@celestauxx

Moved! celestauxx.tumblr.com

[celestaux-branchais]

Moving Already?

To better keep track of Cele, I've decided he gets his own blog over being a subblog. You can now find him at @celestauxx

Sorry for any inconvenience!!

[celestaux-branchais]

“I’m not sure what that silly pirate was thinking, sending you to me, but I suppose you’re quite cute.” 

{{I respond to an ask about having no pets, and now he’s got one. Thank you, @offiveseas for his new little friend. He’s thinking Peverell for a name.}}

[gaypeopletwitter]

[celestaux-branchais]

↽Celestaux de Dzemael→

                   ↼Temple Knight⇁

                   Celestaux de Branchais

                               ☇Arcanist

{{I really like @alannah-corvaine ‘s moodboards, so I made my own for Cele. Not quite as good but still okay, probably. }}

[celestaux-branchais]

🌍 — knowledge of the world

🌍 - knowledge of the world

Cele was very well-versed in Eorzean history- or at least, Ishgard's version of it. He's kept a very close ear on the goings-on of his homeland, even if he's not dared step foot in it. His knowledge of the rest of the Alliance has grown since he left home. He's not overly familiar with the Far East or other countries- outside of their primary imports and exports, of course.

[celestaux-branchais]

🌷 and 👻? :0

👻 - Communing with the Paranormal

Do voidsent count? He's not very good at talking to those. They mostly just seem to try and kill him.

🌷- Taking care of living things

Cele was never allowed pets as a child, and he honestly doesn't trust himself to get one now. He does, however, have a plant in his inn room. It hasn't flowered yet, but he's trying.

[celestaux-branchais]

🎹 / 😇 / 🎁

🎹 - Playing an instrument

Sadly, he cannot. He’s always been interested in music, but he was never allowed to pick one up himself. He’s read a few books on theory and composition, but he already spreads himself fairly thin and so hasn’t devoted any time to learning himself.

😇 - Following Rules

As an investigator, he follows every rule and he dares you to prove otherwise. 

In his former life as a temple knight, he was very much the good soldier that followed orders. Up until he ran away was eaten by a dragon.

🎁 - Giving presents to others

When he was younger, Cele never had to worry about picking gifts to give on his own- they had people for that. He’s gotten a bit better at it, over the years, but he still seems to gravitate towards generic gifts for people he doesn’t know well or books on topics he thinks the receiver will enjoy. 

[ask-meme-addicts]

Muse skillset symbol meme

Send an emoji to learn how good/bad my muse is at that particular skill!

💋 — kissing

💄 — makeup

👾 — video games

🎵 — singing

💃 — dancing

🎹 — playing an instrument

🌷 — taking care of living things

🌲 — surviving in the wilderness

👊 — fighting

😇 — following rules

🍳 — cooking

🍼 — taking care of children

🎁 — giving presents to others

🎉 — hosting parties

💌 — romance/flirting

🎨 — art

🍀 — luck

⚽️  — sports

🏊 — swimming

🚗 — driving

🔮 — magic

🔎 — investigating

🔫 — long range weapons

💣 — explosives

🔪 — melee weapons

🔬 — scientific pursuits

🚿 — hygiene

💰 — finance

🌍 — knowledge of the world

👻 — communing with the paranormal

📚 — reading

🔧 — engineering/mechanics

⌛️ — time management

📥 — organization

🍺 — alcohol tolerance

🚴 — riding a bike

🎭 — performance art/acting

⚓️ — sailing

➗ — mathematics

[shoujoromance]

[celestaux-branchais]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“She understood much but bore it silently. Her aloof, finely chiselled features, her calm lucid eyes, often wore an expression which faintly resembled pain–an inner secret pain which she herself could never quite define.”

— Gwendolyn MacEwen, from “King of Egypt, King of Dreams,” publ. c. 2004

[self-destruct-gene]

[my-aesthetics-world]

🖤🖤

[celestaux-branchais]

Forsaken Vows

{{These events take place 3.5-4 years ago IC, a loose blurb around Celestaux leaving Ishgard. It’s also rambly and jumpy and very self-serving and I only proofread once, you’re welcome.}}

Carvallain had always been fire. Bright and passionate and full of life- that had been what had drawn Celestaux to him as a child. The wild streak that somehow shown through the oppressive weight of Ishgardian nobility. Courage to the point of recklessness, and the silvertongue that always managed to talk his way out of it. Watching him was mesmerizing, to the point that the mask had slipped more than once or twice.

But Celestaux had always been ice. Cold with broken, jagged edges that he kept close to his breast in the hopes they’d not strike those around him. Where his friend threw sassy grins and the occasional wink, his face had remained smooth as stone. They’d made an odd pair, and more than once Celestaux had tried to peel away- for fire melted ice, and how could one afford to melt when there was naught else to protect the soft heart beneath? But he was weak and he could never drift far for long.

Until, like smoke, his flame had vanished. Gone, they’d said. Left aboard a ship to explore the realm. And then, not much later, dead. Ship overtaken by pirates, and slain in the fray. Had his heart existed outside a cage of ice, it might have broken. The cracks left were quickly refilled, strengthened with the permafrost that snaked its way in. He redoubled his focus with the blade- a weapon he hated but that had become like an extension of his own arm, and sunk himself deeper into Knight’s training.

The quiet moments he’d taken for himself- stealing away to his cousin’s room, perhaps the only place he’d been able to have a quiet discourse on literature- all but ceased. Lucien had been growing stronger, and Celestaux withdrew further. After so many summers spent abed, he was not about to force his cousin behind closed doors and away from his studies. They’d drifted, and by the time his cousin took his trip down the Witchdrop, they’d spoken hardly at all. The guilt settled heavy on his heart, frost slowly covering it until that, too, had become a part of him.

If he’d hoped to have learned his lesson, he failed. The draw to flame- to bright sun and optimism- had not left him. Bitter and cold as he was, he still gravitated towards those who put out light. Aymeric- a ‘dirty bastard with no business taking the mantle of a knight’, his father had said- found himself with an occasional second shadow. His burden was heavy, and yet he still retained his charming exterior. A lovely face, but that had drawn no special attention; that Aymeric spoke to him as comrade and knight- not as dreaded noble and hated Dzemael- it had been enough to warm the frozen spot within his chest.

And so he’d gone on, slowly mending any holes and cracks with frozen resolve. He kept his head down, avoiding promotions that might draw too much attention, speaking up only in support of those that rightfully deserved them- and quietly suffering the consequences for embarrassing the family name at home.

But then there had been a whisper. A knight’s cousin’s courier had made mention of a pirate in a far off port city. One that bore striking resemblance to the Lord de Durendaire. And wouldn’t that just be the funniest thing? A pirate for a bastard.

He’d sat on the rumour- it was hardly a rumour, for the it had been quashed as soon as it had begun- and at first did nothing. Moons passed, and while hope had long been something he’d long reconciled as foolishness, he found himself clinging desperately to it.

“If he were alive, and he had wished for you to know, he would have sent word.”

Those were the words that had kept him in place. The warning that, even should he dare go looking, he would almost certainly not like what he found. How many years had passed? How much had changed? How had he changed, growing ever colder and shrinking further behind the mask until it had become his own skin? He was not the boy he had been- and so how could he expect that he had not changed either? And even if he hadn’t- even if the pirate were still the boy he’d known deep down- what use had he for a frozen knight?

“What am I doing?” He tilted his head back to look at the stars, snow falling into his hood. The long robe hid his armour from view, but there was still the familiar clinking of chainmail with every step. Luckily, this far out into the wilds, he had little concern of being heard. His hand stayed steady on his sword, the shield long since pitched into the void of the Sea of Clouds.

He trudged deeper through the snow, keeping his distance from Whitebrim Front. Getting through the gates had been easy- he’d been another faceless guard, safe beneath the chain and helm of a Temple Knight- and had shown a false letter of great import that required urgent delivery- something far too dangerous for a simple courier, especially this time of night. And then, once he’d slipped well out of sight, he’d pulled the robe from his bag and replaced the helm with hood and pitched the wretched headpiece into the Sea of Clouds after his shield.

Daring the Coerthan wilds in the middle of the night- in the middle of winter- was a fool’s choice. But he hadn’t wanted to risk being followed. Though he left heavy footprints in the snow, they were quickly covered with fresh snow- all traces gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

The trek to the Twelveswood was long and grueling, but the Temple Knights had instilled in him a soldiers discipline. Even running from them as he was, he was grateful that the mindless march south was that much easier when he could simply fade back behind a soldier’s drive.

He’d stopped to rest but the once, a few bells of rest with his back pressed to the mountainside perhaps a bit closer to Dzemael Darkhold than was wise. But naught came of it, and it was not long before he was leaving the frozen north behind and stepping into the beautiful wilderness of the Northern Shroud.

Greenery and trees were things he’d only seen on campaigns since he was but a boy, and he found himself pausing long enough to draw the attention of the Wood Wailers. Just a traveler, he’d assured them, before requesting directions to Gridania.

It wasn’t that much farther- he could make the trip easily, but the moment he stepped foot in Fallgourd Float the weight of what he’d done weighed him down. He rented a room at the inn, using more gil than he’d allotted for this leg of the trip, and collapsed in the bed still fully clothed.

'What am I doing?’

The question repeated itself without end, the words becoming so blended together that they no longer made sense. This was madness- complete and utter madness. What business had he, abandoning his family- his oaths, his duty, his obligations- to chase what was surely just a rumour from a commoner spewing nonsense for attention. He would find nothing for him in Limsa Lominsa. He would end up a sellsword or dead in the gutter- or tuck his tail between his legs and return home to beg forgiveness.

Returning home was not an option.

There might be nothing for him in Limsa, but what awaited him at home- a furious father who knew how to hurt without leaving marks, an arranged marriage to a woman he dreaded- was worse. He’d prefer to be gutted in the streets for his coin purse than turn back now. Which, now that he thought about it, was another possibility in Limsa.

Sleep did not come- it hardly ever did, these days- and it was some bells later that he finally hauled himself out of bed to make use to the facilities. As much as he craved a hot bath, he settled for lukewarm so that his still-frozen toes did not burn. He scrubbed off the sweat and allowed the heat to seep in beneath his skin. Only once the water turned cold did he force himself out, drying quickly before simply collapsing back onto the bed.

Sleep did come, then. Just a few bells, hardly enough to call an actual test, but enough. When he awoke, he rose and donned his armour with mechanical motions. The robe he threw overtop, for even now out of Coerthas he was too freshly gone to feel at ease without it, and set out into the early morning light.

Gods, he’d missed trees. And foliage and animals that were not frozen hellbeasts or dragons ready to eat him whole. Despite his drive, he found himself taking his time through the forest. He could disappear here, instead. Learn the lay of the land, settle as but another labourer in whatever small settlement he stumbled into first. But that would not satisfy the curiosity, the driving need to know whether one he had lost yet breathed.

He abandoned you once. Why, then, would you not take the hint?

He grit his teeth, pausing within sight of the gate to Gridania. Why was he so set on finding this man? Would he even be remembered? He’d been one face of many- an annoying shadow at best- and here he was, so many summers later, attempting to track down someone who had so desperately wanted out that he’d organized his expedition and set out without a second thought.

Slowly, he took another step. It mattered naught, whether his old friend lived as pirate or privateer or whatever it was they were these days. There was a guild in Limsa, one of magic, and he would find something for himself that did not require ponzes of armour and blades and mindless obedience. Shunned or embraced, he could start over. Be someone who was not hated for his name and an utter disappointment to it besides.

Gridania was… not at all what he’d expected. Even as a city, it was full of greenery and plantlife. The market seemed as good a place as any to explore. He browsed over the wares, stopping only once his eyes settled on a smooth black mask.

“Ash Mask. Import from Limsa, real popular with those arcanist types.” The merchant behind the table spoke up, noticing his pause. “For you? Three hundred gil.”

“Two hundred.” Cele raised his eyes, studying the man. He pulled the coin from his pocket, waiting. They settled at two twenty-five, and yet he still walked away feeling ripped off. Perhaps this was why he’d never been allowed to visit the markets on his own.

With mask firmly affixed over his face, he finally dropped the hood. With face safely covered, he set out on the rest of his journey. He hitched rides with traveling merchants, trading protection for food. The journey through the Twelveswood was pleasant enough, and he’d have happily traded the oppressive desert heat of Thanalan for another ambush by Ixal or poachers. Coerthas had not always been ice, but dry heat was not something he had ever been prepared for. Though even miserable as he was, he’d elected to take the long way; seeing at least a little bit of what Eorzea had to offer had been his hope, and he’d certainly not been disappointed.

The ferryman in Vesper Bay was, despite his desire to wander, a welcome sight. Traveling was rough, and he longed to collapse in a proper bed for a night before throwing himself headfirst into what was hopefully a new life. The possibility of rejection still weighed heavy in the back of his mind, but it was easier to ignore when crowded behind the exhaustion of traipsing across the desert.

He’d parted ways with his latest companions back in Horizon, and so he boarded the ship to Limsa alone. The boat was all but empty of other travelers and so he’d dared to slip the mask from his face to get his first real look at the sea.

An endless expanse of glittering blue, teeming with life just below the surface. The further from shore they went, the more fish seemed to drift close to the surface. The shifted in a million shades of brown, all beautiful despite surely being robbed of their true colour. They passed large ships, with sails taller than buildings and weighed down with cannon that would give any Ward a run for its money. The sounds of men shouting carried on the wind, and he could practically feel the salt in the air. He leaned back in the boat, eyes drifting and trying to take in everything. Limsa was bright and shining and loud and so very alive.

Perhaps he could understand why someone might prefer the sea.

[celestaux-branchais]

{Glams for 50! Someone introduce this boy to some colour.}

[celestaux-branchais]

{Finally 50! He’s, uh. Not a fan of the AF gear. The smn coat maybe, if we augment.}

[alannah-corvaine]

FFXIV JOBS  ▶  SUMMONER

↳   The beast tribes of Eorzea worship and summon forth beings known as primals, among which are Ifrit, Garuda, and Titan. Yet what is a god to one man is a demon to another, for the city-states of Eorzea see these beings as a grave threat to their collective survival. In times immemorial, there lived mages who had not only the power to summon the primals, but also the means to transmute the primals’ essences, thus binding them to their will. Known simply as summoners, the existence of these men and women and their arcane art have been all but lost to the ages.