Anchor Saltborn

Inspiration blog for Anchor Saltborn (FFXIV) ►Ex-Confederate ►Corrupted Aether

[anchor-management]

FFXIVWrite-ish 2025 - Prompt 20: Sylvan

Prompts from here.

--- The chill had warded away most sounds of insects, leaving behind scarcely more than the whistle of wind and the creak of branches of the broad, ancient trees that inhabited the Shroud. A fitting name; the leaves that still clung to the wood knitted together like a woven canopy above, the sky only revealed in pockets where the foliage allowed. 

Anchor found himself slowing to a stop before one of the broad trunks, his breath rasping out faintly between the part of his lips. 

There were plenty of accounts as to the voices of the world. Kami were the first he learned of in his time East. Not unlike spirits, or elementals; they were something to be handled with a quiet respect. Anchor wasn’t one to revere them, but he acknowledged their existence and their effect on individuals and the world.

Then came Nabi, extending a hand towards the world as she did a friend, not only able to listen, but communicate. Hells, even without any sort of communion, she wasn’t beyond simply talking to the very earth as casually as one might recount their day.

But never taken for granted, was it; the wonder that colored her words each and every time was testament to that.

With her help, he had even heard it once… 

Anchor’s leftmost, marred hand pressed to the bark, the light scrape of wood against the corrupted flesh emitting as it slid over the trunk as if feeling for a pulse. 

The hyur closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to remember the feeling in those rare moments with Nabi when their cores seemed to sync up. 

Despite the weariness clawing at his body since corruption induced that wretched stupor, he was patient; like a statue he remained posed at the base of the tree, trying to focus on something tangible and alive. Stretched out seconds, to methodical minutes, until the pangs stinging at his veins became more than background noise.

But he felt nothing there.

And he heard nothing.

Anchor’s hand slid away and fell limply to his side. 

Of course it wouldn’t be the same; with Nabi, there was something familiar to reach for. But the voice he sought was too far away. 

He had so many questions, but more than anything, he just wanted to apologize. Because he felt like… he understood, now.

But, mayhap that was wishful thinking. 

“Hm,” he mused. Wishful. 

A bit late, wasn’t it, 

Chanai?

[nicostiel]

[mydevilishgrace]

[pillowgraveyard]

[mirayama]

[okolnir]

scared shadowbringers bad ending cat

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[anchor-management]

C&F: Corruption Arc

Featuring: @sea-and-storm [Ghoa Mankhad], @shaelstormchild [Shael Stormchild], @anchor-management [Anchor Saltborn] and [Brick], @afreesworn [Nabi Kharlu] and [Roen Deneith], @sentryandco [Egil Nylor] and [Estrid Nylor] + ∞ NPCs, @tribblesfuriousart [Buoy Saltborn] [Diya-something-or-other], @banquoviaquo [Gideon North], [Orfeuille], [Luri Kai].

Until Dashboard format isn't borked, you can view full post formatted correctly here.

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The group's search for answers has taken them from The Far East, to the shores of Vylbrand. Their continued research into corrupted aether leads them to investigate a reclusive "Doctor Nylor", a name given by an ailing man--Abner Funk--that had a curious and yet similar sickness as Anchor during a visit to The Salt Strand.

Things quickly go wrong when the group splits to investigate the lead on two different fronts: Nabi and Ghoa devise a plan to infiltrate a theatre posing as entertainers, while Anchor and Shael travel to Upper La Noscea to follow a lead concerning the doctor's apparent employment of ailing individuals.

Separated and without contact due to a number of troubling circumstances, multiple plans fall into action over the course of the following days--with the help of some allies and friends in the midst--all eventually converging on Doctor Nylor's residence.

Of course, no amount of planning could prepare them for what surprises lay in wait...

- - - - -

- - - - -

Some closer-ups.

This pic took entirely too long to do. That is all.

Oh, just that and the fact I appreciate the people involved in this ongoing story of stories. It's been years actual years and that is pretty cool.

[animepopheart]

★ 【ZXin】 「 ff14 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter

[quotemadness]

“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.”

— George R.R. Martin

[afreesworn]

First Snow!

Every time @britishmuffin draws Nabi, I just get this cozy warm feeling. She looks so SOFT!! And her mood is so perfect!!

Nabi is wearing the winter coat from the AU cafe art that Muffin blew me away with two years ago.

THANK YOU SO MUCH Muffin!!

[butt-berry]

FFXIV Doman leadership making another cool and logical plan to blow up their own castle. I'm not sure why they did that the first time tbh but I still love them.

[sonrycosplay]

Crystal Exarch

photo by Makks_tobi, cosplay by me

[anchor-management]

Growing Concern

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[TW] Body horror? Probs.

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It was impossible to forget the feeling within those tunnels. Dark, dim, humid, and often so cramped you could smell the breath of the person working beside you. The stench of sweat permeating the stale, thick air, accented only by the aroma of ozone and earth. With every strike of the pick, he knew one wrong move could be his last. He’d seen it so many times before–whether it was the wrong part of rock, or the wrong part of crystal–either leading to one getting crushed and battered, or a good and much needed piece of one’s self torn asunder by the corrupted energies being abruptly unleashed. 

Anchor drew back the pickaxe in his hands, readying it for another swing. He could see his mark, the divot he’d already created to guide his aim. As the sweat dripped down between his shoulder blades, he brought the tool back down towards the stone surrounding one of those dimly lit crystals, the eerie amber glow enveloping his form in a swathe of radiating warmth. 

ping.

The familiar ringing sound of metal on solid rock pierced his ears as the tool met earth, and suddenly the hyur’s pick was embedded, not within the cavern wall he remembered so vividly on that island, but within a figure. Except, in place of flesh and blood was earth and crystal.

The creature’s ghastly face lifted slowly and stared back at him. No eyes; just that dimly glowing amber. The place where a mouth might be split open in a hissing wheeze, gradually revealing the molten insides of its cavernous maw. It got closer. The heat grew more intense. Anchor tried to get away, but he was held in place. There were many more of them. Once men, lost to the effects of the corrupted aether flooding the depths beneath the lighthouse he had been sent to; their features all distorted and deformed around the crystal protruding throughout their bodies. 

Closer. The very air started to swirl and waver between them, the intense heat making his eyes squint as the moisture was pulled from them. Closer. He could feel own skin peeling away, the reddish glow overtaking his senses, consuming him. His lips split as he opened his mouth to breathe; to scream. 

Anchor gasped in a ragged breath, and his eyes reopened not to cavern walls, but to tile, his senses returning to familiar pain throughout his lungs, limbs, and the feeling of water pelting overhead. 

The hyur reached numbly for the faucet, quieting the hiss of water pouring through the pipes until silence overcame the small shower. He sat there for a moment longer, letting the current reality clear the recent nightmare wrought by memories old and new. 

Roen and he had returned to the tavern. Things appeared to have slowed down enough. Or rather, he finally allowed himself to slow down, now that the situation apparently was under control. So, he finally made time to wash away the suns of sweat, dirt, and sick. 

A shame to say it didn’t make him feel much better. 

It wasn’t because of the aggravating ache permeating from his core and throughout, but rather it was this whole situation which left a restless, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. 

Anchor pulled himself upright, grabbing for a towel as he stepped out of the shower, water dripping off in his wake as his bare feet dragged over slick tile. His thoughts were still busy with this whole mess as he dried his hair. The ruined opportunity to meet with Doctor Nylor for one, which led to him being rendered unconscious for several suns due to overexposure of saturated, corrupted aether within the lighthouse. 

But mostly, it was the absence of any word from Nabi. Ghoa too, though recently Stormchild was able to make contact. But, why hadn’t either of them left word before then? Especially Nabi. 

No matter how much reassurance he got, nothing felt right about this. How could it, knowing they were in the estate of some doctor likely poisoning his patients with the very corrupted aether he claims to cure? He never much liked the idea of Nabi studying such aether as his in the first place, much less with some lunatic! 

He tossed down the towel onto the sink in a short burst of frustration, leaning his hands against the basin of it with a heavy sigh as it just as quickly left him. His gaze lingered, crestfallen at his own ineptitude to do aught but wait until he was updated. Curse this body. His eyes narrowed over to the left arm steadying over the sink, onto the hideous charred-like growth scarred along his forearm, then slowly lifted to the unfortunate reflection that greeted him in the mirror mounted just above. 

Anchor never really was one to look at himself fully. Suffice to say, he didn’t much like what he saw; the lack of restful sleep over the sennight, the aether sickness, and the usual aches and pains all took its toll. His calloused fingers ran over his more pronounced cheekbone, following it over the bruise-like circle under his eye. 

His eye… 

As he leaned in closer, Anchor could see within the unnatural crimson; something so small, it almost looked like a trick of the light. Small veins glimmered within, that sickening amber color he knew so well. And the longer he stared at it, the more pronounced it seemed, almost like it was glowing brighter, and brighter. Or was it that, in fact, it was growing? His chest felt tight suddenly, and his lips parted to take in a tentative breath. Despite the building panic, he couldn’t seem to look away, just watching as that eerie glow seemed to fill his iris, flooding crimson within amber. It melted into his sclera, then peeled back his eyelashes and eyelid, breaking into the flesh surrounding it. 

He watched in horror as charred earth split around a fissure of corrupted aether, spreading through his features like burning paper. He tried to gasp, but he could not breathe. All he could do was watch his reflection as his hardening lips peeled open into a gaping, glowing maw, the memory of those corrupted figures mirroring onto his image as dark ichor poured from the corners of his mouth.

Anchor’s back met the opposing wall in a heavy thud as he pressed a hand to his features, ready to claw at the formations overtaking him, but all that was felt there was skin. His skin, just as it had been before. Short, halting breaths puffed between his palm and fingers, and he slowly lowered them to look back to the mirror. 

There was no growth or alteration on his face, nor further around his eyes.

Not yet. 

Anchor stood there, breathing raggedly, regaining his equanimity, then let his features sink back into his hand. 

[shaelstormchild]

Prompt 18: Reticent

Shael slid down the wall she had been leaning on, the tension that had held her muscles ready for the last few bells finally wearing upon the woman. She set her gun down next to her and pushed up the magitek goggles to sit atop her forehead, a deep frown taking permanent residence upon her visage since the moment she had entered the manse.

She had to keep going over all that she knew in her head, else the devastating news that Ghoa had shared about Nabi’s whereabouts would provide too sharp a distraction. And if she allowed that to happen, Shael knew she would give into the temptation to storm out the door in an instant, unleashing her fury upon anyone she came across. Whether they were complicit or not.

And while there was an insidious voice inside her that whispered that it was indeed her true desire, Shael managed to stay put, her glare boring into the door across the room, turning her focus onto the next steps.

Ghoa only knew the rough layout of the place, and certainly not the location of the Doctor’s laboratory where Nabi was being kept. If what Shael suspected was true, and this Doctor was conducting all manner of experiments on living people, this facility couldn’t be on the main floor or even the manse proper. If he had a habit of keeping a person in a cage, the room had to be fortified and hidden so that such deeds would escape notice. After all, they were in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Mist.

As Ghoa’s bedroom easily demonstrated, the normal quarters of the estate were visible and too easily accessible. This meant that the doctor’s workshop was elsewhere. It was possible that he hid it somewhere within the theater next to the manse. The building looked newer than the house itself, it could have been constructed within, or hidden below the structure. Or, since Mist had a deep winding sewer system below all the houses, there could be a basement or something deeper underground. And an old estate like this always had hidden passageways and doors.

There were too many unknown variables. And the more uncertain Shael became of her next steps, the more intrusive Ghoa’s earlier words became. He experiments upon her. She is being held caged.

Shael dug her fingers into the plush rug that spanned the entire room. She tore off a piece of the woven fiber, her own fingernail chipping at the edges from the harsh grip. But the pain made it easier for her to focus.

She couldn’t trust the handmaiden no matter what Ghoa’s impressions of her. But she was the best one to tap for the layout of the place, especially if the servant knew enough about how Nabi was being kept; she may have even been to the laboratory. Shael just might have to force herself to wait until the morning, when the maid delivers the items promised to Ghoa. If all things seem in order, then maybe they will trust her to outline a path to the laboratory.

Then of course, there was the matter of Ghoa’s own plan—of charging her own aether, to the brink of corruption level of instability, so that she could induce a fit in the Doctor’s sister. Ghoa was wagering that she could use either his sister as a bargaining chip for Nabi, or use her heightened aetheric abilities to unleash chaos upon the house, allowing Shael and Brick to do what they needed to do.

A risky bet, for sure, one that Shael would not have been in favor of, had the stakes not been so high. They didn’t have any other choice.

But they weren’t back in the fighting pits, where all that mattered was getting Nabi out alive, everyone else be damned. Back then, Shael would have easily left everyone else to their own fates. 

And now? Shael’s first priority was to get Nabi free—that was not in question. But it didn't end there. Just as she had left Anchor behind to keep him alive, she couldn’t leave Mankhad to fend for herself.

She just needed to figure out how to get all of them out alive.

[afreesworn]

Ghoa and Shael

Two mighty fine ladies!

@britishmuffin completely blew me away with this picture of Ghoa and Shael. From Shael’s perfect attitude and badassery to Ghoa’s stunning beauty that just barely hides her inner strength, I am flabbergasted.

THANK YOU SO MUCH MUFFIN!!! Your art is always SO wonderful!

Featuring @jaliqai-and-company and @shaelstormchild ’s LOVELY characters that Nabi is so lucky to know.

[finishing-touch]

ShB/EW Gif Commissions

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[sea-and-storm]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #6: Onerous (Arukh)

To say that Arukh felt out of place walking amongst the seaside caverns of the Mankhadi udgan and their apprentices was but an understatement of woeful proportion.

Not only had it been the better part of two decades since last he had set foot upon his own people's lands, but even before his Choosing, he had never once walked these hallowed seaside corridors of stone and salt. None did, save for the Storm and the Sea's children. Such was a privilege - or a sentence - afforded only to those like his sister, favored by their gods. 

Occasionally, others of means were allowed brief entry when the need to consult with the tribe's advisors and lorekeepers arose. The khan of the Shuurga, for one, but never those of simpler origins such as himself. So whenever he had received the summons to speak directly with the Elder Stormcaller in her own Cloister, Arukh had been shocked.. but not exactly humbled by the invitation, for a host of his own personal reasons and misgivings.

He carried himself with spine straight and rigid as the well-worn blade he had been asked to leave behind before entry would be permitted. His face was a careful mask of neutrality, but the whitening of his scarred knuckles as his hands tightened into fists at his side might have betrayed more emotion than he wished. Not to mention the occasional thrash of the darkly scaled tail that followed in his wake.

If the older man next to him noticed the signs of his irritation, however, naught was said of it. Such was the way of him, as Arukh recalled, never one wont to invoke any manner of unnecessary conflict. Baidu Khan of the Shuurga had led his people through countless storms in his years, ever the steady hand that guided the clan through choppy waters but never the one to rock the boat upon which they sailed. 

When Arukh had been but a fresh-faced boy, he had admired Baidu's placid and measured carriage, every bit the image of the calm that lie within the Storm's eye. The Shuurga had always treated him with great respect and reverence precisely because of his even-keeled temper and his wisdom. 

Amongst the Kharlu, however, he'd heard no few cruel jests and insults levied at his former leader. Baidu the Coward, as he had heard the Kharlu warriors refer to him on no few occasions, was but the most mild of monikers of which he had learned. Such had irked him, but none had incensed him as much as hearing him denigrated and derided as Bayanbataar's most fruitful whore by one of the Kharlu fighters that had sought to get a rise out of him. 

He's given the Khan more children than all his wives combined, the man had sneered as he had poked and prodded for chinks in Arukh's normally impregnable, icy armor. Weak though they are, at least they're good to fall upon the sword in his true childrens' stead.

Arukh wasn't proud of the fact that the man had successfully found a weak spot that cracked his carefully maintained mask of detached apathy. He was proud, however, that he had handily laid his harasser out cold in the dirt in front of his own kin, and left him with a few less teeth in his head besides. 

As he fixed Baidu with a sidelong glance of his seaglass eyes, the battle-scarred warrior wondered if those same jeers had ever crossed the coastlands' winds back to his ears. He wasn't sure that even if they had, that the Mankhadi Khan would have done more than accept them in his usual silence. Worse, Arukh didn't know after having spent so much time amongst the Kharlu where might made right, if the thought of him turning the other cheek to the insult impressed him with Baidu's unflappability or disappointed him for its passivity. 

 "The Elder Stormcaller rarely leaves the Cloister these days," he explained as he escorted Arukh through the winding corridors carved out naturally by thousands of years of sea’s ingress. "Age catches up with her and her health is declining, which is why she has asked you come to her instead of answering your summons. I pray you will not take her request as a slight."

Something about the explanation and roundabout apology struck him, though it took a moment for him to place his thumb on the discomfort's source. It was that he spoke to Arukh with the same cool, careful deference that was normally reserved for the Kharlu anytime they descended upon their camp. Realizing that the other man viewed him now not as a former clansman sharing the bond of blood but as one of their brutal protectors that expected submission made Arukh’s stomach churn uneasily. 

Now it suddenly made much more sense why Baidu Khan himself had seen fit to guide him, rather than one of the handful of young apprentice udgan now quickly scurrying out of their way. The last Baidu had seen Arukh had been when he had been surrendered to the Kharlu, and surely he had never expected to see him returned. That he was here again now so many years later must’ve made clear that he had earned his place amongst them, rising from his former slavehood by merit of ferocity. The Kharlu considered him as one of their ilk now, even if he knew they would always view him as lesser. And considering that he had not shared the reason of his calling, the shrewd Khan would naturally be left with only the assumption that Arukh was here on their protector tribe’s behalf than a matter far more personal. 

His mouth opened at once to correct those surmised assumptions that Arukh suspected Baidu of harboring, but stopped short. He could not – would not – admit that he had come here upon Ghoa’s request to relay her messages. 

No one besides those she had tasked him with reaching could know that Bayanbataar’s Escaped Wife not only lived, but had recently set foot upon coastland soil once more. None could know that she sought to return one day besides. If word were to somehow make its way back to the Kharlu Khan’s ear, his unrelenting hunt for his sister would assuredly alight with renewed intensity fueled by more than a decade’s worth of pent up cruelty and frustration. The Far East had likewise become far easier to traverse in the wake of the defeat of the iron men of Garlemald than it had been when Ghoa had first fled, and so Arukh doubted not that Bayanbataar would send his finest trackers even beyond the Steppe’s furthest borders in pursuit of his greatest humiliation if given the chance.

The already tight fists at his side only tightened further with the knowledge that he could offer no reassurance to Baidu of his intentions without arousing suspicion. It kindled anger within his breast, to know that he would have to continue playing the role of the Kharlu envoy rather than that of the long-lost son of the sea returning to the shores of home. That he would have to endure being treated as an unwanted, untrusted stranger in his own homeland.

What an onerous duty this had suddenly become.. but one he certainly could not begrudge Ghoa for asking. Until Arukh could bring peace to these lands to clear the way for her safe return, it was the least she deserved.

“Elder Unegen,” Baidu announced as the pair reached the corridor’s end, opening into a wide cavernous cove that echoed with the soft churning of the waters pooled at its center and the ever-present drip of moisture off stone that would’ve driven Arukh mad to endure days in and days out. “Arukh Kharlu answers your summons, if you would kindly receive him.”