Made a costume based on a character in the game! Got alot of nice reactions too!
Commission 😊 A “Warriors of Light” sibling portrait for a friend.
Just wanted her to look cute is all.
LFRP: Selka & Lynx, Ul’dah Adventurer’s Guild.
Names: Selka Vetrarsjors and X’lari “Lynx”
Origin: Islander Hyur and Sagolii Seeker
Relationship Status: Hunting Mates
Server: Balmung (We’re new!)
Selka’s Appearance: Selka is taller than Lynx, she has a delicate frame and pale skin, although her time in Ul’dah has been good to her complexion. She has rich black hair streaked white and eyes deep like the La Noscean seas. She dresses conservatively and holds her body in reserve.
Lynx’s Appearance: Lynx is smaller than Selka but more muscular and toned. She has dark skin and radiant golden hair. Her eyes shine yellow and her body is covered with red markings, her primary Chakra. She dresses loosely and her body flows freely.
Profession: Always splitting the reward, Selka and Lynx take jobs with the local Adventurers Guild and anywhere else they can find a way to make some gil. They have worked hard to build a reputation, but Lynx is mildly bitter that everyone thinks Selka is team leader and the one worth more gil on account of her magic.
Selka is always researching, reading, or finding something new to study. She has a deep love for the land, and is always collecting stones and other materials.
This gives Lynx plenty of time to play with the shiny rocks Selka brings her, which she has become quite adept at fastening together and sewing into her colorful clothes. Lynx loves to adorn Selka, much to Selka’s amusement.
Any chance they can get to take a far flung quest they do, as they love to travel. The two are currently working on restoring an old Mammet.
Birthplace: Selka was born and raised to be the next priestess in an isolated La Noscean island community that was rigidly traditional. She left for Limsa Lominsa under the premise of furthering her studies of magic, but fled to Thanalan as soon as she could.
Birthplace: Lynx was born to a Lynx Tribe Nunh in Sagolii, but during a violent altercation ran off into the deserts without a plan and was rescued by an Ala Mhigan monk; she abandoned the Nunh’s name. As such, they have no connections to blood relatives.
Allies: Lynx and Selka prefer working for the Immortal Flames and get along well with Monarchists.
Lynx is the sun, Selka is the moon.
Lynx: Open-minded, contextual.
Selka: Thoughtful, Passive
Lynx: Energetic, Active
Selka: Agreeable, but shy.
Lynx: Agreeable, can be pushy.
Selka: Reckless, contextual.
Lynx: Cautious, contextual.
Selka: Reserved, in-between.
Lynx: Outspoken, contextual.
Selka: Follower, contextual.
Lynx: Leader, contextual.
Selka: Optimistic, in-between.
Lynx: Optimistic, in-between.
Selka: “Cultured”, well learned.
Lynx: “Primitive”, illiterate.
There is a nasty tidbit that circulates the Ul’dahn adventuring circle calling Selka a “Witch” and the Seeker is her “pet cat.” Selka finds the rumor endearing, Lynx finds it infuriating.
Selka has a fondness for Lominsans, and has eagerly built ties with her country folk living in Ul’dah. Lynx loves to teach Selka about Seekers, treating her like an adopted sister at times, but has trouble building ties with Miqo’te, as it reminds her of her past and the guilt surrounding it.
Lynx is always one with a plan, and likes to think before jumping into action. Selka is quick to fireball a threat, then addresses the situation afterwards. This rule goes out the window when gil, jewels, artifacts, or machinations are involved, as Lynx’s gauge for risk crumbles. Lynx’s apartment is a mess of beautiful tapestries and brilliant baubles.
As far as RP hooks, please Direct Message or chat me up in game (X'lari Lynx). We are super flexible and eager to find ways to add more PCs to our head canon.
What we’re looking for:
We are new to FFXIV, and just transferred to Balmung to join more active RPers. Up until now we have really focused on RPing together to build up these characters. (We are still sprouts, and just got to HW!)
We would love to meet more RPers in game and add to our friends list. We are active types, and are on fairly late: PST 7:30pm / EST 10:30pm and on, and weekends. We prefer in-game to get to know someone but we are both active on Tumblr and Discord.
Outside of RP, it would be nice to meet a mentor to help us continue to grow in the game.
Two newbie RPers for the price of one!
We are the intimate, “ask lots of questions” types, so be prepared! We can be a bit much. :)
Open-minded, no issues with any particular themes, although please be gentle lore-wise as we’re still new and don’t want too many spoilers.
Let the fiery ink draw forth to stain your pages with ardent passion! It is time for Week One of Inkposers! This week’s theme is Enkindle. Submit your work to any of our platforms now through October 5th using the hashtags #inkposers and #inkposers2020. Happy All Saints’ Wake!
Anne-Sophie Bale would like to tell you everything she can about Il Mheg, about Vrandtic history, but she cannot. Not now, and likely, not ever; a fact that you can tell bothers this passionate knight-scholar.
Truth be told, even if you pulled up a chair, watched her sit across from you with ankles crossed, shared a strong cup of tea (with plenty of cream and sugar for her; you alone know how you take yours), and asked her about her home world, the Source, she would be the first to admit that she doesn’t know the half of that world’s story, either. With animated gesticulations, tapping her nails on the table or jiggling her restless leg, she would tell you all she knew of Ishgard and its surroundings, and the little she knew of Vylbrand, but would also confess that most of her knowledge of the Twelveswood, of Ul’dah, Thavnair, Doma, Ilsbard came from reading, just like yours.
(XIV||20) 28. Irenic.
All who fight in battle seek peace, she’d been told. The ultimate goal of any good knight is to need to be a knight no longer; to preserve the armor, sword, lance, shield in amber, watch as your scars change with your aging body, and die a peaceful death, surrounded by heirs, probably in the winter. Just statistics, that last bit about when most die; the first aphorism wasn’t backed up by any Ser of Ishgard she’d ever known nor any she’d read about. Some still clung to the old hatreds; they gathered and simmered in angry clusters like knots in the sore muscles of Ishgard; in taverns, in the Brume, in high houses, in the Cathedral, resisting the Lord Commander’s peace with the dragons.
Anne-Sophie leaned back against the side of the bathtub after pouring another generous dollop of the alchemical salts within the water. Setting the phial aside, she closed her eyes, feeling drunk-dizzy as eigengrau replaced the riotous plantlife and stained glass that adorned her small, eclectic room in the Pendants. She was sober—she’d learned her lesson about heavy drinking for now—but there was something about utter stillness and isolation that forced her mind to recall in patches all that she had left behind. She’d left the Source more than willingly, of course; but in times of idleness, the mind fell upon clusters of memories like scattershot.
It had been two moons since she arrived. If the notes in the Shelves were to be trusted, that meant that much more time had passed on the Source. She couldn’t help but picture her mother Mathilde climbing the spiral staircase carved into the southern tower that had been dedicated to Anne-Sophie’s heretical pursuits; finding the mirror, most likely cracked and blackened, and no trace of her middle daughter save for an errant strand of fox-red hair in the weathered rug. Perhaps Noémie had wrangled the House’s telescopes towards the southern stars, searching for some trace of her elder sister among her beloved constellations. Perhaps Felix, in his meticulous, devout manner, offered prayers, incense, and gerberas at Saint Reymanaud’s, his dark hair shrouding his peerless court mien, hiding his feelings about his younger sister’s disappearance from all save the Fury. Her father, Raphael—was he sending out countless missives down the arterial network of his spies and confidantes, seeking his lost daughter?
The truth was, of course, that she couldn’t really know; she might never be able to. There was something irenic in accepting this knowledge, here in this porcelain tub so very, very far from the home she had ever sought to escape, yet still remembered fondly. A moment of peace and reconciliation for the knight who now fought angels instead of courting their favor, to imagine that some who loved her were still searching for her.
As easy as it was for her to talk anyone’s ear off, at any time, for any reason, she still hadn’t told him yet.
After Anne-Sophie and Oberic had their spat in the Crystarium, she had kept tabs on him. It was not terribly hard to do, even in a city that diverse: a Hume six-and-a-half fulms tall wearing antique armor with a dialect to match, offering to lead expeditions throughout Lakeland and Il Mheg made him stand out plenty. Besides—as she’d remind him later once they had made peace—she’d found him from a few stray tales and a magicked mirror back in Eorzea, so tracking him within the same realm was child’s play in comparison.
Still, once the knight-scholar had returned to the Bookman’s Shelves ahead of her quarry, she took a few days to explore. Many mysteries had been calling to her from the old manuscripts about the fallen kingdom of Voeburt, alluring in their vagueness that plagued contemporary writing in any world, in any time. Small hamlets were mentioned in passing, as if the reader would obviously know that the best lettuce came from Sud-am-Mein (why?), whereas one should take pains to avoid the cobbler’s shop in Hinterburg (again, why? Whom had they wronged?!). Though this was a problem the erudite Hyuran woman was long-familiar with, it was even more irritating when she had no frame of reference, no lodestar by which to orient her mental compass in order to make educated guesses about any of these now-drowned or levelled villages.
Anne-Sophie sat solo at a table in the Crystarium, drinking alone for the first time in her life. She wasn’t a very good drinker; despite being a solid hundred and forty ponze at five fulms, two ilms, she never really built up a good tolerance for alcohol. So it was that half a bottle of wine had her lightly swaying in her seat, her head stuffed full of fuzzy regrets.
“Did I really snipe at him like that?” she slurred to herself. “He says he’s goin’ back t’ Vurrburrrt,” she drawled out the name of the lost kingdom, “and I tell ‘im ‘what’s left of it’?!” Burying her face in her hands, she let out a strangled moan, then immediately sat back in her seat. “Ugh!! Wine breath! That’s…that is not great when it’s not in a…in a romantical-type setting.”
Her own words caused her to slide down the chair until her ponytail was draped over the back of the seat, her boots braced against the table’s pedestal. “Now there’s never gonna be any more romantical anythings!! I ruined it!” Memories flooded through the mental fog; seeing Oberic without his armor, tracing her fingertips over his myriad scars, fumbling together towards pleasure in the dimly-lit room, his willingness to stop when she was not ready. “An’ then he…he brought me breakfast the next mo-hoo-horrrning!” she sobbed, her face to the sky, her spectacles pushed askew by her dramatic wailing.
A barmaid set down a glass of water and a plate of freshly-baked bread, already spread with curls of butter melting into its nooks and crannies. “We’ve all been there, miss. Just talk to him. Apologize. If he’s really that good, he’ll understand. If not? Send him my way; he’s a looker.”
Anne-Sophie turned teary eyes to the barmaid, who seemed like an embodiment of the Fury Herself in this moment. “O wise one,” the knight-scholar warbled, slowly pushing herself back upright. “How…how do I just talk to him?” She nursed the water; she knew she needed it. The bread followed.
The Roegadyn—no, Galdjent, Fury take my mutton-for-brains!—shrugged her broad shoulders. “Same way as you’re talking to me now, I reckon. Though you might want to get sobered up first; not good for business here, but we can take the hit. Collect yourself, tell him you’re sorry, and try your best not to cry. If you do cry, make sure you’re still listening. Crying happens, but you can’t let it derail a perfectly good discussion.”
“Thnk yrgh, wrse…mm.” Holding up a shaky index finger, she finished her slice of bread. “Thank you, wise sage,” she replied solemnly and entirely seriously. “I will heed your counsel.”
The Galdjent grinned. “Better than an unwanted pinch on the ass. I like your manners.” Off she went to tend to other customers, leaving Anne-Sophie to learn how to act like a woman grown. Academia had gained her much of one type of intelligence while stripping her of others, and it was past time she learned those disciplines, too.
Every step she took was accompanied by a musical note. In theory, this would be delightful, but in practice, it was unsettling, seeing as this particular grove of Il Mheg chose to narrate her passage in a minor key.
“Watch your step and do not fall, do not fall, do not fall. Watch your step and make certain you do not fall asleep!”
Phantasmal wisteria bloomed before her, illuminating a path to the lake. Anne-Sophie rolled her eyes, stomping her foot in frustration. “I realize you are but doing your job as faeries, but honestly! Considering how much you claim to miss mortals being around, you certainly are quick to try to destroy them.”
Countless pairs of shimmering eyes opened all at once just beneath the water’s surface. The song continued on, “Watch your step and do not fall, do not fall, do not fall. Watch your step and make certain you do not fall asleep! If you fall asleep you’ll drown, surely drown, drift and drown. If you fall asleep you’ll drown and join us in our keep!”
Anne-Sophie felt a bud of fear blooming in the pit of her stomach. These so-called Fuath did not seem to be much like the pixies; they were more direct in their desire to keep you among them forever, lungs filled with water, unseeing eyes staring forever at the lakebed. Still, she had done her research, as always. She felt confident she could get to their underwater palace! The knight-scholar wouldn’t make bargains with them, and would stay on the correct path! For a moment, she felt her confidence returning, taking a single step forward. Why, of course she’d be just fine! She was a knight-scholar of Ishgard who’d made her way to another world entirely! Pigs would fly before…
Her thoughts trailed off as a single porxie tumbled and bumbled its way through the skies above.
Right. That was a little too on the nose for her. Turning on her heel, she ran back the way she came, followed by laughing, staccato notes the whole way.