breathless and with a cheer from the crowded bar. Edarien looks very, very smug indeed as he leads the way back towards the table.

“Bloody hells, Edarien, but you never mentioned you could sing,” Idristan notes as he flops back down and reaches for his brandy.

“You never asked,” Edarien counters as he reaches for his wine.

#idristan agache #edarien secariot #writings #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2022 #sometimes #you just want to get wasted #and go sing karaoke

[blisteringstar]

Prompt Twenty-Five: Whole

You are a conversation that never happened and a promise that did.

"Will you stay?" Asked a small voice, hopeful but scared.

"I'll stay. I wanted to on the beach that day. Will you help me? Bring me home? Make me whole?"

The beach was such an innocuous memory, but also an important one. A miqo'te with a smile as warm as sunshine. He looked so small, but he was unafraid. He was having fun. They both were. The man with the golden hair lifted the miqo'te over his head, the smaller man yelping in surprise and looking around himself to see only malms and malms of ocean. The seeker made his peace and the golden elezen threw him in. There were other people on the beach that day, but the world started here with them.

Viper used to be an ache, but now he was a memory. Heavy breaths and bared skin. The feel of something crashing against the other. The ache had no recollection of lust or passion. The ache felt. it had emotion and a strong thrum of attachment, but memories felt like data being sorted into books and cabinets to be called when needed. The memories were lifeless like a machine, but the feelings were as warm as the sun. A machine could love. Even a machine could give someone a gift from the heart.

A machine could hold onto the sun if it created one itself. The sun could mourn and pity a machine that never had the courage to burn.

Memories were the taste of warm, bare skin against his lips. Feelings were knowing the value and importance of those people. Louvel was a cold body in a casket, dressed up as a means to an end. Louvel was grief and need. The memory barely glossed over it. Louvel wasn't a person, he was a tool. The feelings couldn't forget what agony the memory was, and how much it never. never. never wanted to see it again. Memory was shoving Louvel in a box again. More means. More satisfaction. Feelings were being so traumatized over the first memory that it couldn't bare the pain of seeing it again.

It all felt disjointed. Feelings didn't match memories of people or events. Memories said Viper was a lover. Feelings said he would never look at you like a lover. Not you. Never you. Memories said Edarien was something. Once a lover? Forever a tool? A wonderful experiment? Feelings said Edarien was a god of a mage who would never care about a person like you. Not you. Never you.

It didn't matter. You are a conversation started and a promise fulfilled.

Whole and always together.

#cisne nocturneaux #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv oc #final fantasy xiv #mentions of xavipere secariot #mentions of edarien secariot #mentions of louvel roche #mentions of a whole bunch of things #mentions of cyprien #mentions of inwa

[reddevil-xiv]

Prompt #30: More Valuable Than Gold

Prompt 30: Sojourn - FFXIV Write 2022  Characters: Talia, mentions of a lot of Priarch.

Home. Home was Faerie. In an embrace of dark and tanned arms, lifting her gaze to black eyes filled with the shine of stars, and jade ones that glittered like a shine on the moon. Home was dark and light wings wrapped around her. Home was the scent of cold winter, and fragrant roses.

Home was her husbands, was Idristan and Caedh, and the safety of the dark of space and the brush of cold over her skin, and such boundless love she felt it might shatter her into pieces for the wealth of it poured into her heart by those two souls twined with her own.

But there were other places for her, that were home in different ways. In little ways that filled the other spaces in her heart, ones carved out just for these people who she rushed endlessly into danger with, who she would give so much to protect.  

Draped on the bed in Inwa’s Shroud house, cuddling him while he cuddled a green rabbit, the pair of them talking about every topic that crossed their mind, from troubles to jubilations, teasing one another about this or that, talking about priestly duties and far off lands, about traveling worlds and sights still to see on the one they currently called home until he drifted off and she lay there, listening to the sound of his heartbeat while he slumbered.

In Louvel’s cavern home in Dravania, milling about in the kitchen until they inevitably ended up downstairs, with a pipe and bottle passed between them while they contemplated anything that crossed their mind, no matter how simple or how cursed or how important, until they passed out in a drowsy, senses-addled haze with familiar ease, comfortable sharing space in a way that lie beyond need for definition besides ‘trusted soul’. 

Perched on a stool in Okuni’s house, relating gossip back and forth and talking about weird life changes and the way everything stayed strangely the same despite how different things were. In the endless hours in conversation about the paths they had walked and the roads that lay ahead of them while they drank down stolen alcohol and spiked coffee, and the day rolled its way by and time slid away from them.

On a couch in Rosaire manor in Ishgard, sipping whiskey with Silvaineaux and discussing whatever moral dilemma might be on her mind, sharing commentary about Priarch’s various foes, and planning trips to the biting cold of Coerthas while she chipped away at the reserve that held Silvain as a wall, looking hard for the glimpses of the humored young man she knew lie beneath, hidden in slight smiles, and the tempered mirth that often filled his eyes. In things meant to remind him he had a friend who would never care if he was a Baron, or a Commander, only that he was himself.

Slid down in a chair in Covenant beside Lyrin’a, her head tipped to his while they talked about whatever casual thing might strike their fancy. It was an easy thing, soft and warm and a chin resting on a head while arms draped lazily around shoulders and he sipped at tea steeped from leaves that she had brought back from whatever latest trip she had been on. He never asked, she never told, and it was a delightful game to watch him try something new while she looked smug and enjoyed the quiet and comforting peace between them.

In working in any kitchen alongside Teagan, telling her that it was okay not to be okay while they beat down dough and talked about how different life was, in simulation, in scheduled fights. About the performances and the ways it was fine not to smile all the time, how it didn’t diminish the sunshine in her soul. How proud she was of her friend and all she’d come. In offered hands and suggestions of stuffed animals, in promising to spar and somehow never getting to it because the day was filled with other, brighter things.

Lazing in Latika’s apartment and hands that cared and a fluffy tail that was picked at when he was nervous. In flirtatious banter that was light and carefree, in gentle hands that tended wounds, and warm words that encouraged the heart while simultaneously keeping personal space because there was respect and there should never be presumptions about his welcome although he absolutely was, without fail, welcome and invited because there was care.

Sitting on a desk in Edarien’s office, in shared drinks, in banter that was cheerful and teasing and tension that never ceased, but real care and concern–all that needed to be done was ask, one to the other in either direction with secrets always, always kept–in the braid and brush of fingers through blue and black hair, in the peek of ice blue eyes over her tomephone screen while she typed away at work or something and he nosed into things in return. In humor while they talked about runes and magic and life and the secrets they both sometimes had to keep.

It was all of these little sojourns into the lives of others, where they opened something of themselves and shared with her, that she found her other comforts. Found where she knew she was welcome and where she could offer a welcome in turn should they ever want it. Should any of them ever want it. She was ever a guest in the lives of others, though they may never realize the places they held in her heart, or the way she treasured each of them.

#FFXIVWrite2022 #FFXIVWrite #[ Bathed in Twilight ] #[ Found Family ] #[ Priarch ] #[ Idristan ] #[ Caedh ] #[ Inwa ] #[ Louvel ] #[ Okuni ] #[ Silvaineaux ] #[ Lyrin'a ] #[ Teagan ] #[ Latika ] #[ Edarien ]

[sohkatani]

Chains of the Chaghan - Part 1

A few days had passed since Sohka had attended the social gathering at Priarch and had reassured Silvaineaux that she would speak to Edarien about potentially securing Priarch's help with their rather one-sided war with the Chaghan. Being from one of the more hated tribes of the Steppe, she was sure that no other tribe would step forth to aid her, even if an alliance would be beneficial to both tribes - and, as she had expressed to the Baron, she had few friends to call on. Those she did have, she was reluctant to involve - they'd done nothing to incur the Chaghan's wrath and dragging them into the conflict would risk their life and limb.

Asking Priarch for aid was really her last resort. If they could bring a large enough show of force to the next wave of Chaghan that came for them, perhaps they could end the conflict for good.

So it was early one midweek morning that Sohka had seen Sai - her son - bundled up in bed with a snoring Altan and the tiny Xaela woman herself trudging the familiar paths back toward Thanalan. It was still too early to disturb Edarien, so she intended to go and have a bit of breakfast at the Quicksand and while away an hour or two, then head to the Mists where Priarch's headquarters were. Pre-occupied with her troubled thoughts, she barely paid any heed to her surroundings, eyes downcast on the path before her.

The first sign of trouble was the fallen tree.

A felled trunk and branches- One of the few which Thanalan even bore, and it had fallen- …

Or, been cut down, as an inspection of the harshly hewn stump would reveal.

The second, was the scent on the wind. Masculine and thick, it wafted past her nostrils- The aroma of a male in heat. The aroma of a man without control, without limitations, without anyone holding him back or restraining his choices. Heady, thick, laced with blood and earth and fresh-cut wood.

And the third- … The third was the voice.

“Early morning, out all alone, little Steppedaughter.” Came the rumbling intonation of the words from her side, where a quick whirl around would reveal the man.

He carried his axe across his lap- A twin-headed, chunky-bladed Labrys which he hefted up, before turning over to brace it against the ground.

And beyond that, he was big. It was hard to tell with him sitting down as he was- But he looked a good half a fulm taller than even the tallest of her mates, give or take an ilm.

Ebon-black scales glinting in the sun the Xaela moved to rise to his feet then, and- Oh, he was every bit as big as he looked. “The stories didn’t capture even half of how pretty you were- … Or half of how arrogant.” Came the breath from his lips then, as the man with his powerful jaw and forward-facing horns looked down to her, hefting his axe up, and over his shoulder. “They call you Sohkatani of the Dotharl. Don’t they? Born of Wildfire. Slayer of Chaghan.”

A tree down? She paused, fingers reaching out to touch the rough-hewn edges of it. Who would just cut a tree down across the middle of the path and leave it there? Unless...

... her head whipped up as she caught the scent in the air. Definitively masculine and certainly the source of the fallen tree. Novsh. It was a trap, one that she had distractedly walked right into.

Whirling around when she heard the voice from behind her, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the enormous, muscle-bound male Xaela. She took a small step back, but that was about as far as she could go, being as the trunk of the fallen tree now pressed to her backside.

Still, she was Dotharl - and Dotharl did not display fear. "I am the one of whom you speak. Sohkatani, Wildfire shaman of the Dotharl tribe, the Undying, most fearless tribe of the Steppe!" she declared boldly in Xaelic, ignoring his compliment... and following insult. "Slayer of the Chaghan, only because the Chaghan will not stop sending warriors to wet my blades."

With that, her two chakram dropped into her small hands and came up before her in a defensive gesture, clearly conveying that if he intended to attack her, she would not go easily.

The man was massive, a fact which only grew more and more apparent as he approached her. His head canting to the side, he cracked the vertebrae in his neck then. One by one in a slow, certain progression.

“Good.” He growled out, then. “Then I have not been led astray by my fool brothers.”

“Though, you’re wrong about one thing.” He uttered out then, as he leant in slowly. “Dotharl feel fear. I’ve seen it in their eyes as I crushed their ribs beneath my boot. Your people may not fear death- … But I have my ways. And with the Will of Karash? My kin know no such thing as fear. Only fury.”

His free hand shot up then, and he grabbed ahold of one of her Chakrams, his grip monstrously tight- Threatening to outright bend the metal as he pushed back, as if to force her right onto her ass, back against that tree trunk she was now backed up against.

And then, he ripped his arm back, aiming to pull that Chakram right out of her hand- If he hadn’t already crumpled it by way of his heavy grip. The man was a monster. Overbearing and overrunning her in a way which none of the other Chaghan had been- Like an oncoming earthquake, crumbling houses in his wake. “And you, little wildfire spark? You have done MUCH to earn my fury.”

"Do not come closer!" Sohka called sharply as he began to approach, but her warning went utterly unheeded, his coming seeming as inevitable as the dawn sun. Brothers? He confirmed her suspicions, then - he was Chaghan... which meant that she was certainly in danger. Where there was one, there were a dozen. Or perhaps this one thought himself able to take her out himself, there was no telling. If there were more, they were well-hidden.

Her bright blue eyes widened as he leaned in and rumbled to her, her teeth gritting in anger at his words. He had slain her kin. She opened her mouth to shoot back a scathing retort, but his hand jerked forward, faster than she had time to react. She stumbled backwards, pressing herself against the tree trunk as her steel chakram crumpled like paper in his grip. And when he yanked it away from her? Her choices were to either hold on and get her shoulder dislocated, or to let it go. Wisely, she chose the latter.

"Your fool tribesmen murdered my brother. Cut him down like a dog in an honorless ambush. I was deserving of my revenge," she spat, clinging to her remaining weapon. Her tail rose behind her, swaying sinuously, dangerously, the bladed tip glinting in the sunlight.

"Go back to your tribe, Chaghan. I have no further quarrel with you and yours." Adjusting her feet minutely, she grounded herself, allowing the solid feel of the earth beneath her feet to infuse her body. Calmly, she gazed at him... then jerked her own hands up, summoning a shield of solid rock to rumble upwards between them, and like a wave, go crashing toward him.

"Honor is a crutch." The reply came so fast, so harsh. A snarl upon his lips as he all but shoved the poor little thing onto her ass. One foot rose, armored and clad in thick leathers, scale and steel- There would be no quick slashes of /that/ limb, not without notable effort. That foot came slamming down, then, planting itself into the tree-trunk with such force as to embed itself an ilm inwards, the wood cracking, splintering around it.

And then, then that shield of rock rose, and for a moment? For a moment it seemed like it would force him back, part them. Right up until his own hand rose, and /caught/ the top of it. His fist curled in, shamanic magics flowing through his own arm, the earth answering his call, answering her own- ... Two opposing requests, two demands, and while it did not summarily respond to his own will over her own, the conflict between them earned something closer to a 'fizzling out', their wills clashing, and the magic simply falling apart between them, the earth stopping where it was.

And when the earth stopped- ... Well, that was when he tightened his grip, and /shoved/ his hand downwards, cracking and ripping through the stone as if it had been as soft as loam.

"Oh no. You don't get to get off that easy." He snarled to her, pushing through, that monstrous, grasping hand reaching for her throat, to catch to it and, if he got ahold, to thrust her back, against that trunk. Aiming to pin her right down in place. "I couldn't give less of a damn what happened to your brother. But you took five lives in place of one. You owe me a debt, Dotharl."

In the distance, she could hear the sound of hooves- Not Chocobo talons. That could only mean one thing, more Steppe warriors. More Chaghan, most likely. She was surrounded, more likely than not.

"And you've what, four mates? Three and a dog? That seems a fitting payment to me." As his men rode closer, he moved to heft Sohkatani up, into the air, lifting her skyward- She still had that bladed tail, and her chakram, and he was almost half-amused at the thought of how she might try to use them. "You and your brat can live, but I'll be taking the heads of each of the men you love."

Sohka staggered back hard against the tree trunk, her feet slipping out from under her and landing hard on her ass. Flinching as he planted his foot against the tree hard enough to nearly break through it, she watched the wall of earth rise...

... only for despair to write over her expression as the elements responded to his call as well as her own. To be as massive and musclebound as he was and also have mastery over shamanistic magic? That was simply unfair.

He shoved his hand down, breaking the wall of stone apart as easily as if it had been made of fine sand, and she raised her hands to shield herself from the falling rocks and bits of debris that rained down on her, blinking rapidly to clear the dust from her eyes - only to find her throat grabbed, thick, terrifyingly strong fingers coiling around that slender column.

Squirming and raking her claws over his hand in a bid to get free, she coughed, gasping for breath. "I owe you nothing, Chaghan," she hissed, her voice strained from the grip on her throat. When she heard the hoofbeats, though, a thrill of panic raced through her. Out-muscled, out-maneuvered and out-numbered, it didn't appear she'd be getting out of this. At least, not easily.

And then he spoke again, and her blood ran cold. Unbidden, the horrifying sight of him smashing in Altan's, Ganz's, Khel's, Naran's heads in came to her mind. No... no, she had to get free - she had to warn them that this was a trap to get them to come for her, as she knew they would.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she was being lifted by her throat and abruptly, she had no air. Kicking ineffectually, she desperately clawed at his hand, tail lashing wildly behind her. No, no, no! This couldn't be the way this ended!

Simply unfair was exactly the term for it. It was unfair. It was monstrous. This man. This beast. This horrifying brute.

He was a monster.

A towering mass of muscle, magic and mounting fury which she could almost taste.

It almost would have been arousing, had he not been who he was.

"You do not get to decide what you owe me. Dotharl." He snarled to her as his grip tightened in, and- ... He wasn't letting up. That grip, that hold. Curling in around her windpipe, constricting it-

He was strangling her.

"There it is." He breathed out then, even as her vision started to blur, a smile visible to her eyes. "That fear.."

And that. That reminder. That she, a Dotharl, felt fear, was his gift to her as her consciousness began to drift away.

And when it returned? It was not to the warm sands of Thanalan, but to the rocking of a boat underneath her, and the tight wrap of ropes to her skin, gripping so invasively as she was bound, hog-tied, and left upon a pile of furs.

Sohka swallowed against that tightening grip, adrenaline and panic running cold through her. Her head pounded, her lungs screamed with the need to breath, but he wasn't letting up. Her lips parted and she tried to gasp in even the tiniest sip of precious oxygen, but his grip was too tight. She kicked and she clawed as she swung from the brute's grip; blood dripped from the back of his hand from her nails, but he didn't even seem to feel it.

Fear? Oh yes, she felt it. But it wasn't fear for herself. She wasn't afraid to die, not even like this, if it would save her mates. She knew it would not, though - and that was where her fear came in. Fear for their lives, not her own.

Darkness began to hover at the edges of her blurred vision and her limbs felt heavy, all the sudden. She gave a few more desperate kicks... and then everything went black.

She had no idea how long she was out, but it had to have been for a considerable amount of time, if they were already on a ship. Her eyes fluttered open and she immediately closed them again against the glare of the sun. Her lungs ached, her head throbbed in pain. Being strangled into unconsciousness was not a pleasant way to go, but at least she was still alive. At least she still had a chance.

Squirming, she tried to move her tail, to use the sharp edge of it to saw the ropes that bound her. If she could get free... well, hopefully they were still close to shore.

(Collaboration between Ganz Avagnar and myself. With mentions of @houserosaire and @thedarknesssings)

#ffxiv #au ra xaela #dotharl #chaghan #xaela #writers on tumblr #ffxiv roleplay

[marius-vieremont]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Prompt #7: Noisome

It didn't take long for Marius to return home from Priarch, once an update had been gained from Edarien, Talan, Idristan and Kuni. Opening the door, he shed his coat, leaned his staff against the wall near the hat rack and called out for his husband. "Sebastian... I'm home!" he called... only for silence to greet him.

Curious, he stepped into the hallway that led downstairs, only to encounter an absolutely noisome stench. He coughed, covering his mouth, and carefully proceeded downstairs, wrapping a sleeve over his nose. Growing concerned as he found no Ghost still, and instead found an oven from which black smoke was still wafting from, he took a trepidatious look inside, only to recoil. Whatever lump of meat was in the oven was nothing more than burnt ash and inedible flesh from whatever animal it had come from.

Opening the windows to let the stink out, Marius prowled into the bedroom, where he finally found his husband, sitting on the bed, pouting with his arms over his chest. With a gentle smile, the mage sat next to him and touched his arm. "Took a nap and forgot you had something in the oven?" he asked fondly. Ghost flicked a sullen look at him.

"I was trying to make dinner for you," the other man rasped out. Marius leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against Sebastian's lips, then leaned his forehead against the other's as well.

"I forget too, sometimes. It's okay. We'll go out and let the house air out a little. Then we can come back and I'll help you forget alllll about it. How does that sound?" Never one to resist on the rare occasion Marius flirted, Ghost leaned in and pressed his mouth to his husband's in a more thorough, demanding kiss.

"Noodles?" he asked hopefully, drawing away after long enough to ensure that Marius was addle-brained enough to grant whatever he wished for. It worked. Marius was breathless and blushing by the time the kiss was finished, even after being wed all these years. It never failed.

"Anything you want, love. Anything you want."

(Ghost belongs to @thedarknesssings )

#ffxivwrite2023 #marius vieremont #ghost #husbands

[liminal-storage]

- did they ever steal valuable objects from someone? (Besides edarien’s liquor lol)

Aside from being a habitual liquor thief, the answer to this is actually no! Kuni isn't a particularly materialistic person in the first place. Certainly she has her vices, indulgences, and whims, but aside from a few items of importance, her things can be easily replaced.

She knows this is not the case for everyone. For some, missing a single item can be the difference between life and death. It's more satisfying to work for what she has, and she gets no joy in taking things of importance from other people.

#asks #thank you!

[hiraethwyl]

“Alright, I’ve stocked the larder. I’m going to bed.” I’kea, the long suffering barkeep of adventuring and mercenary group Priarch, gave the keeper in his kitchen currently cutting up carrots a side eye. That look slid to the namazu cook standing on the stool beside him.

“Try not to burn the place down. Edarien is wound tight enough, don’t add ‘losing his entire stock of wine’ to the list.”

“Noted,” came the reply. Lyrin’a didn’t look up, but it didn’t matter as the seeker had already walked off.

The namazu continued to watch, shifting from side to side in a manner that suggested if it had had a neck it might have been craning it.

“You’re making stock, yes yes. Carrots, popotos. …leeks?” He turned his eyes up to Lyrin, who offered him a cursory glance between chopping.

“Yes leeks. Wild leeks. And these are garlics and mushrooms and vale roots.” He pointed at the piles of other things nearby with his knife, before using his hands to scoop up the chopped carrots and drop them in the pot.

“I don’t imagine you or I’kea know how to make Shroud food and it gives me something to do.”

The namazu, Gyosho, bobbed his head -and by extension his entire body- in agreement. Then he trottled down his step stool and picked it up, moving it to the front of the stove to climb up and lean over the smaller pot already boiling.

“I’ll add the meat last. It’s already been seared.” Rabbit, since it was beyond a hassle to try and source antelope in Limsa. Rabbit at least was local.

The keeper paused to pull a pair of small reader spectacles from his pocket, setting them on his nose before pulling the parchment beside him closer to his face. Ah, right, root vegetables first.

Spider had mentioned something about his brother’s deplorable eating habits and frankly the keeper was considering shoving a bowl down several throats considering how often some of them conveniently forgot to eat.

He was too busy considering well intentioned assault by spoon to notice Gyosho ladling from the steaming pot behind him.

In fact it wasn’t until he heard the distinct sound of wretching and squelching -which turned out to be the sound of a namazu twitching on the floor- that he turned to see what was happening. He grunted, slapping his knife down on the counter before kneeling to roll a namazu onto his side.

“Oh for the love of— that’s tea you fool not stock.”

#thing and stuff #I didn’t know tea makes namazu drunk until I read it lol

[thedarknesssings]

Edarien.

#elezen #duskwight #screenshot #gpose #ffxiv gpose #edarien #ffxiv #eldritch #mage #reaper #void #black magic

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 23: Life

Prompt: Suit - FFXIV Write 2023  Characters: Talia Content Warning: None

Lift a hand, rub at the back of your neck. Smooth red hair down from its tangle. You’re still and sore, too many hours under a machine that refused to work. The tasks are mindless. Fix this. Do that. Work on this new thing. Make this modification. 

You haven’t been to see anyone else to 'talk' since you realized Aramel had vanished into the building and never come out. You’re still not sure where he is. You’re trying to delegate who is going into what part of the building. You're probably going to have to send Edarien into the depths. If you're right, the dark below isn't safe for you.

Cool air enters the heat of the workshop with the opening and closing of the door. A flash of white hair and a smile greet you, devil, a hand holding out a mug of coffee. He’s tea in his other hand, like he plans to stay. Smile back, a gesture that’s automatic, easy. 

You’ve given him hundreds of these little smiles. In the quiet of your home. In the late hours of the night. When poetry falls from your lips or laughter falls from his. It isn’t perfect, devil, but you think you’ve gotten there. 

An effigy. Maybe Kuni had been right. Ever since you’d made yours, with twisting metal and scrap, with chips of crystal for eyes and painstakingly carved markings, you’ve felt better. Putting a shape to your hurt helped.

Pitching it into the heat of the forge was even better. You stood and watched it become a pool of metal, gleaming in the heat until all that had been was gone. Something else, something better would take shape from what it had been. But isn't that just life?

You glance up again when your husband speaks, and laughter falls from your lips as you finally reach to take your coffee. Life moves on. Better, brighter, with more cheer. You were never suited for staying still in the ache. You matter. Your voice. Your choice.

One of his arms wraps around your waist, as sweet words coax you form the workshop. Join people. Talk. Be social. You flash him up a smile. Life moves on.

And now you move with it.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #[ twilight ]

[houserosaire]

Prompt #29: Fuse

He had long ago given up on seeing Priarch fuse itself into a singular, coherent, functioning unit. They were mercenaries, a diverse crowd with an equally varied skillset and moral code. Most of them had never been soldiers. He was used to the arguments, at the meeting table and away from it. Was used to having to raise his voice into the middle of it, and to being astounded that a point that seemed obvious and concrete to him generated such a myriad of opinions he could scarce keep track of them all.

If they had been soldiers he would have disciplined them. Tried his best to hammer them into a shape sharp and precise as a sword. But they were not, so instead he simply watched them, tried to learn the shape of them, the things they did best and the things that they needed.

He might have written it all down in notes easily enough:

Edarien:

-Strong magic. Strange magic if the way the others react means anything.

-Lonely. Needs a friend and sometimes a voice of reason. 

Inwa:

-Healer. Trustworthy. Kind and merciful.

-Too merciful sometimes. Needs someone to make sure his own kindness doesn’t kill him.

Louvel:

-Strong fighter. Cares deeply for those he loves.

-Uncontrolled temper. Does not like or trust me. What he needs must come from someone else.

Lyrin’a:

-Steady. Good healer, and calm and reliable in crisis.

-Dislikes conflict. Needs someone to hear him and help him be heard.

Okuni:

-Clever. Quick. Determined. Variety of skills. Magic? Knives.

-Needs to be reminded not to rush into things alone or tackle more than she can manage.

Talia:

-Sniper. Very good. Several other magical talents I probably don’t even know.

-Needs reminders of morality sometimes. Friends. Doesn’t need most of it from me.

Idristan: 

-Magic. Very strong.

-Soft heart he doesn’t want anybody to know about. Fragile pride. What he needs isn’t for me to provide.

Elias:

-Good-hearted. Means best for everybody. Hard to read.

-Clumsy, but usually manages. Not always sure what he needs. Perhaps nothing from me. 

Teagan:

-Fights with her fists. Surprisingly capable. Battle rages.

-May need someone to help her out of rages sometime. May not need it from me.

Latika’a: 

-Hiding several capabilities under several acts. Good when he settles down to heal.

-Needs? Inwa will sort it out.

Sui:

-Healer. Sound insights. Voice of mercy.

-Needs someone to guard his back and temper his mercy. That is me.

But he did not. He kept his private assessments in his thoughts, and tried his best to remember them when they were needed. He might have liked to pretend they would all come together when the moment demanded like the pieces of a puzzle or the many links that together made a shirt of mail. They did not usually. They scattered, they argued, they raged.  He wasn’t certain what held them together at all sometimes. But something did. 

That same something carried them to victory as often as not. He frequently thought that their enemies would truly find something to fear if they ever managed to put themselves together. Sometimes, though, he wondered if they were not more fearsome just as they were.

@thedarknesssings for Edarien, @blisteringstar for Inwa, @louvel-roche for Louvel, @hiraethwyl for Lyrin’a, @liminal-storage for Okuni, @reddevil-xiv for Talia, @roses-and-grimoires for Idristan, @gorgagne-viperidae for Elias, @punches-and-cream-puffs for Teagan, @latikaa-renaz for Latika’a, and @bookbornexiv for Sui, @priarch-enterprises-ffxiv

#FFXIVWrite2022 #Silvaineaux #Edarien #Inwa #Louvel #Lyrin'a #Okuni #Talia #Idristan #Elias #Teagan #Latika'a #Sui #There are a bunch of other characters I could also have written about but the list was long enough #Fun characters and people I write with!

[rain-grey-falcon]

Prompt #2: Unbidden

Prompt 2: Bolt - FFXIV Write 2022 Characters: Rain, Edarien (@thedarknesssings)

It hadn’t been that long since his life had been irrevocably changed during one night after a meeting in Priarch. And yet somehow, it felt like the span of an entire lifetime had passed. 

It was meant to be just a game, a play of sorts. He would assume the identity of another man, live his life, become who he had to in order to continue existing.

No matter that the person had distinctive ties. 

No matter that he had been assumed dead up until now, locked in a battle with ‘a wasting illness’ for the last few years.

No matter that it meant discarding everything that he had been up until this point. 

He was a copy of a copy. What did he care if he was now meant to copy someone else instead?

No, all that mattered was that this was a new name and a new face for him to assume. He wouldn’t die. Perhaps that alone made it worth it?

-----

Rainimont leaned forward as he examined his face in the mirror. His eyes were two different colors, a brilliant teal and a sharp silver that made his gaze shine against the frame of the dark sea green hair that fell around his face, past the black tattoos that now covered them. What stared back at him was a stranger, and yet…

Yet he felt oddly at ease. He had expected a constriction of his chest, an urge to pant for air, some panic at being so displaced. But there was something that felt familiar about all of this. Felt right in all of this. He had been told that they were ‘blended’. 

Was this him? Was this simply who he was now? A hand lifted and he wiped away the growing condensation from the silvery pane of glass, the fresh smudges leaving his reflection distorted. The sound of a door opening in the other room had him leaning back entirely, turning on a heel to step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that sat adjacent to the room he himself was meant to occupy.

A nearby wardrobe lay opened for him in offering. Dare must have opened it for him, the mage currently across the room sorting through the wine on a nearby shelf. Fine fabric hung from hangers, the entirety of it looking freshly pressed and well tended to. But it wasn’t the front of the wardrobe and its offering of finery that drew his attention. It was instead further towards the back, a small box that lay buried, one that he almost missed.

No, he hadn’t almost missed it. He knew exactly where it lay, and what lay inside it. The box was lifted and he reached to pull one of the shirts out on a hanger to accompany him. Neatly pressed, the black fabric draped over his arm as though he had little care for it. A few quick strides took him over to the table, the click of the box to its surface drawing Edarien’s attention. 

The glass that Dare’d filled was quickly drained as he stared at Rain, bared to the waist, leaning over the edge of the table, his focus on the box. The elaborate markings that lined his spine in a mirror of his own runes were on display, along with the wall of muscle that had filled out under Rain’s last couple of sennights of preparation for his new position in life. 

It was the effort of refilling the glass that had drawn his attention away from his upright and moving husband, the glass stilling at the edge of his lips for a second set of swallows as he heard the sound of a bolt clicking free in a lock–where had he found that key?--and the opening of a lid. 

Up until now, they had been in private, and so there was no need for it. But now, without being told, Rain had picked up box and key both, and slid the heavy ring that lay inside onto his finger. The silver and blue ring bearing the Griseaux family crest fit him without effort, and his hand closed as he lifted his eyes to Edarien’s. 

There was a brief moment of confusion on Rain’s face, as if he, had realized that there had been no coaxing or instruction given to him. Near the wine rack, Edarien had frozen still as a statue. A moment later, he was moving on hurried footsteps, practically bolting out the door of the bedroom and through the corridor that led into the study. 

The hand bearing the signet ring lowered back to the table as his gaze lifted to the window, and the snowy landscape beyond it, gaze stormy as the skies beyond the window pane.

#FFXIVWrite2022 #FFXIVWrite #[ Rain Grey Skies ] #[ Rainimont ] #[ Edarien ] #[ A Falcon In The Rain ]

[dawning-star]

Skull #3

From Skull - Mortality: Who is the most significant person your OC has lost? Have they fully processed their grief? Or can certain things trigger a flood of emotions?

Well, it wasn't the lover that she killed by her own hands much like Edarien (@thedarknesssings) had in the same set of events. No, that honor goes to the one she credits with saving her life... um, the first time. Not the leg. He's been touched on in writing before but this hyur, a hearer who had lived largely within the Twelveswood, was the one that gave her the name she carries and set her on the path that she still is figuring out.

She wasn't there when it happened, so even she's not completely certain that the grieving properly happened. All she knew was after the fact...when the deed had already been done. The Ixal attack.

The emotions still happen for her, particularly if she does look to or handle the first set of well-worn blades he had equipped her with before sending her off. Unusable, she keeps them only for the sentiment of those days and memories held. After all, he'd been the first one in a long time that felt remotely like a parent figure she could trust. All she can do is hope that she lives up to the weight of the name he gave her.

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Cemetery Symbolism OC Questions

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