Black Rose of Haillenarte

Balmung - Militant Orthodox Chirurgeon - Always LFRP -main blog: klynk-klank - lebeaux.carrd.co

[tranxio]

FOR THE LAST TIME

👏 APOSTASY is the rejection of a faith after having professed it;

👏 HERESY is selective belief in only some of the tenets of a faith one professes, or belief in tenets contrary to those of a faith one professes;

👏 BLASPHEMY is derogation of the honour due to God.

[orcboxer]

and babey I'm a triple threat

[thedeafprophet]

I love when trauma makes characters messy. I love when characters don't know how to show love. I love when they lash out. I love when they're vile and break down. I love characters who aren't perfect victims. I love when stories don't excuse behaviour but allow you to understand it

[stars-and-clouds]

This is just my understanding of the Ishgardian power hierarchy as I gathered from the game and the undermentioned sources.

some notes:

The church’s power mostly ‘technically’ spans over the orange blocks but some of the green blocks too. It should be noted, however, that Ishgard is a theocracy and religion practically rules over everything. Some examples of lose church power is that, the ruling houses seem to always have some cardinals appointed inside the church from their own house. It is, of course, not clear that it is forced upon the houses or the houses do it to have power inside the church. I wish there was a clearer explanation of this.

In regards to the lose connection between the inquisition and the ruling houses, it seems the houses do fear the authority of the inquisition officers and the inquisitor even by high standing lords (and knights) like Haurchefant and Francel. This is odd since nothing suggests they are above the ruling houses as it is my understanding that the ruling houses are basically a council of rulers in Ishgard, so, they shouldn’t be beneath the vault technically but they seemed to be practically. Religion rules.

I did not find examples any knights sworn to the minor houses, so it seems only the ruling houses have knights sworn to them and the minor houses sends their members to be sworn to the ruling houses, something like bannermen. This might not be for life, however, as seen by the knight Ser Carrilaut who used to serve house Haillenarte but has moved to serve house Dzemael when we meet him for the quest ‘The Rose and the Unicorn’.

*I apologise for the typo in the infographic: Next to the block of ‘minor house,’ the noble title should be ‘Viscount/Viscountess,’ not ‘Visount/Visountess’ lel

As always, respectfully correct me if I have made some mistakes.

Hope this helps people =D

Sources:

Haillenarte on tumblr

Ishgardian Lore Document

Encyclopaedia Eorzea- I by Square Enix

[imjusthella-gay]

“you’re so mean to me “ yeah and you get off to it what’s your point

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

𝘔𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘔𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦 @blackrose-ffxiv

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 ~ @blackrose-ffxiv

[sivar-ffxiv-hub]

𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦

@blackrose-ffxiv

[blackrose-ffxiv]

22. Fulsome

"Go on, I did not tell you you were finished." A quiet voice practically purred, the speaker comfortably reclined in an overstuffed chair a cup of overly sweetened milk tea fortified with brandy in his hands and a dessert plate scraped clean on the armrest beside him.

"Really? I don't know how many more ways I can tell you how pretty you are, Lebeaux. We've been at for half a bell already. My arms are starting to ache..."

The complaints were met with the dig of a tall bootheel into the Duskwight's side and though he gave a quiet yelp it was clear it had been the intended result of his back-talk by the way his lithe body squirmed after.

"Then find something else to speak on. I have no shortage of exceptional qualities, you should be grateful for the opportunity to worship me so for bells at a time, not whining." Lebeaux declared with a haughty lift of his chin and another dig of his heel into another patch of yet-unbruised skin.

"Perhaps a different game may well suit better." Offered a third voice, low with a definite purr to it rather than implied as the Ishgardian's had been. "Ives has been most fulsome indeed with his praises, has he not?" The Gelmorran suggested, bending at the waist into a deep bow as he reached for Lebeaux's plate with intention of whisking it away to fill it with a fresh slice of luxurious late-summer berry tart. "T'would be a shame to fill up on hors d'oeuvres and leave no room for the main course."

Lebeaux's hand darted out, circling around Guiscard's wrist to keep him from moving away just yet. Fingers tightening until the tips of nails filed to wicked points bit into exposed skin between glove and shirtsleeve. Thick lashes narrowed until his icy gaze was mere slits, full lips still curved in a serene smile as he glared at the the roué who simply smiled right back at him despite the audacity of his suggestion. A glimmer of playful bemusement in the molten gold of his own gaze upon the petulant Ishgardian, a soft sigh exhaled at the first blush of crimson seeping into the fabric of his shirt cuff.

"Very well." Lebeaux finally allowed, pushing Guiscard's wrist away roughly. The Gelmorran straightened, expertly tilting his hand with the motion to ensure the fork precariously balanced on the plate did not slide off onto the ground despite the abrupt dismissal. "You may get up." The Ishgardian instructed Ives, languidly stretching his legs as a cat may before he lifted his boots up off of the Sharlayan's back. He waited until Guiscard was focused on cutting the sweet and Ives was halfway up onto his feet before he extended his leg again, giving the Sharlayan one parting bootheel to the hip to knock him back down to the ground. Casually crossing one leg over the other after as though that had been his intention all along and Ives had only gotten in the way of it.

"You will continue another time. Take this reprieve to think on what you will say." He ordered with a haughty sniff.

Ives snickered as he pried himself up from the rich carpet, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ear as he smiled up at the Ishgardian. "Anything you want, my agony." He promised.

@sivar-ffxiv-hub

[blackrose-ffxiv]

26. Last

The last piece was finally there in his hands. It had taken well over a turn to procure all of the necessary pieces. To make the right contacts, to coerce them into unwittingly assisting. Keeping all of them in the dark as to what the others were up to. All of the planning, the manipulation and the blackmail leading up to this.

It wasn't much to look at, all told. A shriveled bit of flesh and bone preserved through traditional and aetherial means. The last lingering scraps of a long-forgotten Saint. The remains had been encased in a beautiful gold and glass reliquary and proudly displayed in a Coerthan chapel before the never-ending winter destroyed the structure. Prayed to by countless faithful over the years. Steeped in their hopes, their fears... but most importantly, their fury. Now, it rested nestled in a satin lined box, awaiting all of that compounded emotion to be put to good use.

He was the answer to those prayers. He was the fury that would tear down the false promises of the Republic. He was the terror to be struck into the heart of every faithless heathen who had dared to pour through Her gates. He was the hope to bring about the golden age of Ishgard, to replace this crippled truce with the true peace of victory. He would call upon the Goddess Herself and through him She would speak Her truth.

Everything was ready. The last piece was his. The box's lid was gently closed and set down on the table. The time was nigh. He reached for his forgotten cup of tea, realizing only then that his fingers were trembling.

All the pieces would be in place come dawn. All had been arranged just as demanded of him. He had followed the path laid out for him. Now, perhaps finally, that voice would be satisfied and allow him rest. It would all be over. It should have been a relief... so, why then, was he so very afraid?

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 23: Classified

Prompt 23:  Suit - FFXIV Write 2023 Characters:  Kyllian de Fosse, Davor de Sarconne; indirect reference to Lebeaux @blackrose-ffxiv and mention of Grym @gorgagne-viperidae

“Oh, come on, Davor”  Kyllian exclaimed.  He was hard-pressed to keep the exasperation from his voice.  “I’ve been an excellent inquisitor for the Tribunal for near on a dozen years. I rarely miss a mark and you damn well know it.”

The Inquisitor in charge of his particular division, Kyllian could almost call a friend.  Davor de Sarconne was his elder by about fifteen years and had been his mentor in the early months.  When the man took his current position, Kyllian was one of his staunchest supporters.  Davor ran his hands through his hair, the short strands standing on end and making the grey streaking through the mahogany starker.

“Look, Kylli.”  Davor stared at him across his desk.  “I hate to do this to you. I really do.  You’re right.  You always get your man, but this time–”

“A desk job?”  Kyllian planted his hands on his hips and let his head hang.  “I’d rather resign.”

“And do what?  Half of Ishgard will hold your parentage against you and the other half will balk at your former position as an inquisitor.”  Exasperation crept into Davor’s voice.  “Yes, sure, pushing papers is dull, but it’s good pay in your pocket, Kyllian.  Maybe in time, you’ll be well enough for field work again.  If I put you out there now, it’s too risky.”

A disgruntled noise rumbled in Kyllian’s throat. He turned to pace across the office.  “Who is getting my case?”

“That’s classified and you know it.”  Davor grunted at him.  He settled back in his chair, watching Kyllian pace and wincing every time he limped. “I can tell you there’s no further leads.  This Grym’s just vanished into the snow again after her cronies blew that barn sky high with you in it.”

“I can find her again, Davor.” Kyllian turned back toward his supervisor.  “Just give me the chance.  I’m the only Inquisitor best suited for tracking her down.”

“Even if that’s the case, Kyllian, the best I can do is leave you on as a consultant for the case.”  Davor fell quiet for a moment, then reached across his desk to tug another file out from the bottom of a short stack of case files.  “Tell you what.  I have something a bit more domestic.  Mostly here in the city.  He was once one of us and the Tribunal wants him watched.”

That stopped Kyllian’s pacing. The limp in the man’s gait was starting to wear on Davor to watch. In his opinion, Kyllian should still be home on leave, resting. They were two of a kind on that front, never able to keep idle for long when there was work to be done.  Kyllian picked the file up off the desk and flipped through it, reading the contents with care.  

“You’re going to have to acquire a slightly new profession. You’ll be considered deep cover.  Anyone comes asking here, and we’ll say you quit due to the injury.”  Davor narrowed his eyes on Kyllian.  “And I do mean anyone, Kylli.”

“That’s fine by me.”  Kyllian waved away the concern, his attention still fixed on the file.  “I remember this guy.  I’ve worked with him.”

“Thought you might.”  Davor smiled briefly at Kyllian.  He dug a tomestone out of a desk drawer and sent it skittering over the desktop toward Kyllian.  “Here.  Use this to report anything you find to me.  It’s secured.”

Kyllian leaned over to claim the tomestone, taking a moment to familiarize himself with it.  “Got it.”

Davor studied him.  Not for the first time, he admired the view Kyllian provided. The smile on Davor’s lips curved light, his gaze lingering.  “Happier?  Not going to quit on me for real now, right?”

“Yeah.”  A smirk curved across Kyllian’s lips and he tucked the tomestone into a pocket.  “Happier.  I also want to be a consultant on my former case.  I know civilians can be if they have important information to share.”

“Kyllian.”  Davor growled out, hands planting on his desk.  He rose from his chair, eyes narrowing.  “You’re not holding out on me, are you?”

“That’s classified, Davor.”  He turned on a heel and limped from the office, the new case file tucked under his arm.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

19. Weal

CW: Needles (non-hypodermic)

"If you do not stop squirming and whining I will give you something proper to whimper about." The chirurgeon threatened, fingers curling tightly around the wrist that he had pinned to the table. A small dining table where the remains of afternoon tea sat a short ways away growing cold in its neglect. Medical tools and tinctures scattered between plates and saucers. He gripped firmly enough that the points of nails manicured to wicked points began to bite into skin. "It is unseemly for a Knight." The title was spat as though it was a four-letter word.

The Knight forced himself to still, his gaze turned aside to avoid watching the other work. It was never pleasant and sometimes it was better not to know when treatment would resume. How many bells had this been dragging on for now? Barely even one, if the nearby chronometer was to be believed yet it had felt like an eternity.

"If you had simply come to me immediately, we could have avoided all of this. A fresh wound is far easier to treat than one already several moons' healed." Lebeaux continued to chastise as he lowered his eyes back down to his work. "Fixing or removing scars is so much more tedious and time-consuming than preventing them to begin with. I suppose painful as well, if your carrying on is anything to go by." He noted before he slipped another long, slender needle into the damaged skin along the taller elezen's skin and drew another quiet noise of protest from the impatient patient.

"I do not mind the scars. Is it not stranger to be a survivor of the War with only the one? It speaks of cowardice, of fleeing the field rather than risk injury..." Anselme countered carefully, turning to look back at the chirurgeon. As soon as he turned his head it was immediately turned aside again with the force of Lebeaux's backhand. While the strike itself smarted, it was the seething anger he'd seen in icy blue eyes before the strike that hurt far worse. He lifted a hand absent-mindedly to gingerly touch the weal already rising red and angry along a sharp cheekbone. The contact stung fiercely, but it was nearly a pleasant distraction compared to the pain when the chirurgeon resumed treatment.

"Why is it honorable to bear the evidence of your mistakes in your skin for all to see." Lebeaux demanded, directing searing aether into the needles lined up to create a precise point of focus under scar tissue. "Where is the glory in having to be reminded of your failures each time you catch your reflection in the looking glass." He continued as he worked. An argument they had time and time again without ever reaching common ground. The discoloration slowly burned out of the keloid to leave it matching the skin surrounding it, though the raised mark remained. Near-invisible save for close inspection or direct touch.

"Nonetheless, you yourself agreed to assist me however I may need. Are you intending to go back on your word." Lebeaux accused, suspecting the Knight was no longer listening as Anselme had lowered his forehead down to the table and begun banging his other hand slowly against the surface with his fingers clenched into a tight fist. Firmly enough to rattle teacups and silverware. "Stop that. Would you rather I dug the scar tissue out and sealed the skin behind it."

"... no." Came the miserable response, half muffled against the wooden surface. "To both." Slowly he picked up his head, trying to distract himself by changing the subject as he looked to his brother again. "I think you have mastered the technique. The coloring has not come back to any of the scars you have treated. Is it not already perfected? Are you intending to use it on-"

The question was left unfinished and more certainly unanswered, silenced by a firm strike to the other side of his face to balance the reddened skin. Indicating that Lebeaux would not be fielding any more questions. Anselme sank lower in his chair to rest his chin in the palm of the hand not currently pinned to the table. His palm digging firmly into a freshly-stinging cheek until it near made his eyes water. The familiar pain a welcome distraction from the burning in his shoulder as well as the ache in his chest.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

13. Check

Midday breaks from duties tended to stretch on to half-day breaks on the few occasions Lebeaux and Rashk were getting on well enough to take them together. It was rare indeed to catch the catte skulking about the Order during daylight hours and rarer still that he did not flee via the most convenient escape route when he heard the familiar clicking of the Ishgardian's heels on polished marble floors. On those days bells were whiled away at a local cafe, sipping overly sugared teas and dueling dessert forks over last bites of sweets as they traded cutting commentary on the fashions of who wandered by on the nearby street. By the end of their extended break the cafe staff were oftentimes glad to see them leave.

This day was a bit stranger than usual. After they had long since worn out their welcomes a strange slip of paper arrived alongside the final dish of sweets. It was politely folded in half and placed face-down in the center of the table beside the plate. Rashk casually ignored it as he grabbed for a handful of tartlets while Lebeaux was staring at the slip of paper in open confusion.

"What is this, then." The medic asked as he reached for the slip and turned it over. "I suppose the serving girl was simply so enamored that she is inviting me over later." He decided as his eyes drifted over the note's contents. Rashk scoffed, stuffing a few more tartlets into his pockets. Knowing full well what was going on there. It was not an address, nor an invitation but rather a list of everything they had eaten and drank that afternoon. Alongside of which was a series of numbers. Underneath that was a similar number listed from previous dates, all in all totaling a rather impressive sum.

"It's a check, Lebeaux." Rashk drawled sweetly, anything else that hadn't been eaten already on the table secreted away into various pockets. "It tells you how much you have to pay for what you've eaten." He explained as though dealing with a particularly slow student. The miqo'te settled his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his palm, fluttering his lashes. "And since you've picked this one up, you're paying it. Thanks for lunch." He added on, painted lips curled in a delighted smile.

"That is impossible. I have a tab. It should be sent directly to the Order and taken care of by the Sister's assistant." Lebeaux explained, incredulous. The nerve. The audacity. Expecting him to pay for his own meals?!

"Seems like your tab's been closed. The dear Sister must be mad at you. If you can't pay it maybe they'll let you work it off washing dishes instead of calling in the Brass Blades~" Rashk continued to tease, absolutely delighted with this twist.

"Hardly. There must be some mistake." The Ishgardian insisted, turning in his seat to snap his fingers for the waitress's attention. Instead it was a portly lalafel that waddled over, a falsely-apologetic look on his face. "Now see, there is a mistake here. My bill should be sent directly to the Order of Nald, specifically to Sister Irara…" When Lebeaux turned to ensure Rashk was going to back him up he found the seat across from him empty. The miqo'te had already silently fled the scene, leaving only crumbs behind.

@guttergodsknife

[blackrose-ffxiv]

12. Dowdy

The seventeenth sun of the second umbral moon was the most important day of the entire turn. The day after the feast of Saint Valentione. The morning of embarrassing walks home in the clothes one wore the previous night from a lover's abode, champagne and strawberries still on their breaths while sweet nothings echoing on around their head. The day of all unsold chocolates and confections being reduced drastically in price in an attempt to seduce the unpartnered into purchasing them for themselves... since they had no one to gift them the day prior. Decorations of hearts and pudgy cherubs were slowly removed from shop windows to make room for the next feast day. Yet more importantly than all of these other things, it was Lebeaux's Nameday.

Ives had been planning that evening for moons, though he would not admit it aloud. As it was, mentioning his pampered paramour often brought raised eyebrows and glanced of concern. 'Why do you put up with him...' was a common question that followed. 'But he's so awful...' a common comment as well. It hadn't bothered the Sharlayan in the least, these concerns only receiving a cryptic smile in return and a refusal to elaborate. His business was his own, no matter how his staff may snicker and gossip. Perhaps it was time to /lightly/ poison one of them to remind them who they were taking such liberties talking about... again.

Nonetheless the evening had gone off without a hitch. The Ishgardian seemed pleased with the offerings of extravagant gifts and decadent desserts, as pleased as he ever was with anything. And the marks of that pleasure still stung and ached dully on the Sharlayan's skin as he lounged on his luxurious bed, careful not to smudge blood on the sheets as he awaited Lebeaux's emergence from the bath. Despite how well the evening had gone, Ives was still forbidden from joining him in the bath or even from being present in the room as the Ishgardian emerged from the tub filled to the brim with warm water and scented foam. Really, it could have fit three spoken comfortably. Six if they were particularly comfortable with each other. Yet of course when it came to Lebeaux, there was only room for him and his ego.

"You may have the bath." Was announced when the Ishgardian finally emerged.

Ives slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows when he heard that gracious decree, emerald eyes drifting in that direction with a contented smile on dark lips. He brushed a few strands of long, dark hair from his face for a better look and regretted it immediately. He exhaled a small sigh.

"I'd forgotten just how ridiculous that looks... should I get a matching set?" The Sharlayan teased as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a small wince and pushed himself to his feet. Lebeaux was wearing his nightclothes to mark his intent to remain through morning, and while he had seen them before it wasn't any easier to look at. The long nightshirt was less of a shirt and more a complex assortment of ribbons and ruffles, with a sleeping bonnet to match that the medic was currently tucking strands of his damp hair up into. If Ives recalled correctly under those layers of frill there was an equally awful set of bloomers. Ishgardian modesty at its most powerful. It was downright dowdy.

"You should get yourself a set. Ishgardian sleepwear at its finest, there is nothing quite like wrapping yourself in such luxury to sleep." Lebeaux had declared, clearly indignant that his sleepwear would be called 'ridiculous'. As though it wasn't bad enough Ives often made cutting remarks about his over-puffed trousers. "The Sharlayans clearly have no taste for food nor fashion." The Ishgardian insisted as he made his way to join Ives on the bed, fingers trailing over damaged skin and pausing to curl wickedly pointed nails into a laceration that had only just stopped bleeding.

Ives inhaled sharply, giving the medic a disbelieving look. "You think I would look better in that? You are as ridiculous as that bonnet." He sighed, letting his gaze travel over towards the wall as the dig of nails was soon replaced by the soothing warmth of healing aether as Lebeaux began mending the damage he had wrought. "But yes, I would wear it if you told me to. But I would do nearly anything you told me to..."

"You would wear it, but you would be humiliated, is that so." Lebeaux mused as he worked, pale eyes lowered under the shadow of overhanging frill as he worked. "It certainly would not be the first time I have brought you to enjoy such humiliations."

Ives decided, in that moment, that this must be true love. For there was no other reason that he could actually be attracted to someone wearing such a horrific outfit. And yet, when his gaze returned to Lebeaux there was adoration in his eyes for the smug smile on his lips and the cruel truths that slipped through them... in spite of the framing of the offensive bonnet. The Ishgardian was not wrong.

Ives + some excerpts used with permission from @sivar-ffxiv-hub

[blackrose-ffxiv]

7. Noisome

One last slip of parchment to be slipped in with the rest of the files. One last signature scrawled across a report. That was that. The end of his tasks for the day. It afforded him just enough time to return home and labor over his outfit choices for a bell before dressing and arriving fashionably late for the gala. Lennaux slid his chair back from the desk he'd been sitting at for what felt like eras. Sliding the completed paperwork aside for a clerk to tend to later. The gossip bulletin he'd spent the morning reading instead of working was folded up and tucked inside of his solemn black robes. Thus armed with the knowledge of who would be in attendance that night, he could plan his dance card accordingly.

Just as he reached for the door handle to escape the small office the door on the other side swung open. It brought with it what felt like a cool breeze, though it was imagined rather than real. But what was very real was the foul stench that rolled into the office. An odor that was all too familiar. The smell that came when living flesh festered, poisoning blood and spreading foul miasmas. Lennaux turned on his heel, lifting his hand to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve as he narrowed his eyes to glare at the man who had just interrupted his escape.

Ciceroix stood in the doorway, dark stains across his own robe only visible where the wet patches shone in the dim light. "Where are you going, Haillenarte. There is work to be done." The Inquisitor asked as he smiled sweetly, beckoning for his assistant to come join him. "You will have to work quickly, this one has not yet confessed and I fear he is not long for this star." The older elezen explained, giving his head a light shake to move a section of silver-blond hair out of his face. His gloves far too filthy to do it by hand.

Lennaux hesitated, looking longingly towards the door he had been trying to escape through and while he stalled the Inquisitor snapped his fingers firmly. The gesture splattering tiny flecks of blood onto the doorway he stood in.

"Tonight is my House's Starlight Gala." Lennaux explained carefully, trying to keep the petulant whine out of his voice. Though he suspected Ciceroix was already well aware. "I am expected to be there…"

The Inquisitor scoffed and turned on his heel, snapping his fingers once again and this time pursing his lips to whistle as one would for a dog. "Your sacred duties to Her justice outweigh the expectations of society." The word spoken as though it was a filthy sacre.

Lennaux turned to follow with a hiss of frustration, pushing the pile of parchment off the desk as he passed for some hapless clerk to sort out later. He stepped into the room behind the Inquisitor, once again covering his nose and mouth against the noisome stench that washed over him upon entry. He moved to the table where his tools were laid out, dabbing a strong-smelling ointment around the edges of his nostrils to block some of the odor before tying a dark mask over his mouth and nose to further block the miasma. He hadn't even looked at the 'patient' yet. An accused wasn't worth the consideration. Only another obstacle before he was free. The quickest way would likely be amputation, he suspected, depending on how far the gangrenous infection had spread.

"I presume the accused was already rotting when he was brought in… what was the cause of the…" He trailed off as he heard footsteps heading away from him, looking up to find Ciceroix stripping off his bloodstained robes and gloves to set them aside. "… where in the Hells do you think you are going?" He demanded, slender brows furrowing as his expression twisted to something violently sour under the fabric of his mask.

"To House Haillenarte's Starlight Gala, of course. Anyone who is anyone will be there. I must show my face, even if only briefly. Surely you have the matter to hand. Keep my accused alive until I return to record his confession. Perhaps I will be back by sunrise…" The Inquisitor explained casually. "And do not make such a hideous face, Lennaux. I trained you far better than that. When he should awaken he will be comforted by a pleasant countenance. Smile…" With that he was gone, the door slamming firmly behind him.

Lennaux swore violently, picking up one of the scalpels to apply it vigorously and repeatedly to the robes that had been left behind. Once they were left in tattered ribbons he returned, panting, to his 'patient' laid out on the table. Already unconscious with pain and fever. The assistant reached towards the table to lift a wicked saw, holding it up to inspect its edge.

"Amputation it is…" He caught his own reflection in the polished steel surface. Pale eyes wide with wild anger and hatred, his mask having slipped during his tantrum to reveal a savage, tooth-baring smile.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

5. Barbarous

"You are a vile, feral little backwater heathen." Lebeaux spat the accusations through bloodied lips. "A barbarous beast playing at being spoken." Despite the crimson streaked along his teeth and mouth, he seemed less concerned with that and far more concerned with scrubbing green-black bile spattered across his expensive white coat jacket. At least he assumed it was bile, considering it had been expelled from the maw of a carbuncle that was far less 'construct' and far more free-form aether experiment gone horrifically wrong. "Unfit for society, polite or otherwise. Drag yourself and your abomination back to your swamp, Rinha'li."

A few steps away that eldritch summon shivered and quaked in an unsettling wobbling motion as it stood sentinel between Lebeaux and a miqo'te clutching his hand to his chest as he pressed flat against a bookshelf. The arcanist's richly furred colorpoint ears were pinned flat against unkempt hair similarly two-toned in black and white. Large, round glasses sat askew on his nose and the look on his face was exasperation rather than fear. Bright green eyes wide with confused annoyance. The string of insults were nothing new, it was practically how the Ishgardian greeted the Keeper at this point. But the cause of it was irksome, to say the least.

Rinha'li lowered his uninjured hand from the one he was coddling, thrusting it forwards to display the crescent of bloodied tears in his skin along the edge of his hand.

"I am the b-b-beast?!" He demanded. "For d-d-defending myself with a c-construct?!" As Rinha'li spoke, Lebeaux mocked him under his breath. Tittering along after the stuttering that had grown more pronounced in the voidmath's agitation.

"You b-bit me."

@black-omen-born

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Wicked and Divine

But which one is which...

Birthday gift from the obscenely talented @guttergodsknife

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Just a Taste...

Birthday gift for Rashk! Toxic codependency ahoooy~

@guttergodsknife