#serella sand

[starswornoaths]

Wild Rose

Not long before the formation of the Crystal Braves, Minfilia bequeathed a special set of armor unto one of the Warriors of Light.

It was just a surprise that it wasn’t her favorite one.

Or:

I love Minfilia, and the Wild Rose Cuirass, and Firion, and none of them get a fair shake, and they all deserve better. Also, I fawn over @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, but what else is new :p

Word count: 2,558

~*~

When Minfilia asked for Serella to hold back a moment, at the conclusion of their mission report, she couldn’t hide her surprise; there had been others in attendance— several others had been in attendance— Hyana among them, and it had been a mundane enough operation, what would merit being spoken to alone with the Antecedent? And why Serella, specifically?

Even Hyana had a look of mild surprise, and had hung back, bouncing in place on the momentum of her abandoned mid-step to turn back, before she could stop herself, and the two Warriors of Light passed that expression between one another for a moment. 

Before Serella could even think to reassure her, Hyana had retrained her features into immense disinterest. Rather than words, she reciprocated Serella’s silent nod of reassurance, a quiet we’ll catch up later, shared between adventurers, and within the next moment, Hyana had wound her spindly, scaled tail round the door handle to shut it behind her, on her way out.

And then it was just Minfilia, and her most stalwart companion, just as she had asked.

“Is aught amiss?” Serella asked, once she had properly faced the Antecedent.

There was nothing but peace radiating off of Minfilia, as she shook her head. When she spoke, her words were sweet, but not sweetened; though she charmed as she spoke, her charmspeak was nowhere to be found. 

With a radiance found only in the warmest sunrise, Minfilia reassured her, “Naught more than we’re already working on! I wished only to speak to you, regarding a matter close to both of our hearts, I should think.”

Curiosity piqued, Serella canted her head in a quiet show of interest, to avoid interrupting. It was obvious that Minfilia was nervous: even without her Echo’s sensitivity to emotions, from the tick of Minfilia’s fingers tapping at the pommel of the dagger, ever slung close to her hip.

When it was clear that Serella was waiting for her to elaborate, Minfilia steadied her hand by laying it over her heart. Her smile eased into something softer, as she said, “I felt it high time to bequeath to you a fitting reward, for all that you have done for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“How formal of you, Antecedent!” Serella laughed brightly, and mirrored her Antecedent’s motion, to tap a hand over her chest in momentary salute. “That’s not necessary, though. You know that.”

“I do. But it’s necessary to me.” 

When Minfilia smiled at her again, it more resembled a wince. “Grant me this one trespass, my friend?” 

Serella wanted to snort indignantly: Minfilia should know better by now. Still, she reminded her, “You can’t trespass where you’re welcome, Minfilia.”

It seemed she had, in fact, been in need of a reminder; her smile widened around a startled, delighted gasp.

“For all my ability with charmspeak, you seem to always know just what to say!” Minfilia beamed at her. “Thank you. Pray, grant me a moment to find the right words to explain, while we walk.”

With another nod from Serella, they made their way out of the Antecedent’s chambers without further delay. As they rounded the bend to walk past the bar counter, Serella turned and happened to catch Hyana watching them hawkishly. There was a burning curiosity in those garnet eyes that watched them; Serella hoped the smile she threw back at her was reassuring enough. Judging by the way Hyana squinted in response, she figured she had failed. Ah well.

The armory itself was as well stocked as it was unremarkable; Serella had been in here more times than she could care to keep track of, in the time since they had moved to the Rising Stones. She could only imagine how many more times Minfilia has had to come in here, for routine inspections, and scheduled maintenance. 

Rather than keep to the main room that Serella had grown familiar with, Minfilia instead guided them over to a door in the far corner of the room, one that Serella had noticed before, but had never had the clearance to inspect— or at least, had no merit to ask, at least. 

A key wrought in iron cleared the way for them, and Minfilia ushered her inside. It was dark, but there was no smell of must that hung in the air; this room still had consistent use, even with its limited access. Save for the singular slice of light that had carved a misshapen streak in the floor, Serella’s eyes could only make out the outlines of several suits of armor, and several miscellaneous weapons, all carefully hung on racks.

Holding the door open with one hand, Minfilia brought the other up in front of her, as she leaned toward the lantern hung on the wall. She scattered her breath over her palm, as though she were gently blowing away the fluff on a dandelion. The air from her lungs ignited in petal-like sparks, that drifted, intently, to the wick on the lantern. Immediately, the mageflame flickered to life, clinging to the wick on the lantern, without burning it. 

Dancing leaves of light fluttered in the air over her palm, as she then swept her arm out, as though she were presenting the room. Those fractals of light scattered, striking the other lanterns in the room in streaks of brilliance, like comets across the night sky.

As it always did, Minfilia’s radiance filled the room with warmth, light, and life. The details became much clearer, and Serella made a noise in the back of her throat, as her brain caught up with what she was looking at.

The suits of armor draped so carefully, the weapons mounted so meticulously, became obvious in the light: this was the reliquary, from the Waking Sands, wherein they had enshrined the arms and armor of heroes past, recovered and restored. 

Serella had wondered whether they would make the move to the Rising Stones, alongside them, but then, she supposed that she needn’t have bothered; some of the pieces here belonged to Minfilia’s father, according to F'lhaminn. It only made sense that they would be here, then.

With another wordless motion, Minfilia beckoned her deeper. Obeisant, Serella followed gamely, curiosity mounting with every step. Worming through the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, the yet barren racks, and the odd armor rack with only some of its set unboxed, they eventually came up to a particularly intriguing set, tucked away in the corner.

Serella had certainly seen other sets that had been designed in the same vein; an understated darksteel set, tasteful embellishments here and there, draped with fine fabric that looked as though it were spun from lilacs. The detailing on the fabric was more bold, patterned, and pinned with a labradorite brooch, at its shield-shoulder.

Combing through her oldest memories, Serella would almost swear she had seen this specific like elsewhere. As if in the fairytale book, read to her as a child, as she had dreamt of a brighter future than this.

Minfilia seemed content to let Serella ruminate on this, as she gathered her thoughts. After a breath, she explained, “It feels as though it were a whole other lifetime ago, the last time I gifted one of my best suits of armor. But the time felt right again— though I must ask that you forgive me, as it comes with a personal request.”

Serella couldn’t hide her surprise for anything today, it seemed; she recalled how Arenvald had been so proud to wear the armor that Minfilia had gifted to him, when they had only known the Waking Sands, and the Waking Sands had only ever known peace. Before those halls were so filled with ghosts, that the living all but vacated.

As Minfilia said: a lifetime ago.

Were it almost anyone else, Serella would have to fight the urge to roll her eyes at being asked a personal favor. But this was Minfilia; if anyone understood what, precisely, she was asking of Serella, it would be her.

Thus, her response was as swift and decisive as her sword strokes, when she said, “You need only ask; if it’s in my power, it will be done.” 

It seemed both the right and wrong thing to say; Minfilia was graceful enough that it was only the ripple of hesitation in her aether, that betrayed her lingering uncertainty. 

“I would bequeath to you this armor— it is among the oldest of our recovered arms and armor.”

Though Serella got the impression that Minfilia was stalling, to try and find the right words, for the heart of the issue. Thus, she entertained listening to Minfilia recall a tale of a Warrior of Light, not unlike Serella herself. “His friends called him Firion,” the Antecedent supplied. “By all accounts, he was a good man, who defended all against the darkness— those who fought alongside him, included. I thought the tale sounded familiar!”

The playful twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes was only answered with a wry twist of scarred lips, though only for a moment, before they both dissolved into delighted giggling.

“Go on,” Minfilia said, once they had gotten their breath back, with a gesture toward the display. “Try it on, won’t you? It’s been fitted.”

With a sigh and a smile, Serella stepped up to the rack, and settled for being grateful that she had dressed down from her armor, upon return to the Rising Stones; it made donning the mantle simpler.

Despite being told that it had been refitted, it still surprised Serella, how well the armor settled on her shoulders. How the cloak draped elegantly around her neck, over her shoulders, how the layers of fabric that lined the belts were made of the supple, soft purple fabric. It hung on her form, as though it had been hammered for her from the first. As if it had always been made for her.

Rowena must have overworked poor Gerolt again. That, or Uthen took on a more personal commission, this time around. Serella could think of no other hand to guide a hammer to making such an impeccable craft, save for either of them.

When she turned to present herself to Minfilia, the Antecedent gave a gasp, as she clapped her hands together, once, in delight.

“Why, it looks just right on you!” She declared, with a giddy bounce on the balls of her feet.

Serella believed it, unquestioningly, because Minfilia always told her the truth. She was one of the few people that Serella could trust, to do so.

“You honor me, Antece—”

“Stop.” Minfilia said, though it sounded like a plea, and shattered her voice on impact, like a brick through a church window, ruining something blessed. 

It sounded wrong. Serella snapped her jaw shut with a click more audible than the rattle of her new mail, when she flinched bodily. 

A motion Minfilia mirrored, though she flinched outward— even in her own upset, she could only think to reach out to comfort. 

“I— I’m not asking, as your Antecedent, that you take this armor.” She said, and slowly curled her arm back into her own chest, as if to self soothe. “Please. I’m asking, as your friend, to accept this gift.”

Softening her shoulders, Serella swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Alright, Minfie,” she said softly, and held her hands up in reassurance. “I’ll put it to good use.”

The relief that she felt, when Minfilia’s posture melted into joy again, was indescribable. It felt like benediction, and dispelled the tremor in her heart. 

Thus settled, she peered around, curious, and searching for a set that would be more befitting one more beloved to them both. When no such mail was forthcoming upon cursory view, she couldn’t hold back the question that formed on her tongue, following that observation.

“What of Hyana?” She asked, looking back at Minfilia. 

The Antecedent seemed surprised at the question. “What do you mean?” She asked, tone touched with a hint of caution.

“If I may speak as a friend?” Serella asked. At Minfilia’s nod, she answered plainly, “You love her.”

The comment didn’t bother Minfilia. It had no reason to. Nonetheless, she fiddled with her hands in front of her, and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, as she contemplated her choice of words. 

“That I do. But we both know her: she would never accept it, as a point of pride, and, in part, in reluctance to have something so claiming, upon her person.” After a moment of further hesitation, Minfilia stepped close enough to flatten her palm across the spot over Serella’s heart. 

She focused her gaze on the back of her hand, pressed there over the breastplate, as she cautiously spoke again, “And...you love her, too. I know, in giving you this armor, that she will be safer.” After another moment, she lifted her gaze, to meet Serella’s. “I have little choice, in sending the both of you out there, to face such horrors as the Ascians may inflict upon us. But I can give you the best chance, of bringing her back to me.”

There was a peculiar ache, in the space where Serella’s heart was meant to be. Not quite raw, not nearly a wound, but still something tender and pointedly ignored. Where Minfilia might have, however unknowingly, pierced something too close to the truth and most certainly unrequited, Serella chose to fill that hole with pride, with joy.

And why would she not? She was a trusted friend to both of them. Trusted enough, by Minfilia, to be sent into battle with armor she could never hope to properly deserve. Trusted enough, by Hyana, to fight alongside her. 

Was that not, in itself, a sort of love? What had she to mourn?

“As you say, my friend.” Serella said, on a soft exhale, and laid a hand atop Minfilia’s. “On all counts. I pray I will be worthy of such trust.”

“You already are, my friend!” Minfilia insisted.

When her eyes glimmered peculiarly in the lamp light, the two of them embraced tightly, and took a few more moments to be human. Not long enough to form the habit, but long enough to be reminded of the feeling.

By the time they stepped back out of the armory, and Minfilia locked up behind them, none were the wiser, that such a conversation had happened at all. 

Hyana had most certainly noticed, however, the new armor that gleamed to an almost headache-inducing shine, in the light of the Rising Stones. Her eyebrows met her hairline, as she watched Serella approach.

“The hell'd you do, to earn that?” She snorted into her drink, and poorly feigned disinterest.

The truth settled heavier upon Serella’s shoulders, than the mantle she now wore. How could she profess to love Hyana, if she were to inflict such a thing upon her.

“My fucking paperwork, Geriel!” She instead half-lied, with a playful elbow to the Dragoon’s side.

A half truth was still true enough to slip by, undetected, it seemed, as Hyana rolled her eyes, and grew immediately bored with the conversation. As was her wont.

Serella took no offense; how could she, when Hyana then pressed a flagon into her hands, with a half-restrained smile. How could she, when that was, in itself, a little act of love, too?

And wasn’t that enough, for her? Wasn’t this, enough?

#ffxiv #Minfilia Warde #Serella Arcbane #Hyana Geriel #vague 2.0 spoilers #Two Woman Wolf Pack #they're fine and everyone is fine and I don't actually mean that in a sarcastic way #like sure. Serella would love to be loved by Hyana. possibly even Minfilia. #but she doesn't have to be loved romantically by either of them to still be loved #so like. it's bittersweet #but it's not bad. and it's not a loss.

[chysgoda]

Saved from The Peril

A story of two Paladins attempting to share a brain cell 

Featuring Serella Arcbane and Art’imis Chysgoda 

( @stars-bleed-hearts-shine  I’m sorry, I’m weak and couldn’t help myself.) 

I blame this on staring at fabric made of tears and frustration for too long and then watching Monty Python. But really there’s no excuse. 

The roles of Galahad and Lancelot were determined by flipping a coin. 

Rated R for The Peril

This was really too much. After trekking for hours through the mud and near-horizontal rain and mist of Il Meg, it was just too much. All she wanted to do was find the stone scepter and then get somewhere dry. But this…. 

The AuRa paladin’s eyes were wide and about to pop out of her head. She clutched her shield, belt, and war hammer in front of her, more like a security blanket than tools of battle. Having escaped the supposed healers (gorgeous Hyur and Elezan ladies that had very soft hands) she now found herself in what could only be a communal bath. There were more beautiful women of every race in this one room than in the entirety of Ul’Dah’s highest class brothel. (That had been a memorable afterparty after a night on the blood sands.) She swallowed thickly and tried to scoot around in the gaps between the women and the baths with little success. She froze when she came face to scantily clad bustline. Slowly she craned her neck up to look into the face of a chocolate haired Veira with ears that looked incredibly soft. The Veira raised a finger to trace the curve of one of her horns. Art’imis shuddered and just knew her pupils had blown wide. 

“Is there anything that we can help you with good Ser Knight? My name is Zute” The verra’s voice was like her hair, dark and smooth and…

Art’imis bit the inside of her cheek, she was on a mission Twelve damn it. On a mission to find… what was it again… oh yes, the stone scepter. “I seek the stone scepter! I saw someone carry it into this castle!” 

“We’ve no scepter here Ser Knight.” Zute smiled and traced the AuRa’s horn again evidently enjoying the reaction. “But you are obviously tired and worn, rest with us a while and let us soothe your weary bones.” 

“No, no!” Art’imis cleared her throat when the last word squeaked in a manner most unbefitting a paladin, “No, I MUST find the stone scepter!” 

Zute shook her head again and reached out to stroke the scaled along the underside of her jaw. The AuRa took a step back and ran into someone else. She whirled around to see… Zute. “Zute?” 

“Oh no, I’m Zute’s identical twin sister, Dingo.” This Verra smiled jovially.  

“Look Dingo, I must find the Stone Scepter and I saw it here!” Art’imis all but screamed. Focus on the mission, she told herself, you are not some hormone-addled teenager! (Not that she could actually remember being a teenager) 

Dingo frowned and then bit a knuckle. “Oh, wicked Zute! I just remembered that out beacon is scepter shaped. Oh, wicked wicked Zute! She must be punished!” 

Before she could protest that it wasn’t a beacon she had seen Dingo spun Art’imis around to face Zute again. “And we have but one punishment in this castle. You must firmly tie her down to a bed and spank her.” 

“A spanking!” chorused the rest of the women. 

“What?! But I don-” Art’imis blinked rapidly. She was losing it, she wasn’t sure she’d had it to begin with, but she was definitely losing it. 

“Oh? But you have been a rather rude guest, perhaps you need a spanking?” Art’imis nearly choked on her own tongue and told herself that the blush was embarrassment. When Dingo continued the blush spread down her neck. “And after spankings comes the oral sex!” 

Art’imis swallowed thickly, oh to hell with it. “Perhaps I could stay for a few bells.”  

Around her, there were delighted shouts and giggles. Art’imis loosed her grip on her shield a bit, she just had to play along until someone finally confessed to having the scepter… Thancred was never going to let her live this down. Thank the gods Minfillia hadn’t followed her.  

There was the sound of shattering wood and Serella barreled in through a broken door. The other paladin paused taking in the room with her own wide-eyed stare until she found Art’imis. She rushed forward and grabbed the AuRa’s elbow and began to pull her away. “Thank the Gods I found you in the nick of time! You’re in terrible Peril!” 

“What? No, you didn’t!” Art’imis protested. “I’m fine!” 

“Yes, She’s fine!” Zute and Dingo shouted together. 

Serella drew her sword with her free hand. “Get back!” 

Art’imis tried to knock her friend’s sword down to a less threatening angle, but the elezan kept a firm grip on her arm so that she could not jump up to reach the blade. “Serella! I think they get the point!” 

Serella pulled her back towards the door and the women (gorgeous, lithe... Art’imis bit the inside of her cheek again). “You must go! You’re in terrible Peril, I’ll hold them off.” 

“No! I can’t let you face the Peril alone! And I’m not IN Peril!” The AuRa tried to pull her elbow out of the elezan’s grasp. 

“Yes you are!” Serella said firmly. “You’re in terrible Peril and must go.” 

“But I can take this lot singled handed!” 

“Yes, she’ll defeat us easily!” Zute pleaded grabbing at Art’imis’ other elbow. 

“No, you can’t!” Serella snapped.

“There’s only a hundred and fifty of them!” Art’imis protested again as Serella drug her out of the castle gate and back into the rain which was painfully cold after the heat in the castle. She had to jog to keep up with her friend’s ridiculously long stride. “Look let me go back there and face The Peril!” 

“No, no we have to find the Stone Scepter!” Serella ground out. 

“I’m a paladin I’m supposed to find and face as much Peril as possible.” Art’imis dug her heels into the mud which just resulted in her boots leaving a groove in the earth as the taller paladin dragged her along. 

“The Peril is far too perilous.” 

“Can’t I just have a little Peril?” Art’imis knew she was whining, but Serella was being entirely unreasonable about the Peril. 

“No.” Serella chided. 

“You just want The Peril for your self!” 

Serella’s answer took just a beat too long. “No, I don’t.” 

Art’imis sulked and kept her heels dug into the mud for a full malm. 

#ffxiv #ffxiv randomness #like I have absolutely zero excuse for this nonsense #serella arcbane #art'imis chysgoda #monty python #I am a wicked person and deserve to be punished

[fandomshatepeopleofcolor]

@anon: Keisha Castle-Hughes is not white, nor is she white-passing. She is very obviously indigenous New Zealander.

True so no beef from me there as all of Oberyn’s daughters except for the youngest 3(which are not shown on the show ) are supposed to be bi-racial of some sort. I honestly wouldn’t have had an issue with Jessica playing Nymeria Sand if she did so gleefully add that little tidbit (which tbh she should have not ever been privy to, so that shows the level of professionalism from the casting directors. Or she made it up).The only one of the Sand snakes who are specifically visibly Black, although it’s clear in text that she is bi-racial, is Serella who’s posing as a boy so she can study as a maester. She has the most potentially interesting archs of any of the Sand snakes, though I would love the representation. I’m glad she was omit from GoT (although they are at the Citadel this upcoming season with Sam to she could pop up) given how much of a shitshow it is in the Dornish theatre. They literally are grouping all the PoC of Westoros in one part of the country on the show & that is really where this mess starts

-mod f

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 26: When Pigs Fly

Did someone order *checks notes* “Fordola gets released into Scion custody and Lolorito is made a public mockery of?” I have it right here for you.

Word count: 2,559

When Serella took the mantle of Acting Antecedent as the Archons fell and slept, she had thought it would be a largely symbolic appointment, with the odd coordination between Alliance leaders and the remaining Scions. The thought of that sort of title being so impotent in its use when weighed against what she had to sacrifice to uphold it made her stomach churn, but she could, so she must, so she did.

Then she thought about it more, about what Minfilia would do, were she still with them all. She thought about what Miniflia would do were she witness to the atrocities the city-states got away with, when they thought themselves safe within their own borders to carry out their misdeeds. What path would she have walked, what action would she have taken, and how would Serella measure up?

Then Serella began to test the ways her newfound title could be put to work for the good of the people. Sometimes as a sword. Sometimes as a shield. Sometimes as a hand held out in offer of aid, or made into a fist.

This time, she would have to use her words and her wits. 

“I have this…” Serella muttered to herself, pacing in the antechambers to the Blood Sands. “I have to have this.”

She couldn’t screw up something so important. They were sure to argue that her formal demand against the Sultanate and the Syndicate for the release of one Fordola rem Lupis into the custody of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn would be a partisan reach, a dismissal and destruction of their neutrality. She would beg to differ, but then, the Syndicate didn’t get to the positions— and the level of power— that they had by playing by the books. All the more true now that Raubahn was no longer occupying one of its seats.

But Serella had expected this. As a showing of their own hypocrisy, she spread word of the misdeeds and overreaching of the Syndicate in employing the Brass Blades to strap a bomb collar around a nineteen year old girl who had been subjugated and coerced by Imperials into acting on their command. She had thought it would take more for the people of Ul’Dah to be swayed, but then, the more she mentioned the fact that it was with the Brass Blades and not the Immortal Flames that had taken her into custody, and how highly suspect it was that they have such authority, the citizenry began to demand a say in the matter.

The only place with enough seating to hold a public debate was, incidentally, the Colosseum— a fact that Serella intended to capitalize on.

The door to the antechamber creaked open, ever so slightly, and Serella couldn’t hide her surprise when a familiar, pink garbed lalafell woman slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“‘Tis I! Your favorite merchant’s daughter, Lady Lilira,” Nanamo said, all smiles and a wink. “I couldn’t stand the thought of not offering some words of encouragement before the debate.”

“You honor me.” She knelt, head bowed, as was expected of her.

When she lifted her head, Nanamo was regarding her with somber eyes, lips pulled into a thin line as though she struggled with the sight of her.

“Minfilia had moments of vulnerability,” She gently reminded the Acting Antecedent. “Moments where she confided in us— all of us. It is no fault of yours that you are human. You can lean on us.”

“I am not Minfilia.” Serella’s smile matched the Sultana’s. “But it means much that you would encourage me so.”

“Please, take heart— I’ve been hearing the whispers of the people. They’ve long been tired of the Syndicate’s overreach— and by extension, the Sultanate’s lack of power.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped closer and laid a hand over Serella’s. “Though you will walk out with none at your side in a few moments, you are not alone.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Not at all. The Alliance has been searching for a way to bring this to discussions besides— or so said the Lord Speaker of Ishgard, last I had him over for tea. You have allies here, in the stands today— with their own opening arguments, prior to yours and in support of your demand. For my part, I will do what I can to sway the public and my cabinet both.”

That surprised her greatly. Though the Alliance was as one against the Empire, it was hardly a secret that there were disagreements among the policies and procedures of each city-state, and their response— or lack thereof— to the struggles of the people. If they thought this was bad enough to band together on...mayhap she was finally getting through to them. Mayhap the rejoining of Ala Mhigo and Ishgard into their ranks was the catalyst for change they needed.

Good.

“That’s all I can hope for. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Nanamo didn’t tarry: she couldn’t. But she did give Serella’s hand a squeeze before dashing back through the door, doubtless to be changed into the finery befitting her station, in anticipation for this debate.

It didn’t take long for them to call her. Standing before the closed door, she waited for it to open to step out. On the other side, she could hear Merlwyb’s closing statements in staunch support of her proposition, nearing the end, by the sound of it. The following applause all but confirmed it; it was almost time, then. With a deep breath— and a prayer for Minfilia to guide her, wherever she might be— she stepped out into the arena as the doors swung out for her a few moments later.

Her experience as a Paladin had made her familiar with the Blood Sands— and the Colosseum itself. Her old stomping grounds, where her myth was nearly as looming as Raubahn’s, though not near as lengthy or impressive. It boded well for her that the feeling of stepping out from the dimly lit halls and into the bright, brilliant Colosseum itself wasn’t disorienting.

As her eyes adjusted, she spied the Syndicate sat behind a long table, draped in silk embossed with the Ul’Dahn flag and poised high enough that they towered, ever so slightly, above where the debate pulpit had been set up. It came across as hideously ostentatious of them, though she withheld comment until she could properly take her place. Behind the Syndicate, in the Sultanate’s throne overlooking the sands themselves, Nanamo presided, dressed in all the frippery of her station, as though she had never stolen away to offer words of encouragement. The Alliance leaders sat in the tiered audience seats just below the throne in a liminal space almost directly behind the Syndicate’s table.

All eyes on her. No going back.

“Acting Antecedent.” Lolorito addressed, voice drenched in smarm and arrogance, as ever. “We have heard supporting statements regarding your formal request for release of Fordola rem Lupis into your custody.” He folded his arms over his chest, face otherwise impossible to see for the mask he wore over his eyes. He still looked smug, regardless. “As always, we are happy to work alongside the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and our Allies both. In the same way I extended my apologies to the Alliance leaders in attendance, I must also, on behalf of the Syndicate, extend them to you as well, for the choice in venue.”

Serella avoided grinning, instead gestured out to the audience with a sweep of her hand.

“The only venue that can fit enough of Ul’Dah’s people to represent themselves is a Colosseum where they are meant to be entertained and distracted. Your apology should rightly be laid at the feet of your constituents. Not mine.”

At the uproar in the stands, Lolorito’s lips thinned. Even through the shield over his eyes, she could feel the head of his glare intensify.

“You are, at the very least, appropriately dressed for the Colosseum!” Lolorito noted her Paladin armor, gleaming to a shine in the torchlight of the Blood Sands, lips curled into a snarl.

“I come to you as the Acting Antecedent of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” She began. “But that title is only temporary. Before I am anything else, I am a free Paladin. My soul crystal was bestowed upon me by the Sultanate’s own shield bearers, earned through service to Ul’Dah’s people. All I have ever done, I have done in the name of justice, and the name of protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

“Do you imply that Fordola rem Lupis cannot protect herself?” Another of the Syndicate asked, flabbergasted at the notion.

“Few could, against a bomb strapped to their neck.” She retorted. “Fewer still would even try, given it was put there by the Brass Blades, who, if I recall correctly, do not answer to the Alliance, but to you.”

The murmur from the crowd was a low roar, but its tone was undeniable: few were pleased with the notion of such a cruel weapon as it was, but being put on a prisoner of war, and by someone outside of direct Alliance orders, no less, rankled the citizenry for the implications it had. Who would be safe among them from it, given who was responsible?

“We decided swift action had to be taken—”

“Out of jurisdiction of the Alliance.” Serella replied. “Paint me as one who comes to you as an opportunist all you like, I come to you through proper channels and after following appropriate protocol. The Syndicate is not Ul’Dah, and the Syndicate should not get to have unobstructed authority to defy both the Alliance and the legalities of the battlefield to collar a nineteen year old girl when she was at her most vulnerable, when it was presumed that no one would be in her corner.”

“She is working alongside the Scions, is she not?” Lolorito snapped.

“With a bomb collar and a handler. That were put there by the Brass Blades. On order of the Syndicate.” Serella enunciated herself very, very clearly. “Which is why we are here. The moment I was informed of this development, I took what steps were needed to see such a grave dismissal of human rights undone.”

“She is a danger—”

“For the resonant? The artificial Echo she bears?” Serella asked. “The selfsame abilities she has put to use— even before threat of explosion for disobedience. I will remind you she saved the entirety of the newly formed Ala Mhigan parliament under no one’s orders. She chose to do that, willingly surrendered her blade before it was asked of her, and outright asked to be taken back to her cell at the conclusion of the battle against Lakshmi.”

“You have a point to all of this, I am certain.” A bored Syndicate member replied around a yawn.

“My point is that there is no point for the treatment Fordola rem Lupis has received— even more notable prisoners of war that have committed worse crimes than she have not been treated so harshly by the Alliance. A standard has been established, and the Syndicate has willfully ignored it, as it always has, when it is most convenient for them.”

The cheering from the crowd rivaled some of her best matches in the Sands. Uproarious and unanimous, the people cheered. So raucous were the people, Lolorito had to spend several minutes seething quietly, staring down at Serella. She met his stare with every onze of ire she had in her body— which at that point, was likely a frightening amount.

She had planned for this meeting. Planned, and prepared, and tried to think of every single possible outcome that she could counter. Why she had the foresight to bring a porxie with her all the way from fucking Norvrandt escaped her at the moment, but what mattered was that she had one and that Lolorito was such a smug little swine that he had thought himself beyond her reproach, unable to combat him in a matter of public debate on government policy, that he had the utter nerve to say the words, “I will release Fordola rem Lupis to the Scions when pigs fly!”

“Swear it.” She said in the ensuing silence.

“Wh-what?” Lolorito sputtered.

“Swear to me, under the eyes of your people, right now, that you will release Fordola rem Lupis to Scion custody when pigs fly.”

“Must you commit to making such jokes? How inappropriate—”

“I’m not joking.” Her eyes narrowed. “Swear it.”

“...Fine. I’ll call your bluff.” Lolorito spat, one hand over his heart, the other raised in vow. “I do swear, Fordola rem Lupis will be in the custody of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn when pigs fly. Now then, if there is no further—”

Even before taking the temporary mantle as Acting Antecedent, Serella’s hands had made many a shape to help others. Sometimes, they were held out in friendship, sometimes clenched into a fist.

Just this once, her hands offered a flying pig.

“Angelo, to me.” She said softly, and opened her pack.

The porxie, delighted to have come along on a trip while Alisaie had worked odd jobs around Mor Dhona, fluttered out of her pack with a happy little snort.

The crowd gasped. Angelo flapped about happily around her head. Lolorito gawked, jaw slack, at the pig. Which was, in fact, flying.

“It’s an automaton.” He sputtered. “It has to be, you witch—”

“Angelo, greet.” Serella said, and pointed straight at the Syndicate table. 

Snuffling all the while, he zipped over, sniffing and snorting each member one by one. One of the members, delighted at the warm little porxie, offered it scritches between his long ears, prompting him to pause a bit and preen for her. At her whistle, Angelo returned dutifully to her side, perched on her shoulder. 

“That is no automaton,” the won over Syndicate member cooed. “My little dog at home is just as playful!” She clapped her hands. “It seems we have an agreement to honor, Lord Lolorito.”

“It— I— that is—!” Lolorito could barely get the words out between grinding his teeth and seething as he was.

“If you want a more symbolic response, rather than a literal one,” Serella mused in the wake of his infuriated quivering. “I am capable of casting aero under your seat, Lord Lolorito.”

Later, when Serella received the key to Fordola’s cell and was escorted by engineers to assist in the removal of the collar, Fordola asked her two questions: how in the hells did she managed to convince them to do this, and why did she do it at all?

The second question was the easiest to answer: because it was the right thing to do. The former took almost the entire trip to Mor Dhona to explain, though Angelo sat in Fordola’s arms, snuffling happily at her dazed petting, certainly helped to clarify a few things.

“You called him a pig.” Fordola said after a long moment. When Serella looked up, she was trying to hide a smile.

“Not at all. I reminded him that he is a pig.”

It was nice, to see the girl laugh, to be allowed to be young and silly, nicer still for her to know that she was under no threat and had no master. Just as she deserved.

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxiv #Fordola rem Lupis #Serella Arcbane #5.0 spoilers #Shadowbringers spoilers #anyway I refuse to let that poor girl be left in a bomb collar and any opportunity I have to tell the Syndicate to get fucked I will take #Lolorito Nanarito is a man that lives almost entirely off of cheeto dust and tax evasion and SE cannot convince me otherwise #anywho fordola deserved better

[ravencrossffxiv]

"All my life they let me know how far I would not go." :3c

((Okay this got stupidly long but it’s wonderful and I love it and I’m sorry it took so long!! DX))

Okay screw it I’m doing another cuddle pile but this time it’s just the girls. Snagging Art'imis from @chysgoda, Serella from @stars-bleed-hearts-shine, Luneda from @sola-ffxiv, and Mingxia from @inkblood-mistrieu for this. Also, hi Rukia. (NPCs are here too, Alisaie, Hilda, Lucia, Ysayle, Tataru, and Y'shtola. It’s one big ass party bc why the fuck not right?)

A few nights before Raven marries the love of her life, she suggests a big slumber party with her friends and she reminisces over her past and her journey.

Note: Lucia/Hilda is a ship here and you all can yell at Serella for it bc GAHH THAT SHIP IS ADORABLE!!!!! Also Lucia is chaotic bi energy.

Words: 1862 (This got long I’m sorry… ^^;)

Oh Fury why did I encourage this?? Raven internally screamed as she realized just what story Tataru was telling. It was a few days before she was to be married to the love of her life and she suggested a girls night with her friends and Serella was gracious enough to host it within her home. Everyone that was able to make it was currently sprawled out on the bed listening to Tataru.

“Wait THAT’S what happened??” Alisaie asked.

Raven groaned as she buried her face in one of the many pillows in the window sill area in Serella’s bedroom. “Tataru please no…”

Tataru nodded. “Your brother and Cid can confirm this. Raven was a mess when she first met Haurchefant, though he found it endearing somehow.”

“Oh tell us more.” Hilda encouraged with a suggestive glint in her ruby eyes.

“Tataru no, this was an embarrassing moment of Raven’s, maybe we shouldn’t discuss it further.” Mingxia tried, remembering the event in question.

“Oh I recall this tale. Do keep talking Tataru.” Y’shtola encouraged.

“So then based on what Alphinaud told us, the poor girl ended up tripping and falling on her face and when she was being helped back up she had the darkest blush on her face.” Raven heard Tataru explain and everyone busted out laughing at Raven’s expense. 

“Tataru why?”

“Oh come on dear sister that’s funny. It’s better than when I went poking around the waking sands and ran myself into Thancred.” Rukia offered as she remembered when she first met her boyfriend with an amused sigh. “Nothing like a little b&e to meet a guy you like right?”

“Ugh that’s so like you Rukia.” Luneda sighs as she ruffles her hair.

“It can’t be worse than when Aymeric made an absolute buffoon of himself in order to earn Serella’s trust.” Lucia offered.

“Way to sell out your boss Lucia.” Art’imis giggled as she downed her wine.

“To be fair, I was incredibly distrustful of him when we first met so it was warranted.”

Everyone soon hears a laugh as Serella brings in more snacks and wine and Lucia grins. “Might those chocolates be from a certain someone’s secret stash?”

Raven quirks an eyebrow but soon gasps as Serella giggles. “Raided it this morning. And replaced the stash itself too with sugar-free treats I made last night. You were stuck in a meeting and I didn’t know where anyone else was.”

“What are they?” Ysayle questioned.

Raven grins. “Rare and expensive as hells chocolate that I hear only the nobility can get their hands on. Serella where???”

“Nobody is allowed to say a word to the boys. Mostly because if it gets back to the one who’s stash we raid from it might come back to bite us in the arse.” Lucia explained.

Everyone nodded, but Art'imis soon spoke up. “I think I know where you’re getting your stash from.”

Mingxia looked between Lucia, Serella and Art’imis. “Do I even want to know?”

“Lucia and I sometimes raid Aymeric’s sweets stash. We don’t do it enough that he gets suspicious.” Serella explained.

Everyone laughed, and Hilda fistbumped with Serella and kissed Lucia’s cheek. “You two have some balls.”

Lucia felt her face burn as Hilda wrapped an arm around her with a cheeky grin while Serella laughed.

Raven smiled as she settled in at her spot on the window sill with her wine and chocolate, the window panes cold against her legs as she looked out over the city of Ishgard. She thinks back on everything that happened up to this very moment and can’t help but sigh.

Who’d have thought, a lowborn bastard child grew up to be the savior of Ishgard and all of Eorzea and about to marry the love of her life that’s a kid of a noble house?

“Is aught amiss?”

Raven blinks as she sees Ysayle sitting next to her, having already finished her own wine. “Yeah I’m fine. Just…reminiscing is all.”

“Oh? You’re more than welcome to share if you’d like.”

Raven giggles but soon sighs as she takes a sip of her wine and notices everyone’s eyes shift to her. “It’s just…All my life I’ve been told how far I would not go. That a lowborn bastard child that was a quiet loner as a kid wouldn’t amount to anything. And yet…here I am. Surrounded by so many people I care about and call family. One of Ishgard’s champions, one of the Warriors of Light and saviors of Eorzea.”

She looks out the window towards Camp Dragonhead as her thumb brushes against her locket. “And along the way, I fell in love. I fell in love with a wonderful man who saw past my uses as a weapon and loved the woman I am underneath and I’m going to marry him in a few days. It just…feels a little surreal, I guess. It feels surreal and crazy and yet this is my reality.”

Ysayle smiled and took her hand and squeezed it. “You are full deserving of the happiness you’ve been given Raven, you all are. Hold onto it.”

“Raven come on! Stop being broody like Estinien and come sit with us.” Serella encouraged as she patted the spot next to her on the big bed.

Raven grinned as she felt Rukia slide an arm around her and a pull on her hand from Alisaie. She looked back at Ysayle with a grin and squeezed her hand back. “Hey you, if I can’t be broody neither can you.”

“I-”

“It’s a night to relax with friends, and you’re one of them Ysayle. Come on.” Raven encouraged.

Ysayle smiles and the four of them joined the rest of the girls on the bed and shared more hilarious stories of their friends, each other, or their respective lovers.

“Wow Lucia, you’re less smooth than me.” Raven giggled.

“Shush! I am not the best when it comes to the whole…courting…aspect.” Lucia muttered, a blush staining her cheeks.

Hilda laughed as she stared at her girlfriend fondly. “Ahh it’s alright, I’m amused by it. Pretty endearin’ too if you ask me.” She teased.

“Raven you eating that chocolate?” Luneda asked as she stuffed her face with another one.

The black mage glowered. “You touch my chocolate I’ll kill you Luneda.”

Luneda laughed as she reached over for another one but Rukia stopped her. “Hey now don’t hoard them all for yourself!”

“Oh come on Rukia, rare and fancy Ishgardian sweets? I’m all over these!”

“At least make sure everyone else has had some before you go for seconds.” Art’imis chided with a sigh, and Raven is reminded of the times she’s witnessed Art scold Bel.

And watching Luneda being scolded by the paladin was hilarious.

Just as Art’imis turned her head to look at Serella did Luneda try to snag another one…

…only for Ysayle to move the tray of sweets closer to the rest of them.

Luneda glowered, she was comfy snuggled up between Rukia and the blind yet really pretty Miqote woman, and the house itself kept out the chill.

She soon had a thought and let out a laugh. "Hey Raven, if Sola is in Camp Dragonhead right now, he is probably brooding over how cold it is." 

Raven sighed. "I told you guys you didn’t have to come and suffer through the cold.”

“Sola would grumble about missing his sister’s wedding a hell of a lot more.” Luneda laughed as she looks between Rukia and Y'shtola. “Besides, I’m pretty cozy.”

“This place is incredibly warm.” Y'shtola notes as she settles in next to Luneda, who has a slight blush on her face that she blames on the wine.

Serella laughs. “That was the intent. The greenhouse is probably one of the warmest places in the house.”

Luneda perked up at the mention of a greenhouse, both her and her brother hate the cold. “Okay if I even come back can I stay here?”

Raven giggled and soon saw that Alisaie and Tataru were already asleep, and Mingxia was halfway there, muttering something in Doman that she couldn’t quite make out. “Maybe it’s time to start winding down? Start going to sleep?”

“Probably. Luneda and Y'shtola look like they’re about to pass out themselves. Ming’s halfway there, and the same can be said for Hilda and Lucia.” Serella noticed.

Raven looked over to see Hilda and Lucia peacefully snuggled up together, Hilda’s face buried in Lucia’s neck as she runs her hand through her long black hair. “Aww…”

“Right?”

“They are pretty cute I will admit. Makes me kind of wish I could…” Ysayle started, but both Raven and Serella wrapped an arm around her.

“Everyone gets cuddles tonight.” Serella states.

“But I-”

“Ysayle.” Raven soothed as she settled herself next to the other Elezen. “Are you uncomfortable?”

She blinked but shook her head, her icy eyes wide.

“Then it’s okay.”

“It’s a big slumber party, it’s basically a rule to have a mass cuddle pile at some point.” Serella adds with a laugh as she settles in on Ysayle’s other side.

Ysayle smiles as she relaxes between them, both of her hands finding each of theirs as she closed her eyes.

Raven smiled as she looked around the room at everyone who at this point were either asleep or very close to sleep.

Alisaie, Mingxia, and Tataru were piled together in one corner of the huge bed, Alisaie’s head tucked under Ming’s chin as Tataru was propped against her side.

In another corner, Art'imis found herself with her back to Lucia, who’s chest Hilda had her face buried in. Lucia felt the presence of someone at her back and wrapped an arm around her.

She soon heard a slight squeak as she saw Luneda blink, a dark blush on her face as Y'shtola curls into her side while Rukia gently knocks her horns against hers with a mutter of “Shush you now snuggle.”

Raven giggled and she felt a shift next to her.

“You okay?” Serella asked softly.

Raven nodded. “Yeah.” She looked around at everyone who was happily sleeping in the big bed before sighing. “We needed this.”

“Damn right we did. And you’re going on another vacation with your husband in a few days.” Serella replies with a grin.

Raven grins. “Not gonna lie, that still feels a little surreal to me. Calling Haurchefant my husband and that it’s happening so soon…”

The hand that wasn’t clasped in Ysayle’s felt for the locket at her throat as her eyes closed with a dreamy sigh. “I didn’t even dream of this if I’m honest.”

“Hey now you deserve to be happy. You both do.” Serella encouraged with a smile.

Raven gave a soft laugh. “I am happy. And I can’t wait to see what this next chapter of our lives brings us.”

With that, both women took their spots on either side of a sleeping Ysayle and relaxed in the sheets, a warmth of her friends and family surrounded her as she slipped under into her dreams of a beautiful wedding and seeing the man she loved waiting for her at the end.

#Raven Cross #Serella Arcbane #Art'imis Chysgoda #Mingxia Jiang #Luneda Leyfette #Rukia Oronir #Ysayle Dangoulain #Alisaie Leveilleur #Tataru Taru #Lucia goe Junius #Hilda Ware #Y'shtola Rhul #Heavensward AU #((Meanwhile Haurchefant Aymeric and Estinien take Alphinaud Thancred and a freezing Sola into an indoor target arena for target practice.)) #((Where everyone decides to roast Haurchefant for his shit aim with a bow)) #((Cue a really crude joke that leaves everyone but Alphinaud in tears of laughter while poor Alphinaud is confused as hell)) #((NGL I'm tempted to write this but if someone else does it @ me on here or on my main!!))

[chysgoda]

Field Trip

Field Trip

In which a Tol Paladin and a Smol Paladin deal with ridiculously tol ghosts

Kind of an ask meme adjacent prompt that came out of a conversation with @stars-bleed-hearts-shine who for reasons unknown continues to let me borrow Serella and put her into ridiculous situations.

Word Count: 1267

Rating: Teen for a couple of ill tempered F-Bombs.

“I don’t think anyone was actually this fucking tall.” Art’imis groused as she looked up yet another set of stairs where the rise came up to her hips. There were a lot of reasons that the recreation of Amarout unsettled her. This one was simply the most physically exhausting and easiest to gripe about. At least her vertical jump was starting to become as impressive as a dragoon’s just from sheer necessity.

“Oh?” Serella’s tone bubbled with amusement. As she watched her small friend glare at the stairs.

“I think he was just being a petty asshole.” Art set her fists on her hips and craned her neck up to look at the gilded inlays on the doors.

“A distinct possibility.” The elezan paladin agreed. Settling back into the banter and playful goading helped ease the tensions between them after their recent spat of disagreements and fights. Serella arched an eyebrow when Art’imis reached into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a whistle. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Says the woman who can actually climb the damned stairs without having to steal a dragoon’s soul stone.”

“Still cheating,” Serella chided and laughed when Art’imis clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“It was made by a cheater so it doesn’t count as cheating.” The AuRa said firmly. She gathered aether to her and fed it to the spell that lay in the whistle as she blew the high, clear note. A moment later there was a screech and the aetheric construct of a falcon swooped down on them to land and placidly wait for its mistress to mount. Art’imis swung herself up onto the falcons back and it launched into the air high enough that she had to guide it in circles back down to meet Serella as she climbed the top stair. Art’imis jumped off her mount and dismissed the construct. “This city is leg day hell.”

“And you cheated.” Serella agreed ignoring the burn in her own thighs and calves. This time Art’imis just shrugged in acknowledgment. They turned to the doors which swung open as they approached.

Inside was the usual set up of benches in the center and reception desks on the sides. She scanned the desks until she found an attendant that looked more aware and attentive. She tapped Serella’s elbow and pointed to the desk. Her friend nodded and turned in that direction. Art’imis settled into the not quite jogging stride that she had to use to keep up with her tall friends. When they reached the desk Serella craned her neck to look up at the attendant and then looked down to Art’imis. “How do you do this all the time?”

“Regular visits to the best masseuses in Ul’Dah.” The smaller paladin shrugged.

“Aren’t they in one of the-“

“Best brothels in Ul’dah? Yes.”

“Really?”

Art’imis shrugged, “It’s actually very reasonably priced when you don’t add the ‘Happy Endings’ option.”

“How did I not know this?”

“You weren’t part of the after party scene at the blood sands.”

Serella nodded acknowledgment. Before she could call up to the attendant they were leaning over the desk to greet them.

Their voice tumbled like bells and water. “How may I assist you aspiring ...scholar….” The attendant stared down at them for longer than the shades usually did. The Paladins glanced at each other uncertain what this change in behavior may mean. Before either of them could speak the attendant focused on Serella. “Little one, no matter how curious you are, or safe our city is, it is VERY irresponsible of you to bring a smol here.”

Serella glanced down at her friend who had folded her arms over her chest and was muttering under her breath about petty asshole Ascians. She worked hard to keep the grin off of her face. “I’m sorry but it’s very important.”

The shade huffed and opened a half door beside the desk to step out. Art’imis wasn’t able to jump back far enough when the attendant bent down and swept up the AuRa woman. She yelped in protest when she was lifted and settled against the shade’s shoulder like a very young toddler. Serella had half drawn her sword but settled it back in its scabbard seeing how gently the shade held her friend. If nothing else she was going to have a WONDERFUL story next time she could speak to Bel freely. The attendant motioned to one of the benches and sat down adsently rubbing soothing circles on Art’imis back. She struggled to push away and get down which just resulted in the shade shifting her so they could keep a more firm grip on what they considered to be a squirming toddler. Art’imis ground her teeth. “Fucking Thall’s balls let me down.”

“Who on this star taught you such language smol one?” The Shade was clearly shocked and upset.

“Our brother,” Serella motioned for Art’imis to stay quiet. The AuRa glared and held still except for her lashing tail. “Can I talk to you about the creature we were told about?”

The shade made soothing noises that the echo had no translation for as they waited for Serella to climb up onto the bench. They continued to rub Art’imis’ back soothingly as Serella explained why they were there. In the privacy of her own mind Art’imis had to admit it was relaxing just not relaxing enough ease her anxiety at being restrained. When Serella finished the shade huffed again and stood. “I’m sure that the researchers have things well in hand, but I will double check to ease your mind before I contact your parents to come and fetch you.”

Serella followed the attendant back to the desk openly grinning at the daggers her friend was glaring at her over the shade’s shoulder. When she was set down on the desk Art’imis started walking away only to be dragged back by an arm around her waist that pulled her against the shade’s chest again. “You are a daring smol aren’t you? I’m afraid that jump is a bit beyond you yet.”

Art’imis drummed her fingers against the arm around her waist while the attendant flipped through paperwork. The arm around her went slack suddenly when the attendant came across a note of some kind. Art’imis jumped free and called up Aether to give her dash off the desk more speed and power. This time she evaded the hand that tried to snatch her back as she flipped off the edge. Landing in a crouch she slid a few ilms before standing up and resettling her armor.

The shade sighed in relief to find Art’imis standing next to Serella. They fussed with straightening their robes “while it is beyond me, Emet-Selch himself has granted you both special dispensation to enter the research areas. I expect you to come right back here and let me make sure that you are both well afterwards though.”

The shade radiated such motherly concern and disapproval that Art’imis was reminded of the time Bel and Bianca and snuck out of the Holy See to follow them on a hunt. She sighed as her irritation cooled marginally. Both she and Serella nodded and placated the shade returned to what it had been doing.

“We will never speak of this again.” Art’imis said primly as they turned away. Serella finally gave into the laughter that had been building in her chest. Art’imis glared but there was no heat in her eyes. It had been far too long since she had heard her friend laugh so freely.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fan fiction #5.0 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #serella arcbane #art’imis chysgoda #amarout #Akadaemia Anyder #Art is very very smol #and is pretty sure thing are only so big because he’s a petty asshole #he being emet selch

[starswornoaths]

Prompt  15: Freefall

Still just filling in for my upcoming masterpost! I’d written these on the day of, but had managed to talk myself out of posting them :< so here’s another one! I hope you like it!

Lucia has her first one on one with Serella following the start of their investigation into her behavior as a DRK. It ends...horribly. I...I didn’t want to hurt them like this, Lucia just sort of...decided to go for Serella’s life here??? And it was too good for me to not use???

(Bit of backstory: in character, there has yet to be, nor will there ever likely be a more personal villain to Serella than Livia sas Junius. She handled what happened at the Waking Sands so poorly that no one speaks of it. No one. Lucia doesn’t know what happened, she just knows Livia is a sore spot to needle.)

Word count: 1,224

Lucia’s instinct was rarely wrong.

Even rarer was the occasion in which she was made to doubt her instincts. Such a disposition came with years of training as a spy, decades of grooming under the Empire that honed her skills— and the entirety of her being— into a finely tuned weapon. That she now served under a different banner did not dull her edge.

So when she spied the Warrior of Light bundle herself in a cloak and walk with one eye over her shoulder through the Crozier and her instinct whispered “follow,” she did, and did so without an onze of guilt that she was suspicious of the woman who had come to be her sister. 

At least, she told herself she felt no guilt. She was still investigating the Warrior of Light, and such suspicious behavior was more than enough probable cause, Lucia could step outside of herself enough to acknowledge that. Her innocence would be determined no other way than information gathering, after all.

Officially off duty and out of her uniform regalia, it was easy enough for Lucia to slip into the crowd, to lighten her footsteps and track the heather gray hood that bobbed through the street at a steady pace. It was a little harder to keep distance; Serella’s speed changed intermittently, and on occasion, she stopped altogether to examine something near the stalls or the windows— and once those had thinned out, would stop to peer into the alleyways.

Was she searching for whoever had Rielle to warn them of the investigation? Was she on the hunt for the next target of her vigilantism? If either were the case…

Lucia stuck to the edges of the street to put as much space—and people—as she could between herself and her mark, though as they moved into Foundation and the street opened up wider, it became harder to remain inconspicuous; with less foot traffic and more empty space, tailing was becoming difficult. Still the Warrior of Light continued, out through the Arc of the Worthy. After a moment of debate with herself, Lucia continued in her pursuit.

If the open walkways and plaza of Foundation had made hiding in plain sight difficult, the Steps of Faith were near impossible for her to hide herself in—or they would be, if not for a timely caravan on its way out of the city. Her task grew more arduous in the enclosed space of the Gates of Judgement, but Lucia managed, walking close to the wall and dipping into the archer turrets every chance she got.

Suddenly, the Warrior of Light sharply turned the moment she was past the Gates of Judgement, as if she were trying to hide. Or because she knows you are tailing her, her instinct whispered.

That could not be—sharp though she knew the Warrior of Light to be, surely she could not—

Despite her caution, the moment Lucia neared the stairs leading to the Highlands she was met face to face with Serella, her hood down and arms crossed, leaning against the wall. The moment their eyes met, the severe look in the Paladin’s eyes dissolved into shock. Both women stumbled a step backward, both unnerved at the sight of one another.

“Lucia?!” Serella rasped.

The First Commander flinched and bit back a curse—she must be getting rusty. Before she could think to give the lie she rehearsed in her head of I mistook you, she watched the way Serella’s eyes darkened with anger and hurt.

“I can’t say I’m surprised you’re tailing me now.” She said in a dark but conversational tone. “I’m just shocked you’re that bad at it.”

Lucia felt her jaw protest at how tightly she clenched her teeth; it did not matter that this was a woman who was her friend — nay, family — in any other circumstance, as she had put that closeness out of her mind; she would not have her pride wounded by a Dark Knight that might have kidnapped a child.

“I will not apologize,” Lucia ground out. “For being suspicious of you when I am investigating you for suspicious behavior.”

“Then apologize for being shite at it.” Serella snipped. Lucia watched her hands clench at her sides. “What are you even following me for? Is it suspicious that I’m going to Camp Dragonhead of all places?” She demanded.

“T’was only suspicious because you made it so!” Lucia insisted, even as that unfamiliar feeling of doubt began to creep in.

“Are you truly trying to find a demon’s intent with everything I do under someone else’s orders?” The Paladin refused to back down, squaring her shoulders.

“It is always under someone else’s order, is it not?” Lucia pressed; her wounded pride be damned, she was hurting besides. Her shaking hands clenched into fists. “You are quick to turn to darker things and hide behind the shield of someone else’s order, someone else’s name. And why wouldn’t you—” the heat in her chest bloomed out to her face, and her rage inspired her to snarl, “you are no better than Livia.”

Her words seemed to echo in the ensuing silence.

The way Serella’s face went slack and ashen in dazed horror would have given Lucia pause on another sort of day in another sort of argument but with her heart bleeding as it was, all she saw was a weakness to exploit. This was a fight, after all, and she was not one for losing.

“You...you don’t mean that.” Serella whispered, her head shaking as if in disbelief. “You can’t mean that, Lucia—”

“Is it any wonder I so easily called you sister?” Lucia spat. “When I look at you now, all I see is her.”

Serella flinched and took a stumbling step backward as if struck. The one, solitary moment of twisted triumph Lucia had between Serella’s reaction and the weight of what she had just said settling in her mind did not last for the majority of the long, heavy silence that hung between them. Distantly, Lucia registered her ears aching in the howling wind but it was nothing for how cold her heart suddenly felt as the weight of her words began to sink in.

Livia had been…someone they did not discuss. In part because Lucia had insisted that the past stay there, mostly because she saw the way Serella’s face would often darken at the mention of her. She knew little else than that, but it had become an unspoken sore spot neither of them had wanted to acknowledge.

She had guessed well enough to weaponize it effectively, it seemed. Too well.

The First Commander’s stiff, defensive posture wilted, even as she reached a hand out tentatively into the yawning space between them. She swallowed the bile that came up with the shame at losing her composure so thoroughly. What hurt might have still been there was rapidly being consumed by the distinct swooping feeling of taking that one step too far off the precipice, and all she wanted to do was stop their freefall.

“I—“

“No—that—“ the Paladin sputtered, and the more she looked anywhere but in front of her, the further Lucia’s heart sank. She nodded sharply once, her expression unreadable. “You…you would know better than anyone, I guess.”

Watching Serella walk away felt like something irreplaceable and impossibly precious shattering beyond repair.

#FFxivWrite2019 #Lucia goe Junius #Serella Arcbane #they...work it out...later... #I promise!!! #vague spoilers for 2.0 #vague DRK spoilers

[starswornoaths]

Comfort Food

Alisaie asks the one question Uthengentle doesn’t want to answer

(under the cut but fair warning: major spoilers, and some personal headcanons about the consequences of said spoilers, for after the lvl 79 trial, just to be completely clear. Read at your own risk)

Word count: 1,774

Serella was scarcely settled into her quarters before the Scions had scattered to the winds again. Even spread thin as they were they were united in their goal: do not lose her. Surely if anyone would find an answer, a way to save the twofold Warrior of both shadow and light, it would be the family she had fought so hard to find. Surely.

Such thoughts were a cold comfort to Uthengentle, sat at the table in her quarters, whittling at what bits of wood he had brought with him to pass the time. He ignored the way Ardbert watched from across the table when he had slowly placed figurine after figurine upon a checkered board as the hours ticked by. 

“Could have just bought one, you know.” Ardbert spoke up, likely for lack of anything else to say. “I know they’re not exactly cheap— for nice ones, at least, but they’re out there.”

“Keeps my hands busy.” Uthengentle replied, focus still centered on the new piece he had begun. What shavings of wood had gathered he had cleaned as he went, and now there was a near full bucket of sawdust and wood chips at his feet.

He continued to avoid looking at Ardbert. He could guess at what the Warrior wanted to say.

Hard not to, considering the return of the endless light. Harder still not to face the cause of it, rasping and wraithlike on her bed as she was. Less than half here, less than half her, Uthengentle could most certainly take a gander as to what Ardbert would suggest. So he chose not to.

“Think she’ll wake up soon?” Ardbert asked softly. 

“Likely. Never was one for being idle, her.” Uthengentle replied, likely shorter than he had intended.

A knock on the door roused Uthengentle enough to spare a glance to see who was coming in. Once he realized it was Alisaie, he resumed whittling— the board yet needed a Queen, after all. 

“You’re still here?” She asked, and though he didn’t look up again, he could hear her surprise. “I thought you might have gone to bed.”

“One of these days, you lot’ll take me seriously when I say I’ll be here ‘till she wakes up.”

After a moment’s deliberation, he opted to give the Queen a shield sitting in front of her— she was the bulwark of her army, wasn’t she? A shield made sense, at least to him. 

Alisaie huffed— it might have been an attempt at a laugh, Uthengentle wasn’t sure— and stepped further into the room. Rather than make for the table, she drifted hesitantly toward Serella’s bed. With another glance he saw her hovering, as if considering whether she should sit at all. Uncertainty sat poorly on her shoulders, he mused.

“How is she?” Alisaie asked reluctantly.

“No change.” Uthengentle replied, and noted that her footsteps were moving closer to Serella. 

“Her skin feels as plaster…” he heard her note.

What detailing should the shield get? Should it match the crown? He might need to fish out one of his smaller knives.

“She’s noticed, too, then. The change.” Ardbert said across the board from him. “Bit hard not to at this point, I suppose.”

This knife will do, so long as he’s careful. Maybe give the shield a little sigil in the middle, nothing too ornate. Certainly not taking inspiration from anywhere, certainly not from anywhere his sister missed. Or his sister. 

“I think I fixed the problem our last chess board had.” Uthengentle spoke up. He tilted his knife and adjusted his grip closer to the blade and leaned closer to the carving— shaving off around where he wanted to make raised textures was always harder without his magnifiers. “Board was too wide to fit in my pack— so I sawed it in half and added a hinge.”

“Uthengentle—” Alisaie tried to reach out.

“Hollowed it out, too.” The Warrior continued— and the details were beginning to take shape, now he only needed to scrape out the shavings further away from the design to make the shield smooth. “Takes up half the width, stores everything nicely. Much better. Keeps all the pieces together that way while we’re travelling.”

“You can’t keep avoiding this.” Ardbert said gruffly. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Uthengentle, what is—” Alisaie tried again, and it was harder to ignore her when she began to speak louder.

He knew what she wanted to ask. He would just rather she didn’t.

“That’s the most important part, you know. Keeping them all together.” Uthengentle set the piece down, unfinished. His hands shook too much to keep steady. “They kept getting scattered all around before. Lost track of a few of them for a bit there. But it should be fine now—”

“What is her favorite—” Alisaie raised her voice just enough to be heard over her big brother’s stubbornly distracted mumbling.

“Don’t.” Uthengentle begged, the word strangled for how his throat closed. His grip tightened around his whittling knife. “Don’t ask—”

“I need to know, Uthengentle.” Though her voice trembled her jaw was set hard as steel. “If...if we can’t save—”

“We can. We will.” If the way his aura flickered faintly startled Alisaie he would gladly apologize for it later, but in that moment he saw nothing but the knife in his hand, his knuckles nearly white for how tightly he gripped its handle. 

All he wanted to think about was whittling. Not...not this.

“What is her favorite food?” Alisaie finally asked quietly. 

“Don’t ask me that!” Uthengentle snapped— and when he unthinkingly slammed his fist down upon the board and felt his hand shift on the knife handle he was reminded that he was holding the knife...he had just embedded into the empty space where the Queen typically sat. He let go of the knife, startled. “Don’t...that isn’t...I can’t—”

“I don’t want to ask!” Alisaie matched his tone with hers, and though her voice warbled with unshed tears her jaw was set as steel when his eyes found hers across the room. “I don’t want to know— not like this. I don’t want to do it, but gods damn you, I will, if I have to! If we find no answers, if there is truly no other way—”

“She deserves a warrior’s death!” Uthengentle argued around a sob.

“A death we haven’t the strength to give her!” Alisaie screamed— and she was crying now, too. “Even if we could overpower her—we can’t— I can’t— strike her down. We have no guarantee of stopping her if she…” Her throat bobbed for how heavy her swallow was. “If she...turns…” her voice lowered to a whisper. “...We can’t rely on any one of us to stop her. We can’t rely on any one of us to actually do it. And our will is...still not enough, even combined. We can’t.” 

“Is it so horrible, giving her one last good meal among her family?” Ardbert reasoned tiredly.

“You know how old I was last time I lost family?” He asked, uncaring for the tears that managed to slip out. Let them collect in his bin of sawdust. It was about all he felt like he had: ashes of something that was once alive enough to mourn. “I was twelve.”

“Uthen—”

“I was twelve when we lost our parents— I was eight when I lost my family before that. Closest thing that’s hurt even half as much was the Waking Sands. But this…” he shook his head. “I…”

When his cup runneth over, his tears were hot against his face as they flooded out of him. He felt cold all over, like the aether around him had frosted over— and another glance through the tears at Alisaie’s breath forming crystalized fog confirmed that he was doing that, too. With the expression of tired pity on her face, even with tear stained cheeks and a quivering lip she near perfectly mirrored Ardbert, looking just as ancient and weary as the soul bound Warrior despite her adolescence. 

Uthengentle so despised what war made of children.

So he let them both be hurt, scared little kids for a little while when Alisaie threw herself into her big brother’s hug. He squeezed her just hard enough for her shoulders to faintly pop but she clung to him just as tightly. Her sobs loud even muffled against his tunic. Outside of family, she had no one to safely break apart with— and even then, she had still taken it upon her mantle to be as stalwart as her big sister. It was hard for a child to stand as tall as her hero, however, and didn’t know even heroes can crumble. Heroes can lose. Uthengentle was just sorry that this was how Alisaie had to learn that lesson.

So they cried. For their sister, for what she would have to do— for what she could yet become. For the unfairness of it all. To Serella, to them, to every fraction of a fraction of a world done wrong, to those who yet fought with baited breath, uncertain of the future of the very star beneath their feet. They cried until there was nothing left, until Uthengentle could thaw the room again and remember how to breathe, until Alisaie could stand with her shoulders back and remember how to move. When she stepped away Uthengentle let her go.

“T’was insensitive to ask so soon,” Alisaie said quickly, face hidden in her sleeve as she scrubbed at it. “She is yet herself, and I...can try again.” She spun on her heel and marched for the door. “Maybe there are other options, I could—”

“Venison stew.” Uthengentle finally answered, defeated.

Alisaie paused, hand on the doorknob.

“Her favorite is venison stew. Bit picky about it, though. Only likes it how Ma made it.” He let out a rough bark of laughter. “I kept the recipe.”

Alisaie looked over her shoulder at Serella, still asleep, hair still white as starlit spiderwebs, skin still chilled as stone. A depiction of a hero carved as a visage of she who lie entombed within the coffin of her half strewn armor. Uthengentle’s stomach churned even to look at her. So he didn’t.

“...Not yet.” She replied. “I...would ask her first. While she is still…”

“Yeah,” Uthengentle nodded even though she could not see it. “I’ll let you know when she’s up.”

Alisaie slipped through the doorway and down the hall quick as lightning. Uthengentle did not follow. Ardbert did not comment. Serella did not stir. The light did not fade.

#ffxiv #5.0 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #Uthengentle Arcbane #Alisaie Leveilleur #Ardbert #Serella Arcbane #hi yeah this sort of happened in my brain and has haunted me #HOPE YOU ENJOY IT #\o/

[starswornoaths]

Months and Malms Ago

Serella had thought herself the only one who had used her tomestone. Upon a chance review of what data it had collected, however, she found a recording addressed to her. A recording she had not been expecting.

Or:

Hi I didn’t need to make this depressing but I’m on my bullshit and I needed this out of my drafts it’s been here for a year h e l p.

The Steppe was beautiful in the twilight hours in its own melancholy way, Serella observed from her perch on one of the higher cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the lush landscape. The night sky was chasing after the falling sun— N’haama ever reaching out to touch her beloved Azim, ever stopped by the horizon, according to local beliefs. A belief that felt closer to home than she had felt for months now, so far away from all she knew. 

She watched the mundane nothing and everything that happened around her. With her knees curled to her chest she watched the deep blue of unimpeded night fall upon the land. Watched the way the world around her hushed itself in preparation for bed. She watched until the stars began to twinkle amidst the blue of the night sky and sighed deeply. This was both her most loved and loathed time of day, where the world was quiet enough that she could gather her thoughts— but also silent enough that she was left to them.

Still, she found solace and much needed distraction in the handheld tablet that she now pulled out of her pocket. A tomestone used to store and gather data any way it could. Truly, for how remarkable the technology was, it offered little to most; a small storage device, able to record audio, pictures, and motion but useful for little else.

For Serella, it was something to cling to.

It had been a parting gift from Cid and the Ironworks crew before she had gone to Carteneau to activate Omega. Nero had been outright aghast at Cid’s declaration that it was the bleeding edge of what Garlond Ironworks had developed in handheld technology, because, “Garlond! Do you not realize that in Garlemald there are such devices that can transmit data without connecting to another device how are you the pride of our nation?!”

Serella got the feeling that he was largely blustering at the whole ordeal for blustering’s sake. 

Though at first she had no idea what she was meant to do with it, upon her entering Ala Mhigo for the first time and drinking in the sights of the land of Uthengentle’s birth, she found its purpose. With a camera lense and ample storage, she had quickly taken to using it for taking pictures of places she had been, things that she discovered, all in anticipation of showing them to her loved ones upon her return.

Whenever that was to be, she thought bitterly.

The device itself— and every photo she took on it— quickly moved from a curiosity into a tangible piece of what will be for her— proof that this will be over, that there will be people waiting for her back home, that she will be home at all. Each photo she took was a promise to herself: I am taking this home with me. 

Turning her photos into such lofty promises of will be, however, turned into her scrutinizing every photo she had taken, scouring over them to see if there were pictures that needed deleting because she really needed to remember to move her thrice damned finger or looking for which photos she liked the most. It had become part of her ‘winding down’ ritual for the night, ever since they had landed in what felt like a whole world from home: before bedding down, she would scroll through her pictures, reminding her of how far things had already come even while she knew there was still so much more yet to go.

Still, Serella often opted to do so in solitude, whenever she could; even if the only solitude to be found was burying herself fully beneath her blankets, she took it. With the group sleeping safely within the Mol tribe’s boundaries, however, she had the liberty to scurry off to find her own solace; better no one see her and worry over her petty homesickness, she thought. Twelve knew they had all been fretting over her enough since her loss against Zenos as it was, the last thing she wanted was to add to that concern.

Nearing the end of the new photos she had taken, she raised a brow when she began to see photos she could not recall taking. She scrolled through curiously.

Photos of her— taken by Uthen, judging from the height difference between herself and the camera...and photos Uthen took of himself and his surroundings, too. Innocuous photos, all told; a shot of her stumbling through sign language with a member of the Qestir tribe back at Reunion, a shot Uthengentle took of himself with a friendly arm slung around Lyse, who in turn had an arm around Arenvald back in Rhalgr’s Reach before everything went up in flames, a shot of her enjoying a bowl of udon with Yugiri in Kugane— with his own grinning face peeking from the corner of the shot, and a slightly tilted, off center shot of a baby chocobo. She recalled that day— and that bird— because Uthengentle had slapped at her arm while tearfully insisting that she had to look at him, he’s so small but he’s doing his best Ellie look at him, as he had put it. 

She particularly liked that one— he had been an adorable little chick.

Pleasantly surprised by his additions to her collection, she closed out of her photo gallery— and after a few moments of consideration, opted to look through the rest of her tablet to see what else Uthengentle had decided to put on there without her knowledge. Sneaky shite, she thought fondly.

Scrolling through the other files and folders that she had, she had begun to think that there was nothing else when a file caught her attention— she had never bothered to check her audio folder, knowing she had recorded nothing of the sort, but upon inspection, she found there was precisely one file to be found within.

Curious, Serella mused, tapping on the icon to bring the file up. She had half expected it to be only a few seconds long, perhaps long enough for Uthen to say something silly, when she was surprised to see that it was a few minutes long— and had been sitting on her tablet for some time, if the date on it was anything to go by. Comparing the timestamp to what the current date was put it at just under a year ago.

Her frown deepened as she tried to think of why that date was significant, though quickly gave up on the attempt; even with a calendar function on the tablet, she had not paid much mind to the precise when of her leaving Eorzea, and by the time she had thought to, it was a lifetime too late, and she was left adrift. She had decided that it was better that way.

Still, she pressed play and held the speaker end up to her ear, fully expecting to hear Uthen ramble about something that he was crafting or trying to craft. Perhaps he had inspiration for a new weapon augmentation — or it might have been Cid using it to test its functionality— 

“Ella,” a voice from what felt another lifetime said softly in her ear.

It was a moment before she realized who she was hearing, though when she did, her breathing stopped. His voice continued but she had to fumble desperately to pause the recording, unable to hear his words for how her heart pounded in her chest. 

Aymeric, she thought with aching, bittersweet warmth. 

It hurt more than she was prepared for, not having immediately recognized his voice— how long had she gone without hearing it? How long had she been away from home? She had dreams of him— and the rest of her family scattered throughout Eorzea— but with absence, their details had grown hazy in her mind. Their voices were distant echoes, their touch a forgotten memory. Hearing him again brought clarity to it all— and to how much her mind had blurred to numb her to the distance. To help her cope.

The date’s significance slammed into her mind with all the force of Titan’s fist: it was the night of the Alliance’s decision to liberate Ala Mhigo, to go to war in earnest against the Empire. The last night she had seen Aymeric, tucked away in their room in the Carline Canopy before he had to journey back to Ishgard, and she to Gyr Abania. He had known of the device— she had showed the Alliance Council the data on Omega that she had collected from Carteneau on this very same screen— and must have fumbled through figuring it out to record her a message. 

A message she found a year too late.

Still, she restarted the recording and held the tablet up to her ear with a trembling hand, her throat already closing around the lump that had formed within it.

“Ella,” the recording repeated. “I know not when you will find this. It is my intent for you to find this later, after you have left— or rather, that is my hope, presuming I have this figured out.” There was a breath’s length of a pause. “Before I say aught else, I should start with an apology. For everything that you are about to go through.

“For you are leaving on the morrow— somewhere that I cannot follow you. For the Alliance has asked it of you. For I have asked it of you.” She heard him take in a soft breath, and she forced down the lump in her throat. “I know you will contest me on that point, so I will say only that I am sorry that you have to leave at all. I am sorry that you must risk yourself in ways that few others are forced to.

“Though even as I am sorry… I cannot stress how proud I am of you. How proud I have always been of you. But know that I am not only proud of you in victory— pray know that I am proud of you for trying most of all, dearest. Even should the worst come to pass, that will never change.”

“Stop,” she wheezed despite knowing he could no longer hear her, despite never wanting to stop hearing his voice again. 

Her eyes stung. Breathing became difficult— it was as if, months before she would lie broken in the blood soaked sands of another nation he whispered a reassurance he would somehow know she needed. Perhaps she had always needed it regardless. Unaware of her anguish grounded in the past as he was, Aymeric’s recording continued on, and she continued to focus her entire being on it. 

“Though while I am apologizing, I would beg forgiveness for my...reservation. Earlier. Though we have only just...come to know one another, I know not why I had ever feared your touch for how I yearned to feel it. I feared that in seeing...me, you would be reminded of all that had transpired in the Vault..and the price of my folly. That it would hurt you to even look at me.” After a pause, he added in a whisper, “Never have I been happier to be wrong.”

Now that he murmured into her ear from that night so long ago she recalled it with aching clarity, and made a mental note to chastise him for apologizing. She knew what he was referring to— he had been reluctant to take his shirt off before they made love for the first time. She’d told him he could leave it on if he so chose— she had no preference— though he insisted that he would not want to hide aught from her. As it turned out, what he feared her seeing were his scars from his time in captivity.

Understandable, but silly. She’d told him as much between kissing every single one of them. She would tell him again in her next letter, whenever she would have the next opportunity to do so.

“I,” he breathed a laugh into the microphone, soft and disbelieving. “I find it strange, speaking to you like this. Knowing you are mere fulms away from me, this seems the coward's way of expression. You deserve to hear this in person, even if I did not know you will only hear this after we have parted— and for how long will we be apart, I wonder.”

She let out a sob and instantly clapped her free hand over her mouth— she would not dilute the sound of his voice with her blubbering, of all things. The blue of the night sky blurred— and almost looked like a familiar but half remembered coat she had not seen in over a year. Or rather...how she remembered it looking.

“You have said before that there have been lovers that have left,” he said in that slow, careful tone he had when he knew he was traversing a verbal minefield. Though he had rarely used it in speaking with her, she could hardly fault him for using it now. “That there have been those who have courted you falsely, and demanded you stay when the realm would yet need you— and when you would yet need the realm. I fear this might be in the back of your mind as you march on our command, that months and malms will sever our ties.”

Her throat closed, and she nearly choked on another sob. While it had been a scarred wound, she had shown it to him, much in the same way she had shown him every scar that marred her body that night in the Canopy. He would know that this would only needle at her nerves, her fear that her obligations would burn this bridge, too.

“Pray never fear that my heart will change— Ishgardians are not bred of fairweather stock. We endure the storm for the encroaching sun, come what may.” 

When he paused again, she wept in earnest— how did he managed to always find the words that she so desperately needed to hear? Even when he was no longer beside her?

She heard a shuffling sound— she could almost picture him shifting his weight from one foot to the other in that way he did when he wanted to say more.

“And...my heart already decided some time ago, Ella. I have been careful not to say overly much; I would not burden you with myself more than I already have.” She added chastising him for thinking himself a burden to the rapidly growing list of things her next letter would contain. “All the same, it felt...important that you know, given the circumstances. I love you.” 

Her heart almost stopped beating. 

“Please know, above all else, that I love you, Serella. With all that I am.” His voice cracked, and she curled tighter into herself, squeezing her eyes shut to better try and conjure a clear image of him in her mind— and cried when she could not.

The way her heart clenched made her wonder if it would burst under the pressure, even as she felt tears trek hotly down her face. She bit her knuckle to keep her sobs quiet and prayed he still had more to say— Gods, but what he had said had already been more than enough, more than she'd ever dared hope to hear him say.

“So rather than plead with you to stay, I would ask of you this: go, Serella.” He said, his voice soft but solid in his conviction. “Go and let your light push back against the dark. I shall be waiting, praying for the Fury to shield you.” He sighed deeply. “Though that is a prayer for the dawn. For tonight...I will simply pray for the strength to say all of this to you before you leave. But if my cowardice does not leave me before we sleep, then...goodnight, Ella. I love you.”

Just like that, the recording stopped.

It was an abrupt goodbye, rather different from the lingering, hesitant farewells they had exchanged in Gridania. 

The Fury must not have heeded his prayers for courage that night: he had said none of this to her. They had made love again upon her emergence from the baths— the only time he would have had to record this message— and though they spoke in quiet whispers lying in bed together for much of the night, he had said none of this.

Though he had certainly looked like he had more to say, she had noted at the time. 

Even standing at the crossroads, where she and Uthen would continue south and he and Lucia would continue north, they had lingered where their travelling companions had taken their paths a ways to give them privacy. Aymeric had looked as though he had more that weighed on him, even then. 

And this had been it. Telling her he loved her. 

She had hoped, had wanted to tell him of her heart besides but she had feared pressuring him— doubtless he had been driven to silence for much the same reasons. 

Before she had even realized what she was doing, she was scrabbling to her feet, her limbs imbued with frenetic, desperate energy. She felt her own aether near vibrating beneath her skin with the want to go home. Just for an hour. Just for a moment. Just long enough to find him, to be reminded of what shade of blue his eyes were and tell him she loved him, too, the sweet fool, and she could—

But...no. That wouldn’t be wise, she reminded herself, even as her eyes stung all over again. Never mind what time of day it would be in Eorzea— and he would likely just be unavailable besides— she had obligations here. While nothing prevented her from just leaving for a little while, to drain herself so heavily of aether for how vast such travel was when they were on the eve of the Nadaam; in comparison to how important this was— to help the Mol tribe, but also to further aid the liberation of Doma— and later Ala Mhigo— what she felt didn’t matter. What he felt...couldn’t matter. Not yet.

Though...it could matter enough. Enough to make her fight that much harder, push herself that much farther to accomplish her goal that much sooner. 

Better he not see her like this, anyroad. With hair haphazardly growing back in all manner of directions it could, with her eyes puffy and red, and trembling like a leaf. Better she meet him on the cusp of victory, on the edge of home— ideally, after she’d been able to get a full night’s sleep in, but that was fantasy.

Obligation fettered her in place— the aether she felt prickling under her skin like a thousand needles softened and dissipated. She could wait. She was fine. Sinking like a dropped anchor she scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. The other hand was already starting the recording over from the beginning, already pressing the device to her ear again that she might memorize the cadence of his voice once more. 

“Ella…” said Aymeric, and she was home again, if only for a moment.

#ffxiv #I am as ever your shield #Serella Arcbane #Aymeric de Borel #yeah that tomestone is getting more and more relevant the further into ShB I go... #this is gonna get referenced later #spoilers for stormblood #(mildly but tagging just in case) #featuring: that haircut Serella didn't ask for and that emote I gladly paid money for #I hope you all enjoy! #\o/

[starswornoaths]

Of the Sea...

Hello! Hi! This is a bit of Hanvesh’s backstory! I decided to do a lil mini series of these for Serella and Uthengentle’s parents, to chronicle how they wound up retiring in Gridania, and this is the first part of what (I think) will be four parts! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2,002

All things considered, Hanvesh had a pretty damn good life, he’d reasoned.

There were so few things more satisfying than feeling free on the high seas, bellowing shanties amidst cannonfire, the whistle of his arrows finding their marks on the occupants of enemy ships, the celebration of a hard won bounty and the taste of good mead on his tongue as he cheered with his shipmates after a good haul. He had not truly lived until he first felt the sway of the ocean on a ship deck, the wind on his face and a song on his lips.

For he had been recruited specifically for the fact that his songs were nothing short of magical, in every literal sense of the word — and Hanvesh made sure everyone knew about it. When their ship sailed into battle, his lyrics inspired and bolstered their men to accomplish astonishing feats they would have otherwise never achieved, and more often than not, was what had made the difference in many a decisive battle out in the briney blue. The ship’s reputation — and their coffers — grew to astronomical heights over the years; there was nary a pirate in all of Vylbrand that didn’t know what they were capable of, what they had already taken for themselves. Their galleon’s name — The Serpent’s Sting — was carved in the annals of history and lined with all the gold they had amassed. Hanvesh felt like he had, after years of struggle and dedication to his craft, at long last caught a northerly wind, and was soaring on sails filled with the sweet air of success. 

Until that self same wind dashed them all against the rocks.

It had been foolish to engage in battle with another ship in the eye of a storm, and they had all known it — but the captain had grown too cocksure, too arrogant with their string of good fortune. ‘The Navigator always steers us through, boys!’ The captain had cheered as he ordered them to sail head on into the oncoming storm in conquest for more loot. 

As Hanvesh looked down at what was left of the captain, he bitterly noted that he wasn’t saying much of anything anymore.

None of them were — save for him. He stood in shallow water, his clothes tattered, his bow broken and his spirit dead, alongside the rest of his crew. Their bodies all scattered around the remains of their beloved ship, their seafaring home, eerily still even in the rocking of the water. The waves — gentled now that the storm had passed — lapped at his ankles lazily, their froth ticking his skin. He stared and stared and stared out to the horizon, waiting, praying for a sign from Llymlaen showing him where to go.

Though, he mused sourly, surveying the destruction of everything that he had known for the better part of a decade, he wondered if, perhaps, the Navigator already had.

Somehow, astonishingly, Hanvesh had managed to make it ashore with only a few gashes and bruises to speak of — nothing short of a miracle, given that he was the only one to have made it at all. He was in shock, he realized with a manic chuckle, barely wheezed out of lungs that struggled to gulp in air even as he stumbled toward the wreckage, stepping into the gaping maw that the rocks had carved into the bilge. 

Looters would be along shortly — he would know more than most, and he didn’t want to walk away with nothing; even amongst the tattered remains of a life well lived, surely there was something to aid him? Much as it didn’t feel right to take anything from around the bodies of his fallen shipmates, if he was to even have a shot at living — for them, for himself — he would need all he could get. 

His faithful pack, a lovely hardleather thing stained a crimson almost as deep as its pockets had survived with him, blessedly, and he slung it on his back as he continued to fumble around the ship’s corpse — and the corpses of those that littered it — for anything that might be of use. He found a dagger that was still in good condition — Gilpin’s, he realized — and though he remembered the way the boatswain would often twirl it as he went about his business in mourning, he still slipped it into his belt and moved on, trying to remember the man as the lively quartermaster that he had been, and not the graying body with its head nearly severed that he ended up as.

Sure, they’d been pirates, but they had all deserved better, Hanvesh thought. And I should’ve died with ‘em. 

They had hardly kept all of their treasure aboard their ship — they had far too much of it — but there was more than enough gil kept on hand for trade that he could easily purchase arms and armor for himself — provided he made it back to a town. He hoarded every coin he found in his pack — he’d count it later. Scrambling up the remains of the companionway, he made it to the captain’s quarters, brushed past the barely there door that clung to the doorway by a bent hinge, and staggered inside.

Miraculously, the cabin was largely dry — and intact, save for the bits and baubles strewn about the floor, in pieces. Hanvesh stepped over them, pulling the maps and charts down from the wall and folding them carefully into his pack; he knew he would need them desperately. Amidst the broken trinkets on the floor, he found the captain’s compass, its weighted brass casing, while scuffed, had protected the compass from the wreck, and he pocketed it for use later. As his eyes wandered around the cabin for anything lightweight that he could put to use, he felt an anger swell in his chest the likes of which he had never felt before; they all wound up like this because of Captain Marlow — their captain, the man they had trusted to know what was best for the crew! And his folly had led them all here! For a few long moments, he stood there, letting the reality of the end of this chapter of his life — and how it all ended — sink in. 

Too long, he realized with a curse when he began to hear distant shouting. Looters had already found their wreckage — or local authorities had beaten them to it, for once — but either way, he needed to leave — now. He turned to leave when he caught sight of a small flag of theirs — with their colors — still intact on the wall. His hand, still trembling and clammy, gripped at the fabric and ripped it off the wall, stuffing it into his pack and clamoring out, climbing above the cabin and up onto the afterdeck, creeping along toward the upturned stern of the ship, he peered over the railing just in time to see who was approaching. 

They weren’t looters — couldn’t have been; their weapons were too nice, too standard issue, to say nothing of the uniforms. No, these were Knights of the Barracuda. A blessing, then — provided he slipped past them undetected; if he could spot which squadron they were, he would have a better understanding of where he was. 

Hanvesh flattened himself against the deck as much as he could, still watching them through the railings as the woman he presumed to be the squadron leader barked orders to search for survivors. His elongated ears pricked up at the sound of boots thumping against the remains of the deck wood, and cursed — he was trapped.

Unless, of course, the leader of the squadron moved. Clenching his hands into fists, he silently willed the woman to just move toward the ship bilge, the same way he had come up, so that he could slip over the railing and disappear into the trees just beyond the beach. If she didn’t…he unclenched a hand and gripped the hilt of Gilpin’s dagger. His hands might feel shaky, and he absolutely wasn’t at his full strength, but if it meant making it out alive… 

Still. Best to avoid confrontation, he decided.

Blessedly, Llymlaen had decided to grant him pity, as the woman stepped up to the bilge to inspect some of his fallen shipmates. Taking the opportunity for what it was, he shimmied between the railings, his long, narrow body easily slipping between two posts and allowing him to hang from the other side. 

As Hanvesh righted himself and just before he lowered himself to hang, he caught sight of one of the Barracudas who had climbed atop the afterdeck, though had not yet spotted him in the dark. He spied the crest on the shoulder of the armor — the 9th Squadron. So, he thought, glancing back into the thicket of trees. They had crashed in the Sea of Jade somewhere? He rather hoped it was farther in toward the Rothlyt Sound; he could slip into Gridania or Gyr Abania better that way. If he was on an island just off the shore…well. He’d stolen ships before.

Bracing himself— because he could hear the Knight on the afterdeck drawing closer— Hanvesh let go of the floorboard. 

His already uneasy legs buckled underneath him in the wet sand, and though he sunk to his knees he scrabbled to stand under himself and the added weight of his pack. Though he teetered on falling on his side like a baby turtle he managed to right himself despite his muscles, his very skin protesting his movements, and sprinted into the treeline.

There came a shout from one of the Knights that he heard someone take off into the trees, and Hanvesh spat a curse, even as he begged his body to obey him and move faster. He couldn’t hope to out maneuver them with stealth; though his wounds were not grievous, they still bled, and hounds that the Knights of the Barracuda were, they’d sniff him out afore he had even gotten his bearings. In the thicket of trees that he now dashed and stumbled through, however, they were slower than he, and he used that to his advantage. 

The trunk of a mighty tree splintered near his shoulder— a bullet! Hanvesh realized with alarm when his ears rang with the crack of ignited gunpowder— they were opening fire on him! Did they think him a bandit, or worse, did they not want survivors to cry foul for them taking the Devil’s cut of his ship’s hard won plunder?

Doesn’t matter, have to keep moving, Hanvesh decided, beginning to duck and weave in odd patterns to avoid making his path a straight line: if these bastards wanted a shot at him, they’d have to work for it.

So Hanvesh ran. He ran and ran until his ears could no longer pick up on the sounds of his pursuers shouting commands at one another. He ran until the whistle of stray bullets faded away until there was only the rhythmic thumping of his feet on the hard earthen ground. He ran until he saw the trees thin out and give way to walking trails and silence reigned in the forests. He ran until he all but collapsed against a guidepost panting, flushed, and trembling like the leaves that fluttered in his wake. 

Still, his eyes yet availed him, and he looked up at the sign— Northeast up the path to Gridania, forty malms. His poor fortune had lifted, somewhat: at least he knew he was close to civilization. He need only make it there without dying in the process.

His spirits still heavy and his limbs like lead, Hanvesh Arcbane moved onward and upward, to what he could only hope were better prospects than the rubble of the life he left behind.

#ffxiv #Hanvesh Arcbane #woo pirate shennanigans! #\o/ #another one I'd been sitting on for a while #up next: Myrina! #I hope you enjoy! #no spoilers here #but mentions of some 1.0 lore

[starswornoaths]

Nature Aesthetics! - Serella Arcbane

bold the natural aesthetics that appeal to / apply to your muse.  repost, do not reblog.  feel free to add any natural features you see fit !

fluffy white nimbus clouds.   dark grey cumulonimbus clouds.   rainclouds.   a hurricane.   light spring breeze.   a sherbert-colored sky at sunrise.   hazy yellow skies.  deep blue ponds of fresh water.   blankets of sparkling snow.   tornado winds.   monsoon flooding.   rich orange sunsets.   soft, purple clouds at dusk.   heavy hail.   the rumbling of thunder.   icy sleet.  gentle snowfall.  moss-dusted tree bark.   pink sunset clouds.   grey winter skies.   navy blue skies in the daytime.   cool mist in the morning.   leaf-bare trees.   giant ocean wave.  the full moon.   a cracked, dry desert.   rolling hills of prairie grass.   sweeping waves of briny seawater.  rocky, steep ravines.   rippling canyon walls.   spindly, cave stalactites.   creeping green ivy.   lush canopies of leafy trees.   dense, white fog.  a peaceful creek of clear water.   flowering cacti dusted with dew, catching light in the morning sun.   a bubbling, hot pool of volcanic sulfur.   sharp, grey mountainsides.  fossils nestled in chunks of rock. a white sand beach.   dark water.   deep imprints of animal tracks in the dirt.   soft, squishy moss.   uniform rows of birch trees in winter.   delicate mushrooms popping up in spring from beneath the decay on the forest floor.   tumbleweeds jerking in the faintest wind across the desert landscape.   light rain.   white feathers fluttering down from flocks of doves in the sky.  summer wildfires.   a mixing of hot and cool air before a storm.  silent lightning in the static of summer heat.   a windy blizzard.   thick flakes of snow tumbling down from the sky.   a tree standing alone in a barren field.   a desert of loose sand and tall, orange dunes.   a pure blue sky.   a river of molten rock.   a grove of flowering trees.  twisting, mangled roots sticking up from the muddy ground.   bitter, cold winds.  tumultuous skies of stormy clouds.   branches of lightning ripping across the sky.   a foggy swamp.   the tree-bare foothills of a mountain range.   sandy brown cliffsides. rocky coastlines.   the violent shaking of an earthquake.   the mysterious sound of ethereal trumpets in the sky.   the lights of the auroras borealis and australis.   a black sand beach.   a lone tropical island in the reef of shallow.   underwater volcanic vents.   a herd of migrating mammals.   tree branches growing heavy with ripe fruit.   light streaming down through the clouds.  a field of lush grain wading peacefully in the summer breeze.   the sound of insects and frogs teeming in the night.   natural diamonds nestled in coarse desert sands.   a frozen lake.  the sea salt scent of the air right above the ocean.   the rippling of water as fish dive down under the surface to hide.   the warmth of the seaside sand in the tropics.   the quaint of a spider’s web balancing dew on its threads at dawn.

TAGGED BY: an utter darling by the name of @cielcrd! Thank you, dear! :D

TAGGING:   @glyphenthusiast, @aethernoise, @ahlis-xiv, @rhymingteelookatme, @autumnslance, @holyja, and you!

#Serella Arcbane #ffxiv rp asks #this was fun! #I should probably establish more of Serella's formative years #so it's less weird that she's a stupidly good tracker and shit #for...relevant things later. #*eyes emoji*

[starswornoaths]

Kiwi Midori: a creative arts headcanon

wow holy shit I’ve had this in my drafts forever??? I meant to answer it??? Thank you for your patience??? I’ll do a fairly large one for each of the siblings to try and make up for it??? Thank you???

Serella has a lot of creative arts interests- drawing, writing, learning instruments, and a not insignificant amount of the crafting classes. For much of ARR she struggled not with interest, but with keeping herself motivated because she had this awful garbage habit of comparing herself to people who have already mastered it and gets the idea “I can’t make that so I need to throw myself at this until I can” and then just burns out. 

Then the Scions were slaughtered at the Waking Sands. I joke that that’s when she really started to have creative art interests. It was more than just a thing she needed to get better at; it helped her cope. She wound up mastering goldsmithing in those days where she mildly snapped and just holed up in the Waking Sands just to see if one Livia sas Junius would show up again and she’d get her vengeance. Working on something as detail oriented as jewelry making helped her keep her distracted and focused on anything but the fact that she let them down. After that, and after Operation Archon, creative arts became a way to wind down, a way to distract herself with something productive while she works out her own thoughts and feelings.

Uthengentle has fewer creative arts interests than his sister, though his are more focused in nature; where Serella is a sort of jack-of-all trades type of creative, Uthengentle excels in exactly two places: building and modifying arms and armor, and aesthetic.

Specifically, he became a master armorer and blacksmith, perfected the basics, and from there learned how to incorporate his own style. Taking beats from goldsmiths and painters, he figured that he liked a certain look, so why not just add that to what he was wearing? He might as well like the things he was made to wear. He started simple, back when he was still an up and coming marauder with basic embellishments on his gear. The small, custom details were quickly picked up by those he worked with- adventurers all love them a bit of individuality, especially when they’re used to being lumped together and assumed as “just like all the rest,” and through commissions and custom deliveries, he quickly learned how to make his detailing and customization work more and more intricate until he nailed his aesthetic. Never mind that his aesthetic is ‘dark metal with spikes and hidden weapons for extra options in combat and t h e  d r a m a’

#I...have no idea how long this has been here #but thank you for the ask!!! #and your patience like my goodness #aethernoise #Serella Arcbane #Uthengentle Arcbane