Two long weeks later and Fort Howley was finally on the verge of recovery. It was thanks to Alchemy and thanks to the sparse supplies Adrian kept on hand. Wisdom to be shared, he said blandly, as Adrian taught every medic anything he could.
None were very promising other than Samuel Silversmith. They were all men and women chosen because they wouldn’t vomit at the stench and sight of gore and the live’s dying slowly in their hands. If not for the shackles still on his wrists and legs, Adrian might have felt pity for them. Might have sat with them after a soldier passed, to tell them how they could improve next time. What to do differently. That it didn’t get easier, one just grew more determined. He might have listened to them, their sadness and desperation, and been a shoulder to lean on in their grief.
The sound of chains were like bells tolling in Adrian’s ears. Reminding him, reminding him, reminding him.
A prisoner of a war.
These were not his people. This was not Pracis. They did not want his pity. They did not want to know that he empathized. They did not worship at the shrine of knowledge shared and shoulders leaned on. Not his shoulders at least. Adrian was lucky he was even still alive, that they deigned his presence in the same room as them, let alone to help them. Even Atelaer knew the wails of the dying couldn’t go ignored. Anyone able-bodied enough to help was called upon, no matter the side. Adrian was in agreement with this way of doing things. Chains or no- he wouldn't be able to stand aside while another suffered.
They hardly knew what to do with him. Colonel Emberfell and countless others were alive because of him. Colonel Emberfell was walking because of him.
That, Adrian decided, was a battle he grew too fatigued to fight.
“My men need to see me.”
“You need to rest.”
“If I don’t get up and show them that there is an end to their pain, then they will lose morale, and I cannot have that.”
“If you get up and ruin your leg so you can never ride or walk or lead them again then what will that do to their morale?”
A stalemate, both equally stubborn, even Francis’s seconds wouldn’t step between their back and forth. In the brief time they were with him, the Wiskusset regiment learned Adrian possessed a wicked temper. When Francis bellowed Adrian was the only one with enough gall to shout back. No one winced anymore to see the two red in the face and snarling. Francis gripped the sheets and his tail lashed in the bed. He sucked in a deep breath. Adrian felt his body tense in response, and began to read that subtle change in Francis’s demeanor. How it straightened his spine and rocked his shoulders back. The look of a commander who knew his worth.
“You will get me up and you will get me out there.”
Adrian stopped fighting. Why was he even bothering to fight at all, he wondered. It would be better for the Pracis forces if Francis crippled himself. They would be free of his knowledge and skill on the battlefield and the resistance on this end would lose morale. Ralston would finish them and Adrian would be free.
All a very delightful daydream, one Adrian liked to picture in his mind when he chose to help them anyway. When the wince of pain on Francis’s face brought the Alchemist moving to assist before he could stop himself. His hands gripped along the Colonel's arms so he would not collapse.
So they walked.
Francis sat and held the hand of every single soldier. He stood, chin tipped up proudly, as he spoke with the other commanders on topics of the Fort and its rebuilding. The explosions created by the Empress’s Alchemists had done quite a bit of damage. Adrian thought Valerie might be very proud to hear that. It ached to think of his twin- and he put it quickly out of his mind.
Everyone was wary to speak too much with Adrian hanging at Francis’s elbow. He lingered close enough to catch the Colonel as he leaned on his crutch, but not too close to smother him. Adrian was, to his delight, quite a bit taller. Francis had a willowy and graceful frame, but he only came to Adrian's shoulder.
“You’re looming,” Francis snapped as Adrian led him away from a group of recovering soldiers.
“I’m not looming.” There was no heat in Adrian’s voice. He long since lost the will to bring venom to his words. He was tired. The bruises from the manacles and unfortunate scuffles with some of the men made Adrian ache with exhaustion.
“What in the hells do they even feed you in Pracis, to make you so bloody tall?” Francis sighed and limped into his private room. The day after he woke up from surgery Francis demanded that he drag his cot out to be among his men. None of the other soldiers would hear of it, so inside the private recovery room the Colonel stayed.
Adrian helped Francis sit on the bed and moved to lift his leg to rest on the pillows. “I got it from my father’s side, he was not actually a Pracian. He came from one of the friendly countries on our borders.”
Francis laid back and sighed as the nagging of pain eased from his back and thigh. “I thought Pracis was all about the importance of bloodlines. Wouldn’t they want someone as fancy as an Emperor’s Alchemist to be pureblood?”
“Despite your assumptions, Colonel Emberfell, no one really cares about the bloodline of an Alchemist. As long as they are smart, willing, and have the heart- they really don’t care if you were raised in a barn and born from a cow.”
Francis felt himself unwind into the pillows. He overdid it today, they both knew it, and he refused to give Adrian the satisfaction of the groan of relief when Adrian started to refresh his bandages. The adamas blue glow caught Francis’s eye and he looked down to watch. The ore was kept at a dim light, curled in Adrian’s fist as he tipped it to touch the fresh ointment on the Colonel’s leg. The pain immediately eased and Francis’s tail flicked in silent wonder.
“You should be using this on the men, not on me.” Francis said instead of thanks.
“You really like to hear yourself be humble, don’t you?”
Francis bristled, felt the fur stand up on the ends of his tail as his mouth clenched shut. He tried to order Adrian’s respect only once in the first days and the courtly look down Adrian’s nose of disgust and the mocking scoff was so practiced, so trained, that Francis let the matter go. He refused to admit how much it stung somewhere deep. The Imperial still walked with the chains of a prisoner of war, to be ordered to respect his captors was a blow that Francis would not deal on any person. No matter if it would also save Francis’s own sanity, to not have those intense golden eyes leveled on him as if he were a gutter rat.
It was the glint of those mannacles on a dirty wrist that made Francis finally ask, “How have you been faring, Subaltern?”
Adrian paused and weighed truth and lie. Any truth he gave would be used against him somehow, he was certain. But any lie he told would land him only into further discomfort. “I look forward to when your medics have the situation under control enough that my only concern need be your leg.”
“And how are the medics doing?”
Truth and lie. Truth and lie. Adrian sighed. “Pathetic,” he admitted. Truth. “I did not know that the Colonies had so little training in even the basics of first aid.”
“Doctors are rare and precious to come by.”
Adrian knew this. Knew it and hated it. He also knew that only one, one, Emperor’s Alchemist had been assigned to each of the largest towns and cities in the Colonies. Their resources were plenty, but any town more than a day's ride away in need of them would suffer greatly until they could arrive. If they could arrive. If they could afford to leave those who likely needed them more wherever they were.
“Indeed,” Adrian whispered.
Francis’s tail gave an annoyed flick. Just once. Adrian’s eyes followed the motion. “It seems that I am in your debt,” Francis said.
Years of court training taught Adrian that now was a good time to play a hand. Cut a deal. Do the things that would get him into good graces and better stations. Position himself above Francis so that when he needed it Adrian could simply apply the weight and pressure to get what he wanted.
He could do it. He did it before.
“There is no debt that needs to be paid. I took a vow.” Practiced, bored words.
Damn him to hell.
“Many of my unit are alive because of your quick intervention and assistance. I will walk again because of your help. You cannot say that there is no debt.” Francis’s brows furrowed, confused. He expected it then- for Adrian to use this moment.
The voice in Adrian’s head wasn’t his own. It was Valerie’s. Always so much better at playing the cards than he was. Always able to see the choices being made on the game board ten moves before anyone else. Hadn’t they done this song and dance in the past? Hadn’t it won them many games, in the end, with Adrian’s smooth words and pretty face and Valerie’s cunning mind? The pair of them whispering at the edges of crowds, seeing what so many others failed to.
“I am an Emperor’s Alchemist, we took vows to pass on medical knowledge to any willing to learn and to aid in healing the suffering of others. Those vows take precedence before a war, they always will.” Adrian was tired to his bones. Valerie’s voice screamed in his head. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
What would she think of him now?
Francis looked flabbergasted. His mouth worked open and closed while he tried to think of something to say.
Adrian pushed a hand through his ratty hair. “I would not object to a bath.”
The Colonel looked at Adrian’s clothes, to his dirty hair and hands, he wore the same thing he was captured in. Maybe scrubbed at here and there, patches where a brush and bucket of water tried to clean a patch of blood. Francis swallowed at the sharpness in his chest.
“I will request a clean uniform- it will be white,” Francis said quickly at Adrian’s sharp look. “White for neutrality, for a healer and a soldier not to be touched by any, and we will go down to the river to have you that bath.” Even Francis was in clean clothes. Not new, never new, but freshly mended and washed. He couldn’t imagine the discomfort crawling Adrian’s skin.
“And these?” Adrian lifted his arms, the glinting metal at his wrists.
Francis’s brow furrowed. “Can you be trusted without them?”
“You trusted me with your leg didn’t you? The removal of them will not make me suddenly decide to change my mind.”
A beat of silence.
“It is not my decision alone.”
Adrian dropped his hands and fought back the flash of disappointment. “Of course.”
Francis tried not to give away the dislike of his own answer. “When I receive a response I will provide it to you. I promise.”
“Of course.”
Silence.
Adrian left. He pretended he couldn't hear Francis calling after him. For just this moment, he wanted to pretend that the Colonel wasn't a priority, and that he did not need to be a Subaltern or Emperor’s Alchemist. Something in his chest stirred and ached, Adrian longed to claw at his skin, to writhe from his clothes. To beat his manacled wrists into something hard and solid until they were bloody and free. So he staggered into a quiet corner of the fort, trying to breathe through the manic rage and desperation roiling through him. The panic that settled deep into his marrow and made his heart race.
A bath. What a thing to have to beg for. And what would come of it? A river? Out in the open? Adrian's gut clenched at the thought and he breathed through his nose. The clothes would be white. How would anyone tell him apart from a Pracian or an Atelan when the time came of his freedom? What would he do? More importantly what would those strangers all see?
“You shouldn't linger in dark corridors, Adrian.”
The voice was like silk, a snake that wove through grass to wrap tenderly around an ankle before it bit. Adrian's hair stood on end at the sound of it. He turned slowly to look into the eyes of the one looming close to him. Startlingly blue and lovely, set over dark skin and hair, Atticus looked at him with arms folded. He stood at Adrian’s height, lean and strong, with his tail weaving slowly back and forth in the semi-dark. A beautiful man, to be said frankly, and deadly. Adrian watched once while Atticus picked off deer and birds for dinner from the wall of the fort with his rifle. A sharpshooter that would put even an Empress’s Alchemist to pause.
Rivalry stirred somewhere in Adrian.
But not as deep as the fear that locked in his jaw, the back of his neck, the bruises settled on his rib cage.
“Atticus,” said back just as coolly. Adrian played the game of not affording the man the respect of his title. The careful pieces on the board between them that was constantly in motion.
Atticus reached out and gripped Adrian’s chains, yanking him forward harshly so that Adrian tumbled into his chest. Atticus gave a pleased smile, ears flicked forward to capture the sound of Adrian’s gasp of pain. “You exhausted the Colonel today.”
A blame that Adrian knew would fall on himself.
“I know. I tried not to-” he bit back the need to explain himself. It would not stop Atticus’s vitriol and they both knew it hurt his pride.
The grip to his wrists was a slow thing. It was always slow, the violence, the pain, Atticus was not one to lash out loud and hard. Instead, it was exquisitely torturous and Adrian’s ears always rung by the end. Atticus’s hands squeezed tighter and tighter, until Adrian could near feel the bones of his wrists grinding together.
That silken voice stayed smooth, as if unaware, even as Adrian turned his head to try and hide the flicker of pain. Atticus jerked him once, hard, rattling Adrian’s teeth. He knew what the Atelan wanted- and he looked up to meet those blue eyes so he could see the pain he was in. “You will not let it happen again. He needs to recover.”
“Yes,” Adrian breathed.
Atticus leaned down and brushed his lips along Adrian’s ear. He resisted the urge to shudder in disgust at the closeness. “Frail thing, aren’t you? Those clothes do well to hide you, I wonder what the others will think when they see how weak you truly are.” The Atelan stepped between Adrian’s legs and hooked around his ankle, making Adrian tumble back and hit his head hard into the wall. It pushed them further into the dark of the fort.
Fear gripped Adrian at the spine.
“Let me go,” he murmured and tried to tug at his wrists.
It was a useless plea, it always was, and it made Atticus laugh low in his throat. Dark hair was coming free from his ponytail and he sank his knee into the soft flesh of Adrian’s thigh. Pinned to the wall, Adrian could do nothing but writhe to try and break free.
“I’ll be kind this time,” Atticus smiled. He spoke as if about the nice day outside. His knee pulled back- and slammed hard back in. Adrian felt the pain all the way in his skull and he buckled. Atticus let him drop to the floor unceremoniously and wiped his hands against his coat as if Adrian dirtied them. “Don’t forget I am keeping an eye on you, Adrian.”
A week ago, Adrian would have spat back something cunning. Today, he knew better to take the small mercy where he could find it. Many of the bruises and aches of his body came at Atticus’s hand. Some part of his mind understood it was out of petty fear and the nature of a person that needed something to rail against and push further. Many times back in the Courts of Pracis Adrian witnessed the same- even been a similar target to it. But back then he had Valerie and he had his strength.
Now, he grew more and more frail by the day, starved, and weak from exertion.
So he said nothing. He let Atticus go and he thanked the stars that todays visit from the Atelan was a quieter one. Francis, of course, could never know of any of this. Not unless Adrian wanted things to grow worse. For Atticus to cut through on his promises of others who would seek to exact the same violence's in the dark. The thing Atticus was good at was not getting caught- and placing wounds where it was easy to hide and heal from. Others would likely not be as quiet about it.
It would go on and Adrian would bear it.
When he caught his breath and pride, Adrian stood again.
Adrian stands with their hands together, trying to find the calm and patience they know they have somewhere in their fickle heart. It is not that they dislike the man in front of them. They are actually terribly fond of him.
He has a nature about him that reminds them of their sister. The tenacity and drive to keep going despite how the cards were delt. He shows up a bloody and sopping mess regularly. Often he is fed from the kitchens and it is a delight to see him so happy to eat. The typical mien of the Miqo’te transforms when he arrives. As if knowing that Adrian will ask for nothing but his company and to stand still for measurements. That it is a balm to frayed nerves.
They do not talk much to each other, casual conversations ebbs and flows like a river. It is, perhaps, the strangest friendship that Adrian has. They do not ever pry when he is brooding and nor do they ask for anything more than he is willing to give. It is as if they know, deep down, in some second nature way that if they push too hard then he will leave and never come back. Some people needed someone to be overbearing, to show their affection and friendship loudly, while others needed someone to do it more quietly. In subtle ways.
He is like that.
It is why it takes the patience of the great Kami themselves for Adrian to take in a deep breath.
“What did you do to it, Tiergan?” they think they do well to keep their scathing tone in check.
A fluffy white tail swishes nervously and the backwards set to pale ears yells guilt louder than Tiergan’s aether does. The clothes. The beautiful clothes that Adrian made for him. Utterly destroyed. He looks positively dowdy.
“It. Is a long story,” Tiergan whispers, curling a hand around a pathetically tattered sleeve.
Adrian is quiet and simply steps back into their tailoring shop with the door wide open for the Miqo’te to come inside.
“This better be the best damned story I’ve ever heard or I’m not feeding you any soba noodles and grilled eel for two months.”
Tiergan looks shell shocked, absolutely shaken, for Adrian to threaten him with such a thing. Did he really mess up that badly? That tail swishes and ticks in greater sweeps and his golden eyes grow sheepishly concerned. He stutters a bit as he begins.
Free Range Chocobos Presents The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Where: The White Lotus Inn’s Brass Lantern Theatre,
Room 006, 31:14 Shirogane, Zalera
When: Sunday, Oct 11, 8pm EST in game.
Movie Stream Starts @ 8:30pm in Discord
Event Discord (For movie stream): https://discord.gg/Q472q5Y
NOTE: This is an 18+ Event.
“This classic magitek projection film is a famous cult classic pulled from the archives deep under the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral. Where and why such a film was made has yet to be told, but from the moment it was leaked through Eorzean underground media channels, it became a popular, unapologetically strange addition to the All Saint’s Wake season. Make of it what you will.”
OOC:
Join FRC & friends for our annual RHPS viewing tradition & bring your character to the theater for some in-game, in-character fun! The movie will be streamed through our event discord & we encourage in-character callouts/callbacks if RPing with us in game at the same time. You’re also encouraged to have your character dress for the occasion. Is there a character in the film your character may resonate with? Come looking fabulous! At the end of the night, stick around for a photo!
@mooglemeet @crystalxivrp @ffxiv-crystal-rp
FRC Presents THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW, 2020
What an incredible evening! From <FRC> Zalera & friends, thank you so much for coming out and making our third annual RHPS absolutely memorable. The costumes were incredible this year!
Please tag your friends if you recognize them/know their blogs!
FRC Presents THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW, 2020
What an incredible evening! From <FRC> Zalera & friends, thank you so much for coming out and making our third annual RHPS absolutely memorable. The costumes were incredible this year!
Please tag your friends if you recognize them/know their blogs!
She washed her hair. Once, twice and added the nice conditioning lotion she'd bought. When her seaweed green hair had dried she carefully sorted through her clothing and accessories she owned. Ghrian was always meticulous and careful with clothing. All dark colors, jewelry minimal, hair pulled back into a bun.
"This... Is ridiculous." Ghrian looked herself over in the mirror. Sleeveless undershirt with a matching coat, black pants, boots. Her clothes without the plate armor. It was as close as she was willing to get without obtaining more clothes. The magnitude of black clothing didn't make her look unwilling to celebrate or angry. But color would help her look more celebratory than the jewelry she had put on. More approachable. It was a issue she had considered earlier in the day before going out to obtain a handful of flowers. Several hairpins later bright green flowers were applied to her hair. "Better." She put her hands on her hips, fingers digging a little to far into her back until they brushed against the edges of her hollow back. Ghrian adjusted her jacket and shirt until she was content that her back looked as normal as possible.
After all the trouble Ghrian turned to her door. Anxiety built up in her chest. She'd rather wear her armor. But being able to turn away from people or back into a corner was almost the same. Almost, she promised herself. It was time to be sociable. To talk and interact and....
Ghrian didn't know what. Something that would generate positivity, more chatter. She was quiet by nature. This was an attempt to go out of the comfort zone she'd built around herself. Talking about how the Garlean Emperor invading the inn with Tasaji was easy. Stupid maybe but worth considering. This wasn't any different. Just not discussing inn security or weapons or nodding thoughtfully.
This was doable. Not hard. Doable. So Ghrian grabbed her doorknob and quietly left her room.
What do we know of Dalmasca in the lore of FFXIV? What state is it in currently? What are the nations customs and practices?
First things first, we need to address inconsistencies in FFXIV’s lorebook, the Encyclopedia Eorzea. Of its four mentions of Dalmasca, two of them (two of the more visible mentions, in fact) are inconsistent with literally everything else the game has told us of Dalmasca from as early as 2.0 to 4.3′s Ridorana Lighthouse.
Encyclopedia Eorzea - A Chronology of the Sixth Astral Era:1517 - “The Republic [of Garlemald] first employs airships in its military conquests, easily conquering the small nation of Dalmasca in a display of terrifying power. Over the coming years, the Garleans seize control over the majority of the northern territories.”
Encyclopedia Eorzea - Unifying the North: “As triumph followed triumph, the Garleans’ respect for Galvus grew, eventually transforming into worship. In 1517, he was granted control of Garlemald as dictator by overwhelming popular support. The same year, the republic attacked Dalmasca, a small country nestled in the central mountains, and rained down fire upon it with their new airships. Thus, the Garlean army turned to conquer the south of Ilsabard. In 1522, this campaign ended in victory. Having unified the continent through force for the first time in history, Galvus proclaimed himself Emperor, and thus created the Garlean Empire.”
FORTUNATELY, the recently released Encyclopedia Eorzea II has corrected the incorrect texts above. Where the above two quotes cite “Dalmasca”, they should say “Nhalmasque.”
Lore on the Kingdom of Dalmasca, the Royal City of Rabanastre, and the Ridorana Lighthouse is located below the Read More. Obviously, there are some spoilers.
Considering we’re learning more and more about Dalmasca as the Return to Ivalice storyline progresses, I’ll update this with any new lore that comes in the eventual Patch 4.5 continuation of the 24-man raid storyline. Check back then!
!!Welcome to the annual White Lotus Inn Beach Bash!!
hosted by the Free Range Chocobo FC on Zalera
Looking for something fun to do this summer? Looking for a night lounging on the beach? Well this is the evening for you! This year we are hosting an a e t h e r w a v e theme. Get on your most psychedelic swimwear, your shiniest shades, your biggest hair, and come enjoy some fun in the sun. Take part in our aesthetics contest and see if you are the most fabulous guest of the evening.
We’ll also be doing a Watermelon Crushing Contest. Who has the strongest thighs? Do you think you can beat the heat with some cold watermelon destruction? Show us what you got! There will be several runs and the winner will be getting a grand prize and the title of Watermelon Champion for the evening!
Aetherwave is a recent revival of a hyper-specific cultural art form discovered in studies of the ancient Allag. The genre is defined largely by its surrounding subculture, with its music inextricable from its visual accouterments. Aetherwave builds upon the experimental and ironic tendencies of late Allagan aetherial designs, while also being associated with an ambiguous or satirical take on reliance on the machine and technoculture. The name derives from “aetherware”, a term for aetherochemical experiments that were attempted but never released due to failure.
The event will be on SATURDAY AUGUST 22nd 2020 at 8pm EST.
We will be hosting two contests: a watermelon crushing contest and a aesthetics contest. The winner of the watermelon contest will win the Eldthurs mount and the winner of the aesthetics costume will win the full Dalmascan Draped Set.
There will be an open bar and menu with lots of summer Hingan snacks.
Please see the fun in the sun slide show we have made for this event!
pixelskylines
izzy806
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
yousharknotpass
amandla
gummygunk
