#Wyda Eyhafrynwyn

[endangered-liaison]

Labyrinthos: home to rare and endangered animals and plants from across the realm. Llofii can't help but approve.

#llofii pyr potitus #llofii the forthright #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots

[brave-horizon]

FFXIV Write 2021 - Prompt #20: Petrichor

Well, I missed 2 weeks, but I'm back! Brave and Wyda (@endangered-liaison) are Totally Just Friends.

---

Rain is, obviously, fairly rare in Thanalan. When it does happen, it comes fast and heavy and is usually accompanied by an awesome thunderstorm. It's also often as dangerous as it is impressive. The parched earth paradoxically doesn't absorb water so quickly, and the downpour can lead to destructive flash flooding. Thankfully, the Bellworks lies atop a mesa.

Brave peers over the edge into the rushing waters in the valley below as the rain pelts her. Her hair has come undone and plasters her face and shoulders, and her clothes are soaked--thankfully she's wearing a dark tunic. She stares into the temporary river, the crashing sound of the water echoing through the stone walls between peals of thunder, until she decides she wants to watch the lightning instead.

She climbs a tree on the company campus and hops over onto the roof of the chocobo stables. She isn't surprised to find Wyda atop there. She also isn't surprised to find her attire far less appropriate for lying in the rain. With a quick breath of laughter, she lies down next to her dear friend and turns her head partially toward the Sea Wolf, so that she can look up without the big drops hurting her eyes. They end up in an awkward semi-cuddle as they watch the light show together. Brave enjoys how she can share such intimacy with Wyda while still respecting each others' relationships.

An hour or so later, the scent of the desert after the rains subside stirs them. They stand up, smile at each other, and give each other a kiss on the cheek before they go their separate ways.

#FfxivWrite2021 #FfxivWrite #FFXIV #Brave Horizon #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn

[furymint]

FFXIVWrite 2021 | header | wc: 820

Elliot frolicked into the Bell kitchen in a gold smoking jacket and green brocade pants because he wanted to cause trouble. The foremost purpose of causing a scene was being seen, and twirling at the foot of the stairs in shiny clashing patterns was his method today.

Except the room was barren of any onlookers except the demon queen of evilness herself. And she wore one of his hats. He wailed.

Dragging a hand down his face, Elliot could not keep himself from sputtering, "What are you wearing?"

Seated at a rear table, Xanadu lifted a spindly leg and crossed it over her knee. To better show the beautiful design of her teacup, she shifted her hold on it and languidly brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she gave the name of her jacket's designer.

"The hat."

"The hat is excellent. It deserves better than to belong to you."

"How did you--"

"I believe that on some idiotic notion of being personable--but mostly desperate for interruption from your senselessness--you leave your door unlocked."

"Yes, and--"

"You," Xanadu interjected, "are a homosexual."

Elliot could have laughed. Instead, he gave a short curtsy. "I cannot deny it."

"A useless specimen of nobility."

"In a traditional sense, yes."

"There is no sense in aught but tradition."

"But only without it can we become something new."

"And I am to believe that is working for you?"

Elliot leaned into the pillar and craned his head to look at the clock. Halone, this would be a good time to strike one of them down.

The Fury sent Her stupidest knight instead. Nolanel stamped down the stairs, all dark wool and leather and hardship, and sighed after understanding just what he walked into.

Elliot grabbed his arm and tugged him closer to hiss loudly, "Do you recognize that tribly?"

Nolanel stared dumbly at Xanadu. "What?"

Refusing to help, Xanadu drank her tea.

"The hat she's wearing," Elliot clarified.

Nolanel grunted. "Mm, no."

Xanadu grinned in a way that she probably would grin if someone had informed her that the Cadieux estate had burned down. In any case, Elliot's day was in blazes, and that was enough.

Elliot whinged softly that the hat was his.

Snatching her advantage, Xanadu asked, "And what are you wearing, Ser Nolanel?"

"Oh, no," Nolanel started, seemingly alert now that he sensed the pitfall this was becoming. "I'm no part of this."

He made it halfway up one stair afore being yanked back down by the fluttering dandy still on his arm. Though he allowed himself to be forced back onto the playing field, his mouth clenched with a determined scowl. Some part of him still planned escape or he wouldn't have looked at the clock.

Xanadu, who certainly knew every schedule and plan, asked simply, "Is there some appointment you two are awaiting?"

"'Tis only time's wiles," Elliot affected. "As if by curse, it marches slower while you are near."

Nolanel scraped his nails across his scalp, reflecting that this was why Elliot found himself in these predicaments--he couldn't shut the hell up.

To save the bastard from himself, Nolanel went along with Xanadu's frat question. "With the exception of Brave, not a single person in this company dresses in what could be called a standard way." That was a lot of words for him at once, and he looked exhausted after saying it.

Xanadu agreed with a solemn nod. "Who do you think of especially?"

Nolanel pointed two fingers at the man next to him decked in fabric shinier than common tinsel.

Content with turning Nolanel against Elliot again, she laughed and stood with her drink. Her tail lashed once as she strode towards the counter to deposit the cup and saucer. After looking deliberately at Elliot, she veered back to Nolanel, who tried to avoid eye contact.

"Who else of the company?"

If Nolanel had the presence of mind to think of an advantageous answer, he would have said Kouneli. Instead he responded truthfully, "Wyda, probably."

"Miss Eyhafrynwyn is a filthy lesbian heretic. She cannot be helped. Nevertheless as capable as she is, her choices in wardrobe are as questionable as her scientific process."

While the cogs in Nolanel's head renewed their thought that this was an absurd conversation with an absurd woman, Xanadu continued.

"One could suspect she had no knowledge of how to fasten a button. But hussies of her fashion may be extraordinarily efficient in certain negotiations. Victoria admirably preformed such a role convincing the Ironclad representative..."

Nolanel lost focus. Xanadu kept talking from a distance that felt further than a couple yalms, and her voice seemed to have the dull bitterness of charcoal. His thoughts split, only returning when Elliot nudged him.

"Can Elliot have his hat back?" he said abruptly.

"No," Xanadu said.

Nolanel made a face of unexpected admission. "Right." Shrugging, he hauled Elliot back up the stairs with him.

#this got long and idk how #SORRY CAP LOL #AND SORRY WYDA #no sorry to xan thank u for ur very evil girl bc i love her #bri writes #elliot cadieux #nolanel feran #rp #FFXIVWrite2021

[bellworksffxiv]

Eastbound  & Down

Brave Horizon clears her throat and begins speaking in her Chief voice. "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the upcoming exploratory mission the Eorzean Alliance has entrusted the Bellworks with. They have asked us to search the Ivalician city of Goug, near the Ridorana Lighthouse, in southern Othard."

Brave Horizon: "For those unfamiliar, Goug was famed within Ivalice for its myriad clockwork inventions, and it is a potential source of lost scientific and and engineering knowledge." ]Kail Gerrad: "...and treasure?" Victoria Castle: "Probably." Brave Horizon: "If there is any, the previous tenants aren't using it anymore," she says with a shrug. Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn: "...knowledge is treasure," Wyda murmurs, quietly. Gwenneth Gilrouis breaks her fascination long enough to double-take toward Kail with the expression reserved for disappointed mothers. Kail Gerrad smiles and shrugs. "Oh c'mon...ye were all thinkin it one way or another."

#ffxiv #free company rp #balmung #eastbound & down #ffxiv rp

[endangered-liaison]

Prompt #26: Break a Leg

Eyhafryn Hollbyrmsyn's workshop is, at best, organised chaos. At worst, it's a mess. Sawdust and wood filings cover the floor, fine strips of applewood curled like pillbugs and half-finished furniture cluttered atop every piece of three-quarters finished furniture or workbench. Somewhere there's a mostly-finished violin.

 The man in question claps his hands, sending fine plumes of sawdust in all directions as he turns to face his two visitors.

 "Wyda. You made it."

 Hyrtwyda ducks her head, brushing her hair forwards to cover her eyepatch better and offering a shrug. "I promised, didn't I?"

 Eyhafryn looks at her for a few long moments, then sighs his deep sigh. "Come here, girl."

 The noise that Wyda makes in her throat is somewhere between a laugh and a sob as she steps into his arms, the man squeezing her in a mighty bear hug that would give even Brave Horizon a run for her money. "It's good to see you, dad."

 "S'good to see you too, acorn."

 That garners a true laugh, Wyda half-shoving his shoulder. "You called me Willow, you don't get to make oak puns at me."

 "I'll make as many oak puns as I like at you, and you'll like it." He smiles, holding her for a few more moments. When he lets her go, she lingers before taking her steps backwards. Eyhafryn's eyes flick over towards the other woman, the midlander standing awkwardly at the door to his workshop with an expression that makes him wonder how many times she's imagined running away from this social situation.

 "And you must be Victoria," he says, choosing to put her out of her misery. "The girlfriend. Wyda's told me a lot about you in her letters."

 "She has? What exactly did she tell you? She has a habit of...exaggerating? Not that that's a bad thing, necessarily, I just don't want you to get the wrong impression of me from...oh, bollocks." Victoria wilts like an underwatered jute, curling inwards and looking for all the world like she wants the floor to open her up and swallow her whole.

 Eyhafryn extends another olive branch (oak branch?) by holding his hand out for her to shake. "All good things, I assure you. But I'd like to hear from the source herself, if she'd be willin' to talk to me? Me name's Eyhafryn."

 That seems to snap Victoria out of her spiral, and she shakes Eyhafryn's hand...surprisingly strongly. Professional, two shakes, even as she's willingly placing her slender fingers in the meaty grasp of a man three times her size. "Victoria Castellus. It's an honour to meet you, ser."

 Eyhafryn quirks an eyebrow at his daughter. "Ser, eh? I like this one, Wyda. She's respectful."

 Wyda smiles brightly, painted lips curling upwards. "I'm quite partial to her myself."

 "I trust you've been keeping my girl safe?" Eyhafryn says it conspiratorially, but easily loud enough for all to hear.

 "I can keep myself safe, you know, dad. I'm not five."

 Both Victoria and Eyhafryn level the same, identically unimpressed Look at her. It's uncanny.

 "As safe as I'm able to, ser." Victoria's answer comes with a slight smile, mischief mixed with genuine fondness.

 Eyhafryn grins and steps away from them both, moving to rest his hand on a half-complete chair he'd left perched on the workbench. A little more sanding, some varnish, and it'll be ready. "You know, I really don't see why you were so worried about this, sproutling. She's perfectly polite, and you know I'm friendly as houses. And she clearly already knows enough embarrassing stories about you without me adding more."

 Wyda pauses. Rubs the back of her neck. The tension that had begun to leave Victoria's shoulders comes back full-force. "Aye. Uh. About that. There is one more person I'd like to you to meet."

 Eyhafryn raises an eyebrow. The eyebrow just rises higher as around the corner steps another midlander woman. She's tiny, even by midlander standards. Where Victoria is dressed to impress, this other woman's arms are on full display, showing off the freckles covering her shoulders, and her entire appearance seems much...rougher-hewn. When she grins, it's with only half her mouth, and it shows sharp teeth that are a little unnerving.

 "Is this a colleague of yours? It's...nice to meet you? I'm Wyda's father--"

 "Max." Max (apparently) says. She holds out her hand (tattooed tendrils of some toxic plant life wrapping around her wrist and forearm) for Eyhafryn to shake, and her grin grows wider. "Wyda's girlfriend."

 The leg of the chair snaps.

#ffxivwrite2022 #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #Victoria Castellus #Max Sawyer #Meet The Parents

[endangered-liaison]

Light the Way

((tw for some light body horror, general Endwalker themes, and spoiler warning for Endwalker’s story))

The once-great Pharos Sirius cut a sharp figure against the skyline of La Noscea. Far away on an isle all of its own, overtaken by corrupted aether crystals from the calamity; the building seems an unlikely place for any visitor other than an adventuring party sent to clear out corrupted sprites or ... other, stranger creatures.

But it's within this tower than Wyda Eyhafrynwyn has found herself living of late. An encampment on the upper floors, kept safe from the corrupted crystals and far from civilisation. Once a week, a supply ship sails in with food, water, whatever other supplies are needed, and a new shift of yellowjackets. The guards change every week. But the researchers remain.

Every day, she walks down the ruined staircases, gas mask strapped in place and magicked barriers projected to keep her safe from the corrupted aether. Every day, she comes to the basement, far beneath the main structure and torn open by a kobold incursion.

But the central furnace is still intact. A grand structure built to house Voidsent Bombs, the power source of the great lantern. Few think about the fact that the pharos that light the way for ships are powered by void rituals, but it remains an immutable fact even in this age of magitek advancement. Aether and tek need power sources, but a voidsent bomb simply needs the ambient aether of the air to survive. Slave labour, of a strange sort.

It may seem a strange place for her to reside. But in truth, it's perfect. It is far from civilisation, to keep others safe. And the great furnace chamber was built to keep enormous Bombs restrained. If anywhere in La Noscea is strong enough to house the thing she now studies, it's here.

She steps off the final wooden scaffold on to the basement level, and pulls off her mask. The air down here is damp and sulphuric, but it is safe to breathe. It won't taint your lungs and turn you to a crystalline zombie. The danger down here does not come from the air. Already, she feels it creeping into her bones. The deep, tainting miasma.

The guards down here don't seem to be guarding. They are singing. A bard from Gridania strums a harp, and the band of yellowjackets sing an upbeat shanty. It's necessary.

"G'morning, lass!" one calls, false cheer in his voice and eyes alight. They're only going to be here for another two days, but the anxiety is creeping in at the edges of his gaze.

Wyda smiles right back, bright and cheery, and pats the man on the shoulder. "Morning, Knodbrem. Is Totojonu already in there? He wasn't at breakfast."

The soldiers glance back and forth between one another, then nod. "Aye. He came down when our shift began. He said he couldn't sleep."

The worry is clear.

"I'll talk to him," Wyda reassures. "I've ways of persuading people to take a break." She tries her best to sound spooky, and it garners a laugh or two before she steps past the group. Pushes open the great doors with Knodbrem's help, and listens to them seal behind her.

The furnace has been retrofitted. Changed and modified to fit the thing that now resides with it. Totojonu Kokojonu of the Alchemist's Guild scurries this way and that before it, checking his notes and rummaging through glass vials. He's been here for five weeks - half the time Wyda herself has been.

And within the great furnace, chained and bound by steel and by magick, is a blasphemy. The chains were built to hold back giants, and the magicks are the same warding spells and geometries that hold Bombs in place. It seems to be working well enough for the time being. The blasphemy tugs at its restraints, ever and always, muttering things in a broken voice that shouldn't be possible.

It doesn't have a voicebox, after all.

"Good morning, Toto," Wyda calls out, but the man barely acknowledges her. She's used to it, by now. She'll tell him to take a break soon, but right now he won't listen to her. Instead, she pulls a visor from her satchel. It's Sharlayan-made, modified by Bellworks engineers. An aetherometer of a sort. The advantage of working with the Sharlayans, rather than having them ignore the plights of the world, is that she gets to use things like this. Like this, and like the soul crystal dangling on a string around her neck and the nouliths strapped to her back.

She settles the visor in place, then twists a dial on the side. It lowers over her left (and only) eye, and the lenses alight. Her vision splits into three distinct images for a moment, dizzying and disorienting, before the three images snap together in a complete picture. It leaves her nauseous, stuck with the feeling of stepping off a moving airship.

As ever, the blasphemy lacks any aetheric signature. A deep, black absence, like she's staring into a hole in the universe. Others had observed that in the first days of this calamity, and given up on aetheric observation. But Wyda is certain there is more to be found. There's something there. The naked eye can see it, but it is not aether. What, then?

"Any progress today?" Wyda asks over her shoulder, stepping closer towards the warded monstrosity. She raises her voice, calling over the constant whispers.

"Growth Formula Zeta seems to cause tissue samples to decay, but has no noticeable effect on the creature itself." Totojonu's response is short and direct, the man not looking up from his work as he peers into a microscope. "The same as every other compound we've tried."

Wyda hums, crossing her arms as she studies the void. "That's not true. It didn't like fluoroantimonic acid."

"One, it doesn't like anything, and two, nothing likes fluoroantimonic acid."

Wyda snorts a laugh. "Aye. Aye, true enough."

She steps closer, leaning in close towards the blasphemy. Two fulms away. One. She feels a prickling across her skin and her mind like static. Like running your hand across a magitek screen. Somewhere, distantly, she hears a voice. The more you cling to life, the more you shall suffer. Embrace me, and I shall grant you a gift painless and beautiful.

A shift in her aether, and one of her nouliths floats freely. It raises from her back, twisting and aligning with her will.

The thavnairians say that they believe the blasphemies are made of something called Akasa. But they have no ways of detecting such a thing, let alone discovering some way of...combating it. Curing it? Wyda doesn't know, any more. A vaccine, a cure, a weapon. She doesn't know what they're searching for here.

She twists the dial once more, her vision flickering blue-white then to a deep orange. Then once more, to the only frequency she's found that detects anything so far. A strange, monochrome view of the world.

It doesn't see everything. The bulk of the blasphemy is still shrouded in darkness, but she sees...wisps. Wisps of that same darkness, exuded by the creature. Coming from the heavens above. Lines through reality like strings she could reach out and pluck, and everywhere they strike is left in a darkness of its own like tiny pinpricks. Like rain striking dry stone.

Akasa. An energy of emotion - of despair, in this case.

She pours a little aether into her noulith. "Okay, Sin. Gently does it." A twitch of her fingers, and the glowing-bright noulith closes in until it touches the blasphemy. She watches through her visor as the field of akasa distorts and twists. The darkness of the blasphemy doesn't change, but the lines exuded by it are...blocked, or at least diverted. Aether can serve as some kind of barrier. The Scions had reported as much - that the flow of celestial aether currents determine where shall next be struck by despair. Where the flow is strong or eddies exist in the celestial currents, people are (relatively) safe. But where the flow weakens, where it stagnates, the slightest note of despair can drive people to become a sign of the end.

She pushes more aether into the noulith; pushes emotion into it, and the voice in her mind rises to a fever pitch.

sleephappily drowninthedeep shatter fade away followmyvoice

here

lies

your

answer

Wyda jerks away, noulith twisting backwards and nearly knocking an alembic to the ground.

She breathes heavy, grabbing her visor to wrench it upwards and focusing on the taste of the sulphur-filled air. The damp, the salt from the sea.

That's always the worst part of her mornings.

She turns away, facing Totojonu, and finds him ... sitting there. He stares into space, his work ceased.

"Toto?" she prompts, stepping closer to the man. No black smoke exudes from him; no ashes.

"Aren't you worried about turning?" he asks. His voice sounds malms away, distant and barely there. "About becoming one of those things?"

His eyes meet hers, and she can see the despair there.

"They have no souls left. They're destroyed, utterly. I used to know this woman. Sosona. She was my friend. She worked at the thaumaturge's guild."

Wyda swallows. She knows this story, by now. Her first day here, she had asked how they had captured this blasphemy. Had asked who they had been. She regrets asking.

"Three were studying the Blasphemy they had captured in their catacombs, when they just ... gave up. They turned, and the blasphemy got loose, and the four killed another ten before they were put down. Sosona's husband turned. And before the despair overtook her, she asked ... to be studied. She'd been working on a cure. And this way, even with no hope left herself, she could give hope to others. She allowed her soul to be lost, for eternity. She will never be reborn."

Totojonu's grip on the desk is tight.

"How can you sit here and look at our fate without screaming?"

There is silence for long seconds, save the murmuring of the blasphemy behind her. And when they grows to be too much, Wyda steps forwards. She kneels down, and takes Totojonu Kokojonu's hands. "'Tis not my fate, my friend. It shall not be yours, either, if you but believe it." Her eye is bright, and his tiny lalafell hands both fit between hers with no effort at all. "I shall not die, for as long as there exists something in this world that gives me purpose. Simply pick a reason to live, and follow it to whatever end."

She stays there, kneeling before him, until his breathing grows steadier. Until his eyes refocus. Until the pall of despair hanging over the room grows lighter.

"Do you feel better?" she asks, gently.

"No." A sardonic smile crosses the man's face. "But I don't feel worse. Thank you."

Wyda snorts. "You know, I'll accept that. I've had worse reviews of my bedside manner." She pats the man's hands as she climbs back to her feet, wincing a little. The ground here is hard and uneven, and a pebble had been digging into her knee that whole time.

She turns back to face the blasphemy once more, lowering her visor over her eye to see the lines of akasa that soak through the world.

"Get some rest. I'll ask the guilds to send out someone to relieve you for a while. You deserve a chance to get away from here." She says it gently. After five weeks, she can see the cracks showing in him. She dares not look at him with the visor in place. He deserves to rest.

"Alright." He sighs, and hops down from the chair he'd been sitting at. She hears his feet hit the ground, and senses his presence moving through the room. She senses him stop. "... What keeps you going?"

"Hm?" Wyda pulses aether, spinning all four nouliths from their places and aligning them around her like extra limbs. She watches the crystals fade slightly as they pass through the lines of akasa.

"You said that something gives you purpose. That you picked a reason to live that you'll follow." His voice is tentative, but she can feel the edges of hope in it.

"Me?" A laugh, light and melodious. "That's simple enough."

She focuses her aether, and four aetheric beams lance outwards from her nouliths. They strike a part of the blasphemy's torso, cutting it open and revealing further darkness within. They twist and rotate, a chirurgeon's tools in her hands, until a slab of not-meat falls to the floor with a dull sound. Not quite a splat.

"There's always more to learn."

She hears Totojonu leave, even as the blasphemy's mutterings rise to screams.

"no cure

no cure

NO CURE"

If any answer lies here, then she'll find it.

It's okay, she tells herself. 

They don't have souls.

#Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #ffxiv spoilers #endwalker spoilers

[endangered-liaison]

"I've heard tell that the Goro tribe are experts in horse-rearing. Do you think we'll have time to visit them and--" 

"They're horsewives, Llofii. We are not visiting the horsewives." 

"--okay! Point taken!"

#ffxiv #Llofii pyr Potitus #Llofii the Forthright #have i mentioned that i love her #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn

[endangered-liaison]

Prompt #19: Turn a Blind Eye

Thubyrgeim regards the Bellworks Manufacturing Company's offices with curiosity.

 She keeps track of all her former students to the best of her abilities, but Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn had been an odd one even as far as Arcanists are concerned (which is saying something). Somehow, she'd expected her to end up somewhere...stranger.

 This is just a building. Like any other here in Ul'dah. More upstanding than many, in fact - she's fairly sure she passed by five brothels on the way here, which would be excessive by Limsan standards. Everything's bigger in Ul'dah except the people, it seems.

 She shifts the crate in her arms as she reaches the front door, shifting it to press uncomfortably into her side as she turns the handle and does an awkward crate-carrying-shuffle through the doorway.

 The interior is...messy. The grandfather clock behind the front counter is chipped and half-broken, and there's marks on the carpets that clearly show where furniture had previously been, with each piece being in a slightly different place now. As if everything in the building had been shuffled around in some odd game.

 "Ah...hello." The receptionist behind the counter, at least, doesn't seem bothered by the state of things. In fact, he doesn't seem particularly bothered by anything. The lalafell man simply turns a page of his book. She can't make out the full title, just On The Esoterek Practises of Vo--; the rest is covered by his hand.

 "Help you?" He asks, gruffly, not looking up.

 "Ah, yes. I'm looking for Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn? I believe she heads your arcanotechnology department here?" Thubyrgeim shifts the crate in her arms and offers a polite smile to the man.

 "Wyda? Probably in her loft. Through the door, up to the top floor."

 She blanches.

 A loft.

 This crate suddenly feels a lot heavier.

 He finally looks up from his book, then to the crate she's carrying. He hmphs to himself. "I'll call 'er down."

 "Oh, thank the gods."

_ _ _

 Wyda had hugged her. Of course she had. As a mercy, she'd left the crate on the table while she waited for her former student's arrival, so its contents aren't thrown across the whole of the office as the woman practically tackles her.

 "Professor!" She sounds delighted. She looks...happy. There's a brightness in her eye that had once only been there in the deepest parts of her research. She's gained a little weight, and...by the gods, she doesn't have any cleavage showing. Thubyrgeim might faint. "'Tis wonderful to see you."

 Thubyrgeim finds herself smiling right back, inviting Wyda to join her on the fainting couch in the cubby area near to the stairs. "It's good to see you as well. It's far too infrequent that I get to visit my old students - especially the ones who travelled so far away."

 Wyda rolls her eye dramatically as she sits down. "You know that I live in Limsa, aye? You didn't need to come all the way out here. I have a house."

 Thubyrgeim did not, in fact, know that. "...I did not. Your forwarding address was listed here."

 Wyda's face falls. "Ah." Ah. Expecting an Arcanist to remember to update their forwarding address with their former guild when they move was Thubyrgeim's first mistake, when she thinks about it now. "...I might've forgotten to update my address. Sorry."

 Thubyrgeim can't help but laugh, burying her head in her hands. "I shouldn't be surprised. We arcanists are rarely...the most present-minded for things beyond stratagems and research."

 A tilt of her head; a concession without a thousand words to go with it. Times really have changed.

 "Honestly, I think this trip out here will do me good. Some late summer Thanalan sun will help my pallor, and there's a conference being run by the Thaumaturges tomorrow which I plan to attend."

 "You got tickets to that?" Wyda sounds affronted. "Gods, I'd been trying for weeks."

 "Being acting guildmaster has some perks, Wyda. Not many, but it does have them." Thubyrgeim adjusts her glasses, all smugness.

 Wyda harrumphs and crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best to pout. It would look more effective were she ten years younger, and were Thubyrgeim less aware of just how much trouble the woman had been during her time at the Guild.

 In all honesty, the fact that she's able to be here, warm and friendly, is something that she had held doubts about. The accusations of smuggling, the open secret of her habits of providing unlicensed medical aid. Strangeness was accepted in the Arcanist's Guild. Criminality...less so. The fact that she had made it through to her graduation, to hold a doctorate and to be a proud alumnus of the guild, is something that Thubyrgeim had truly found herself doubting at times.

 Sometimes she still questions if they had made the right choices.

 But seeing her here, head of a department, happy and hale, she can't bring herself to doubt those choices in this moment.

 "P'vytola sends her love, before I forget to share that with you, though that is not the reason I am here." Thubyrgeim clears her throat, leaning forwards to pull the crate towards herself. "...The case of the Fraefroea has been closed for some time, and the vault of Mealvaan's Gate can only hold so much evidence. Given Octavian Hostis' recent death, it--"

 Wyda drops something. Which is impressive, considering Thubyrgeim hadn't been aware that she'd been holding anything to begin with. "He's dead?"

 Oh. "...Did no one tell you? I had thought that..."

 Wyda shakes her head. Her eye is wide. Her smile has faded.

 "He vanished from Alliance custody some weeks ago, and his body was found on the coast of La Noscea two days later, run through with a spear of some kind. I had assumed someone would have informed you, given your history with him. It... We are certain it is him. No trickery or fakes. He is certainly dead."

 Wyda wraps her arms around Thubyrgeim without a word, pressing herself close. "...Thank you."

 Oh. She's...not entirely sure how to manage emotions like this. She offers a few pats on Wyda's back, reassuring. "It's over. He can't harm you any further."

 When Wyda pulls back from the hug, she's sniffling, and won't quite meet Thubyrgeim's eyes, but there's a new smile at the corners of her mouth. Something different.

 "So, ah. We. With his death, the case of the Fraefroea was judged to be fully closed, and the evidence cleared to be released. Most of your personal effects were returned to you at the time, but...there's a few things in here that I had thought you might want to have?"

 She shifts the box towards Wyda. She watches her take a few calming breaths. Watches the emotions shift and roil across her like uncertain seas. Watches it all.

 Watches her open the crate.

 She removes things one at a time. A compass (not hers, apparently - some other crew member's). A sectant (actually hers, though it was cheap and she has a better one now). A swagger stick (probably Octavian's, the smug bastard). A musket, unloaded (definitely Octavian's).

 A boning knife. She stabs the blade into the table and snaps the handle. She does it calmly, and coldly. No emotion crosses her face; no fury or grief or despair. She simply sees it and destroys it, like stomping on an ant. "I'll pay to get the table fixed," she murmurs, rolling the broken handle between her fingers.

 An overcoat ("I actually forgot that I'd been wearing this when I was captured!"). A mathematical compass, distinct from the navigational one (that one is Wyda's).

 And finally, the jar.

 Wyda pulls it out. "You brought me..."

 She stares at it. It stares back.

 Thubyrgeim brushes her hair from her face, and tries her best to look positive. This was a stupid idea. "...It... Technically, it belongs to you?"

 There's a few long, painful moments of silence.

 And then, Wyda laughs.

#ffxivwrite2022 #Wyda #Thubyrgeim #Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn #RIGHT under the wire

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Prompt #15: Row

"Alright, Hyrtwyda, why don't you start from the beginning?"

 E-Sumi-Yan interlinks his fingers, leaning back in his chair and looking for all the world like a prodigy teen rather than the old man Wyda knows him to be.

 Unfortunately for him, Wyda actually is a prodigy teen, and she offers a shrug. "Some of the others in the class were being cruel. Normally I ignore them, it's...I'm used to it."

 She is. Roegadyn are rare enough in the Shroud, and grey-skinned ones? Gridania has...a bit of a problem with people with grey skin, considering their stance on Keepers and Duskwights. As far as her classmates are concerned, she's just an extension of that. It's...fine. She's used to it. She ignores it.

 "So what was different today?" he asks, and she tries not to lash out at the fact that he doesn't immediately ask who was being cruel to her, or what they were saying. He doesn't even seem surprised, the arse. So many years of looking after children and he's just accepted that they can be cruel. He doesn't step forwards to do anything about it.

 "They were being mean to another girl. A miqo'te, with pink hair, passing through Westshore Pier. Jeering her. Calling her cruel names and treating her as lesser just because she's not training at the guild." Wyda sticks to the facts. Focuses on them, instead of her bloodied knuckles and broken-and-mended nose. "I didn't like that. I told them to stop."

 By the time the conjurers had reached her to set her nose, her split knuckles and split lip had already healed. If she was more aware of herself - if the teachers and conjurers had been paying attention to her as more than the girl who got in a fight, they'd have noted how surprising that was. Noted how, for all the apparent weakness of her aether and for all her struggles in classes, her wounds had healed before a conjurer had even stepped close to her.

 But they're not paying attention.

 "You told them to stop," E-Sumi-Yan says, chair creaking a little.

 "Yes."

 "And...Hyrtwyda, if I might ask. How exactly did telling them to stop progress to you hitting Pauldecrain in the groin with an oar?"

 Ah.

 Right.

 That part.

 Wyda clears her throat to disguise the almost-laugh. That almost-laugh grows as she opens her mouth to speak, threatening to betray her, and she does her best to keep her voice as level as she possibly can as she replies.

 "Well, sir. The oar was nearby. It's a pier, you see."

#ffxivwrite2022 #Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn #Flashback days bay beeee #plus Norhi cameo! #wyda

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MIRKESWEEP

Roleplaying has a habit of getting you to look up the more obscure parts of a world's lore. In a lot of fandoms there are whole wikis or communities, but in FFXIV you just hear one name when you have a lore question. "Sounsyy wrote about that!"

Sounsyy is a megastar and the work they do is invaluable and SO appreciated. Need to know about Aether? Sounsyy's got a masterpost. Need to know about a region that's a region that's mentioned four times? Sounsyy's got them all listed AND gives context for the surrounding areas.

That’s what I said on my twitter thread about it, but here I want to offer some further thoughts. Some anecdotes.

I play a nerdy arcanist born in a tiny Shroud village, and an ex-imperial whose family hails from near Thavnair - Corvos, specifically. Before 6.0, there was about three pieces of information total about Corvos. And Sounsyy had gathered them all, and provided enough of a picture of the place that I could work that into my character’s lore.

And when it comes to my arcanist, Wyda? Aether, magic, Shroud place names (and specifically Shroud place names referenced in OLD material, like 2.0 Leves or 1.x content). The differences between types of magic. That’s a LOT of information that is needed for actively roleplaying, or writing the backstory, of Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn. A lot of information, found across dozens and dozens of questlines. There’s no ONE source that talks about aether in FFXIV - different details are revealed about it in different questlines. The only source that brings it all together is Sounsyy. And that’s incredible. It’s invaluable, and without them the community of this game would be a very different place.

Archival work isn’t usually thought of as transformative, but Sounsyy’s work truly has transformed the shape of FFXIV.

In case you’re reading this, in amongst what I hope is a huge outpouring of love from other people too: thank you, Sounsyy.

#FFXIVMIRKESWEEP #ffxiv #GET SWEPT IDIOT (affectionate)

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Last line written

tagged by @tea-and-conspiracy and @sergiusreports ! I’m popular!

For Wyda:

Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn: "Eat, eat! I'll go rummage through more papers." She grabs her newspaper from the table, flicking through it once more as she turns to head upstairs. "...There's been a study that shows that hi-ether potions cause increased cancer risk." She squints. In a sample size of fifty, with each taking five times the recommended weekly dose. Not the best science there.

For Max:

Max Sawyer takes the co-pilot's seat. She knows Lee doesn't need a copilot. But it's quiet up front. She gets a front row seat to the end of the world.

Thank you for the tags, and it’s been a hot minute since I’ve RPed Wyda.

Tagging @high-and-away naturally along with @furymint @nutley-rp and @crystalline-promise !

#ask meme

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A new chapter

#ffxiv #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn #I wanted to update my outfit masterpost

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ffxivwrite 2021 Prompt 30: Abstracted

((I borrowed @high-and-away ‘s Victoria and her ongoing arc - I hope I did okay with her!))

Max watches as calmly as she can, when Victoria rides.

As it turns out, as calmly as she can isn't actually very calmly, for a Sawyer. She grins, half-delirious, as Victoria twirls a training sword between her fingers and settles her steed into a trot. Today, she's getting used to swinging a blade from horseback.

There are better things Max could be doing, and, if asked, she'd say she's just here to jeer Vic on, yeah? But her smile gives her away. The brightness in her eyes gives her away.

Victoria comes about, levelling her blade, and charges.

Strikes left, and a target is knocked clean off its plank feet. Strikes right, and the second target pinwheels wildly.

A little too wildly. It spins around, three hundred and sixty degrees, and strikes Victoria square in the back.

She topples, unhorsed, and lands to the ground with a dull thud.

Shite.

Max isn't grinning any more.

She rushes over the fences to Victoria's side, skidding across the grass to reach her. The mighty steed trots around on its own volition, seemingly unbothered by its riderless state, and Max snaps her fingers in front of Vic's face. "Vic! Vic, y'hear me?"

Victoria waves off Max's concern with a roll of her eyes and a roll of her wrist. "I didn't hit my head. I'm fine, Max, don't worry."

Max doesn't really seem to be listening, checking over the girl for injuries and cradling her head as she helps her to sit up.

Victoria hisses in pain.

If it was Max, she'd ignore it. But Victoria is different. Victoria hissing in pain means something is seriously bothering her. The girl doesn't vocalise discomfort unless something is very wrong.

"What hurts?"

"I'm fine."

Max levels a flat look at her. It doesn't budge, until Victoria does.

"...My back hurts."

Max nods and takes Victoria's hands, ready to help her to her feet. "Well. Lucky for you, you're datin' a hot medicus."

"Eorzeans say chirurgeon," comes the automatic correction.

"We ain't Eorzean," comes the automatic counterpoint.

Victoria just sighs.

_ _ _

Wyda thinks that Victoria's back looks like an abstract painting.

It had managed to survive her entanglement with a jigsaw fairly well - Victoria was face to face with the explosion, and her scarring matches it. Her back is smooth - a plane of pale skin and subtle, wiry muscle.

But right now, it looks like a R'shahk test.

Bruises spread across her back like spilled ink, deep and dark and painful-looking.

Wyda rubs her hands together to warm them up (Sea Wolves always run a little colder) before she places one against her lover's back. Healing magicks flow through her, gentle and pure, and Victoria gasps in a breath.

"You know," Wyda begins, conversationally, "When you said you wanted to take up riding, I wasn't expecting the horse to beat you to a bloody pulp."

"Falling is...a natural part of learning." Victoria's voice catches halfway through the sentence as Wyda's hand shifts. "That's what I keep telling myself, anyway."

A hum, and Wyda's fingers dig in a little against one of the more stubborn bruises. "Aye, that it is. But I'm fair certain that it's the sworn duty of all healers to chastise their patients for getting injured, even unavoidably. It's part of our code, just after Do No Harm."

"Ah. Well, I think that Garlean medicii ignored the second code." A pause. "And the first, come to think of it."

Wyda laughs, leaning in to press a kiss against the back of Victoria's neck before she continues with her healing. "Still. You're arming up for war. I see it in your eyes. For now, it's just bruises, but...how far can my healing take you?" Vulnerability slips into her tone. "I'm not strong, any more. The dark was strength for a while, but it wasn't...mending. I fear for you. Both of you. And I fear that...if you're hurt, I might not be able to help."

"Wyda." Victoria turns around. She ignores the twinge across her back as she does so - this is important. "You're a genius. You're eccentric, and strange, and I adore you. And if I, or Maxima, get ourselves mortally wounded...I know you wouldn't rest until you found a way to help. And I know that you'd find that way."

Wyda meets Victoria's eyes for a few long, slow moments.

She nods, resolute. “I’d try my best.”

"I'll get stronger, and so will you." Vicky smiles, soft and tremulous, and Wyda finds herself believing it.

Victoria turns away.

Wyda breathes, and rests her hands against Victoria's ink-blot bruises.

And Max still doesn't stop holding Vic's hand.

#ffxivwrite2021 #Max Sawyer #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #Victoria Castellus

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Ffxivwrite 2021 Prompt #12: The Opossum’s Maltesers

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Wyda looks up from her sketchbook, frowning. What is that?

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Okay, seriously, what is that? She looks around her house, trying to find any trace of whatever's making that noise. The fire is out, the stove isn't lit. The door to the bathroom is open and there's nothing going on in there (also, damn it, Max, close doors sometimes). Max herself has her feet up on the occasional table, reading a noirish-looking novel called The Big Heat. Max insists it isn't just about fetishising hrothgar, but Wyda's not convinced.

Crunch. Crunch.

Normally, Wyda would assume the culprit was Max eating something, but right now, the woman's mask is firmly clasped on to her face. She'd had an episode yesterday, and had barely taken the mask off since.

Crunch.

Okay. That's it.

Wyda puts her journal and pencil down, climbing to her feet to try and work out what in the hells is causing this noise. "Do we have rats in the walls?" she asks, walking past her to try and work out exactly where the crunching is coming from.

"Hm?" Max responds, clearly engrossed in her book.

Crunch.

"Rats. In the walls. There's this noise, and I swear it's...you can hear it, right? I'm not going crazy again, am I?"

"Mm."

Okay. Good confirmation. Wyda will take it. She nods to herself, and moves to press her ear against the nearest wall. If they've got rats, that's going to be an issue.

Crunch. Crunch.

It's not coming from the wall. Not this wall, anyway. Damn it. Wyda frowns, looking around wildly in a vain and frustrated attempt to try and work out where in the hells it's coming from.

Crunch.

Her eye settles on the couch, where Max is sitting.

Crunch.

Crunch.

C r u n c h.

"Max," Wyda says, voice level.

"Mm?" Max answers, finally looking up from her trashy novel.

"Can you be a darling and take your mask off for a moment?" Her voice remains level, with a hint of sweetness.

"Uhm-mm." A firm disagreement.

"Maxima..." Wyda approaches until she's standing right next to the couch. Leans down, until she can rest her hands on either side of Max's mask.

Crunch.

Max tries to pull away, but Wyda holds her firm. "Stay," she says, all business, and Max stops moving.

Wyda unclasps one side of the mask. Then the other. She pulls it away.

And the hard-shelled chocolates Norhi had brought them last week scatter to the ground, making a noise like an overenthusiastic group of tabletop gamers rolling for initiative.

Wyda sighs.

Max grins, wide, showing the one chocolate still caught between her teeth.

Crunch.

"You're cleaning that up before Vicky gets home."

"Fuck off, why?!"

"You made the mess!"

"Did not!"

Just another day.

#ffxivwrite2021 #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #Max Sawyer #inspired by a tweet about dumping M&Ms into your mask and eating them like a horse

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“That’s quite the perch, Max. It looks a little precarious, though. How’s your balance?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Castellus!!”

“Oh my gods, do it.”

“I’LL BRING YOU BOTH DOWN WITH ME, Y’FUCKS!”

(( @high-and-away can be a terrible gremlin too, sometimes, as a treat. Mostly to Max. (She deserves it.) ))

#ffxiv #Victoria Castellus #Max Sawyer #Wyda Eyhafrynwyn #ffxiv screenshots

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In the hype-time before Endwalker, I wanted to make a timeline of WoL Wyda’s canon outfits, over the years. From pre-ARR times, all the way to the outfit she’ll be going into Endwalker in.

She’s come a long way, and I’m proud of her.

#ffxiv #Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn #Wyda #Aettir is just the best sword #I know it and she knows it