ffxiv writing sideblog @shroudcryptid - Tumblr Blog

There's a pair of ghosts, that the Warrior returns to occasionally. Despite everything, they're not the worst of company, and something about them is… Well. They don't have to worry about being stabbed in the back for their coinpurse, should they give in and close their eyes for a few bells.

They had stumbled upon their place of rest while adventuring. A hard to find location, with corrupted crystals buzzing nearby, obscuring any aetheric signatures, and an odd, massive crystal, two slow and fluid shapes inside it, one pale, one dark. There had been a strange, resonant calm to it when they had first wandered up to it, and it is here that they find themself, in the wake of the bloody assault upon Vesper Bay.

shroudcryptid

As they go to leave, their pack upon their shoulders, their steps slow. There's… A body. A Garlean soldier. Weapon out, pointing at where they'd been resting. For a moment, all they can think of is that they were right, yesterday in their anxiety, someone had followed them.

And… And they weren't dead. Weren't another body to add to the stack, for someone else to lug to the corpse wagon this time. Or perhaps to be left out here, to be found only by beasts.

They skirt around the body. See its face, or what was left of it, and immediately wish they hadn't. It's rather… Melted.

They turn, staring back at the large crystal. Once again, two shapes flow slowly within it. Compared to before they'd slept, though… The pale shape seems just the slightest firmer. Less transparent.

Huh. There were, perhaps, some implications there.

The Warrior turns again, and walks on.

Their next visit is more intentional. Seeking refuge in a moment of quiet, as the alliance of city-states plots war. In the morning, their linkpearl will chirp, calling them in to take up their sword, but for now, the thought of an inn is simply too much. Too many people around them while they're slumbering, not enough ways to fortify the door.

"Hey." They say, to the crystal, shrugging off their pack and bedroll down in a sheltered corner. "Mind if I crash here again?"

There's quiet for a while, then. They set up their bedroll and sit upon it, taking a swig from their water crystal-powered side canteen. They sit there, watching the sky, the late afternoon clouds floating heavy, catching warm tones of sunlight upon the puffs of their wooly shapes.

It's evening when they finally move, joints cracking as they stretch. There's a little depression in the ground that they nudge more pebbles around, and then assemble a shape of thick logs and smaller branches between them. They spark it with a handy fire crystal, and turn to their bag, looking for something simple to heat or roast entirely.

When they turn back, assembled skewers of dodo and tomato in hand, they only startle a little bit at the figure in white that sits at their fire.

The ghost doesn't react to their bitten back swear, staring into the flame's depths despite their quite impressive catching of a lump of dodo before it could hit the dusty ground. Even though now they have raw dodo residue on their hand. Ah. Sacrifices must ever be made.

The Warrior talks softly as they cook. Talks about all manner of topics. At first, it's their tasks. Dusting the skewers with spices, and how they'd accumulated the ingredients. Some jobs they'd recently taken. They're not the one that talks a lot, usually. It's interesting. And the pale ghost, while not replying, seems to faintly enjoy the sound of their voice. That's the feeling they get, at least.

Eventually, what's on their mind comes spilling out. How they hope the Empire is still holding Thancred alive, because the alliance's intelligence says that at least at one point, they'd been holding him for further interrogation. An Archon is a rare catch, after all. How the Warrior has trouble sleeping, thinking of how their time spent rest could keep lives from being saved. Even though they know it's not right, that they can't perform their job if they aren't rested, the worries remain.

The pale shadow listens through it all. And when the Warrior slides into their bedroll for the night, it remains. It should be eerie. And yet somehow, it's reassuring.

The Warrior wakes a few times, during the night, bolting upright with breath panting and heart racing, some nameless beast at their heels. And yet, when they jerk to flee, their half asleep mind sees the unnatural pale and still figure, keeping a sentinel's watch over them. In that moment, the sheer strangeness of it breaks through the fright, letting it all drain away. Letting tiredness drag them down once more.

They bring a tome, on their next visit, still bandaged from their battle in the Praetorium. Biting ice from a still-mysterious mage had rent their flesh apart, for all that it is now healing. They find a rock to perch upon nearby that calm crystal, pull out aforesaid tome, and start reading out loud. A book of stories, something to take their mind off of events that they can't control, can't steer.

It's partway through the first story, a tale of an Ul'dahn merchant princess taking subtle, creeping vengeance on the killers of her family, that a pale shape pours from the crystal, shimmering into a person before them.

They keep reading, even as he seems dazed, slow to wake from whateveer slumber he was in. By the time the merchant princess has cleverly set up the public downfall of their foe's house, he's focused on them, slight movements of his head showing how he's following the way they trace their finger on the page, their way of keeping track of which line they're reading from.

"So̵ y̷o̵u h̵a̶ve s̶u̴r̷viv̵e̴d̴ ̵a̴n̷o̴the̴r̷ d̵a̷y.̴ " His voice comes, disaffected.

"Despite some fair few people's efforts, yes!" They say, brightly.

"M̸mm̵." And then, "D̶o̸ yo̵u̵ h̶av̸e ̷m̵or̵e ta̷les?"

The Warrior grins, and turns the page.

In the end, it's a misfired spell that leads to them meeting the dark presence. A cooking spell, really. They have their ingredients set up, go to light a cookfire, and realize they've used their last fire crystal. Oop.

Well. Perhaps their side combat lessons have finally come in handy. They gather their aether, only to utterly blank on how their arcanima instructor had done it. There had been… Damn. What were the runes?

"B̴y t̸he ̷st̸ar̷,̷ ̴w̴h̴at ̴ar̶e ̴yo̶u ̵do̶in̴g." A new voice says, offended somehow. "H̴a̴ve̸ y̸ou̶ ̵ri̴d ̴yo̵ur̸self̷ ̶of̸ e̴v̸er̸y ̴m̶ote̶ o̵f co̷m̸pe̸te̴nc̴e̵?"

"Damn, did no one teach you manners?" They say, eyebrows raising at the dark figure before them. Like the pale one, it… He? The presence feels like a he. He has a violently red mask amidst the otherwise solid color of his robes.

"M̶an̵n̸er̴s̵," The dark ghost curls a lip in a sneer, under that two-pronged red mask. "…̵A̷re̶ ̷f̵or̵ ̸tho̸se̸ d̸es̶ervi̷ng̵ ̴of̸ ̴th̵e̶m̸.̷ ̴A̸nd̴ ̶w̸h̶at̶ ̶yo̴u̵ ̷are̶ ̶do̸in̶g̸ wi̷th̴ ̷th̶at̶ ̷ci̷rc̸u̴i̴t̴ m̷e̶an̷s̵ yo̴u ̶are̸ d̸ecide̶dl̴y ̷not".

"Circuit?" They say, a confusing sliver of the meaning coming through thanks to the echo. They look down, squint at it. Nope. Still confusing. They got the whoosh fire out symbol right…? Maybe? They'd been going to study the tome of runes again, but, well, they'd fallen in that lake after being chased by a morbol… "Oh. Is it supposed to be a full loop?" The ghost's rude, but they'd love to have cooked food tonight.

"O̶f̴ co̸ur̵s̵e̸ i̴t̶ is̷.̸ ̶Fu̶rt̴her̶mo̵r̵e-" He jabs a translucent, clawed hand at a bit- "Yo̸u'̴v̷e us̸e̷d ̷a̷n̵ u̶tt̵er̴l̸y wr̸on̶g ra̷di̸ca̶l̷ ̶i̶n̸ t̶h̷is̴ ̶pa̶rt̸.̷ ̶I̷f̶ ̸yo̴u̵r̶ i̵nt̴en̴t ̷i̵s ̵t̵o ̶t̴r̷an̶sm̴it̴ t̵h̷e̴ p̸ow̷er̴ o̵ut̸, ̷th̸en̶ c̵on̷gr̵at̶ul̵at̶io̴ns̷, ̸yo̶u ̵ha̵ve̵ d̷on̶e ̵na̵ug̶ht̸ m̵or̶e ̸th̵an̵ ̶r̴ed̸ir̵ec̴t ̵it̷ d̸ow̶nw̶ar̸ds̵. ̷Pe̶rh̴ap̷s ̶th̸e st̵o̷n̴e̴ ̵b̷e̷ne̷at̶h th̵i̵s̷ s̴i̵gi̴l ̶w̵an̶ted̶ f̶or̸ h̴eat̸?"

The Warrior blinks. Squints down at the little squiggle. "Damn. But then I thought that was why this other part wasn't working? Did I get that wrong too?"

The dark ghost stares at them. And then launches into a full on lecture, with somehow only a few insults and derogatory comments. Indeed, their frequency lowers as the lecture goes on. It's a good lecture, too, with comparisons that mostly make sense. The Warrior finds themself drawing connections that explain other bits that had seemed utterly mystifying before. Even if, well. The lecturer ghost, who's clearly practiced in this, references some concepts they haven't the foggiest Limsan night about.

In fact, it's such an interesting conversation that it's not until the moon rises behind the dark ghost that the Warrior realizes they never made their dinner. And then they turn, and just about jump out of their skin when they notice the pale ghost, who's been there and silently watching for Twelve knows how long.

"I̸ d̵id̸ no̷t ̸wi̵s̵h̷ t̴o ̵in̷t̶er̴rupt̴t." He says, mildly.

The dark ghost snorts. "I̶f̶ ̷th̷ey̸ ̴di̷d̴ n̷ot̴ ̷no̵tice̶ yo̴ur̵ p̴rese̸nc̶e̴, t̶h̷a̶t̶ ̵is̸ ̴o̵n̵ ̸t̵h̶e̷m̴, …" He stops. An air of vexation gathers. "Ý̷̳o̶̭̕u̷̱̔…."

"I̸ ̶kno̵w̶ ̶wh̷o̴ ̵i̸s̷ ̷me̵a̸nt̷." The pale one simply says. "E̷n̸o̴u̸g̵h̵ ̷h̶a̶s ̶be̵en̸ ̶lo̶st̸.̶ ̷D̵o ̴no̵t t̴ea̵r a̸t ̴y̴o̶u̴rs̷e̸lf̵ ̷in̵ ̵y̴o̷ur̶ ̸fru̶s̴tr̷a̷t̴i̴o̷n̷. R̴em̵a̸in̷ ̷c̴a̶lm̸,̶ ̴a̷nd̸ ke̷e̵p̴ t̴he f̸aith̴,̷ ̴m̶y ̶fri̵en̶d."

"P̵er̸hap̴s̵ ̵y̸o̶u̵ ̵h̵av̷e ̶g̴ro̶wn̵ ̷u̸se̸d̷ t̶o̶ ̶i̴t,̵ ̸bu̵t ̶I ̴a̶m ̴th̵e ̸on̴e̵ f̶ad̵in̸g ̷fa̸st̴!" The dark one snarls. "S̵h̴o̵u̴l̷d ̸I ̸b̶e̶ ̴ca̵l̶m̵,̴ ̶an̵d̸ ̴le̵t̶ ̴th̵e̴m ̸f̵i̷nd̵ naug̸ht̸ ̴but ̷a̵ c̵a̴lm̵ ̵h̶us̷k̵?̷ P̴er̷h̸ap̶s̵ ̶the̸y a̶re̷ ̶g̴on̷e̸,̷ an̷d ̸no̸n̶e ̶ar̷e ̵left̶ t̷o ̶lo̶o̷k ̸for̷ ̴us!"

The Warrior tilts their head, and then waves a hand between the two. Thankfully, despite their oddness, that gets their attention. "Hey. If you've got friends, uh. Looking for you." They say, determinedly not thinking about how the two are ghosts and Twelve know how long they've been dead, and what if their friends are dead too and they don't know it, like all those Limsan ghost tales- "I can keep an eye out for them."

The uproar from that offer is quite something, to be clear. The two accept, and yet… They can't give the Warrior a single name, to hunt down. Nor a single place to start. It sends the dark ghost spiralling once more, until the Warrior vows to hunt down every missing person's case that the grand companies have, and to bring them the stories.

"This would, perhaps," Says the pale one, with surprisingly vehement bitterness in his tone. "Be easier if we could remember a single star-damned thing."

The dark ghost joins their reading sessions. Unlike the pale one, he doesn't listen silently, instead tearing apart any assumptions the presumably unlearned writer must have made about how aether works. It makes for an amusing audience, even while it means that sometimes the stories take much, much longer to read than before. And then he gets into criticizing the decisions made by the characters, and then the writing itself, and the Warrior starts simply reading louder. Eventually, it becomes its own little arms race, and it's not until when the Warrior is flat out yelling the lines that the pale ghost steps in. He's surprisingly good at mediating, and the result is that the dark ghost gets a certain amount of outraged complaints per tale, the Warrior gets to not be talked over, and they take the time to discuss inaccuracies afterwards. It makes for an amusing time, that much is certain.

#ffxiv #update #there’s another scene down that i need to change and then get down a planned ending and then it’s maybe ready to post….. imagine that…..

The first time the boy breaks into the vessel's study, it's a few months into his education, and Lahabrea has as good as dared him to. The boy had mentioned the kind of lock that the door has set into it, after all, during one of the occasional meals they share. For entertainment, largely, as the boy's wit and recounted antics continue to amuse him.

Either way, the boy had agreed to demonstrate his new knowledge, albeit with unusual hesitation and stolen glances at Lahabrea.

(How easy it is, for Lahabrea to miss the boy's fear of losing his regard and support. How very real, the consequences of such would be for someone like him.)

Regardless, the boy does as he is bid, and is visibly relieved at Lahabrea's approving nod.

By their next meeting, the lock has been replaced by the house's stewards. To Lahabrea's mild surprise, though, it's with a comically furrowed brow that the boy informs him that the new version is hardly better. And, well, that won't do. There's paperwork in here that would be troublesome were it to fall into the hands of certain Sharlayan political rivals.

Lahabrea places a weak barrier ward upon the office, one that could be easily justified as being something a sundered mage could cast, and calls it a day. .

Upon the boy's next visit to his office, Lahabrea notices but disregards a once more furrowed brow. The boy has an entire life going on, after all. .

It's six months later that the boy, grinning triumphant and vicious and only a little nervous, awaits Lahabrea inside his study. This is only notable because Lahabrea has not disabled the ward, and yet the boy is inside his study before he is.

So, too, can Lahabrea tell that the ward has not been down for long. A scant few minutes, at most, leaving the bare minimum of a hole in his security. The intent and care in the act is obvious, even as the boy stands here waiting for him, a pup loyally bringing a bone back to the hand that feeds him.

Lahabrea, still answering to Louisoix, merely raises an eyebrow, and doesn't try in the least to hide his amused smirk.

Lahabrea could make the next ward a proper one. By his standards, not by what these Sharlayans and their pitiful, limited knowlege consider the norm. He could make it impenetrable, lethal to any mortal hands poking into where they shouldn't be.

He does not.

For now, the boy is amusing, a rare gleam in this dull world. Growth is as ascending a flight of stairs. If any one step becomes too steep, the individual will struggle, will find themselves either deeming it impossible, or hurt themselves trying to scale the sheer wall.

Lahabrea already knows what type the boy is. Knows that type all too well. If he falls and breaks his neck from the effort… Besides disappointment, is that not an act of indolence on Lahabrea's part? Letting a tool break, when it is still yet useful?

Lahabrea does not wish to answer that self-imposed question. Instead, he begins sketching on a nearby pad of paper, the base of yet another ward taking shape.

(Years down the line, Nabriales attempts to come pester him late one night. Attempts, because the holder of a seat upon Amaurot's Convocation of Fourteen fries his mortal vessel upon the ward like an insect upon an Allagan containment field. Inside, Lahabrea stares in lofty disappointment, because the current ward is five layers deep, and the night prior, the boy had slipped past four of them, tested the fifth, and retreated as uneventfully as he had come.)

#ffxiv #the lahabrea!louisoix fic #woefully unedited rn but it’s 3am #i’m messing up timelines so bad probably but.#what the fuck is a chronological order

"The unstoppable upstart, the unenhanced champion," Honey B Lovely says, dramatically, into her tomestone. "Has finally been toppled. Is this the end for them?" She pans the camera around, revealing the Arcadion's infamous heel-turned-face.

They're on the ground, arms limp and without their weapon. A weak groan can be heard, even two malms away where the camera is.

Above them, their vanquisher digs a sandal'd foot into their side. "Come onnn." Neyuni says. "Having a current events primary source is gonna get me good scores."

"Too strong…." The now-defeated Arcadion champion groans. "Can't get up…. Go ask Honey…. Give her those miq'kitten eyes…"

"Absolutely not." Honey says, smirking. "Now, keep entertaining my dear viewers like a good little bee."

Despite their evident harrowing defeat, the champion has the strength to shoot the camera a peace sign.

"Wait, you have your sister right downstairs." Comes muffled from the floor. "Both of them. Don't you want to ask them?"

The kid shrugs. "You tell stories better. And they'd argue with miss Honey, and also the stream archive's my evidence." Her eyes flick towards the camera, and she waves cheerily.

"Damn." The Warrior says. "Alright. Where do we start."

#ffxiv #2am fic once more…#ffxiv arcadion

His captors are fools, Elidibus thinks. At the pace blood is oozing from this body, it’ll bleed out long before they know the right questions to ask. There’s dozens of cuts across his flesh, done more for show, for satisfaction, then for effectiveness. Even now, the hyur grins as he looms over him, bronze knife sliding through his shoulder’s skin with the devotion of an artist at their easel.

Ah. How far mankind has fallen.

#ffxiv #whump #hurt no comfort #and also unedited and posted at 1am.#the unholy trifecta.#look. this is someone getting tortured and fake dying.

The Adventurer lets their feet take them where they will. The city’s streets are as many as the thoughts upon their mind, and there’s nowhere they need to be for bells yet to come.

Eventually, they find themselves in front of a doorway. There’s a beautifully carved stone arch above it, set into the stone cliff that the city is made of. By all rights, it should be dark inside, but the open door lets out an aura of light, somehow coupled with refreshing coolness, despite the scorching desert air.

They take an inquisitive step inside, and let out a sigh. It feels calm, in here. Quiet. A faint sound of water, drowning out any reminders that they’re still within the packed city.

There’s a statue at the end of the room, delicately carved from stone. They can’t place which of the Twelve it’s meant to be, and they stare at it, thinking. It has flared wings, and flowing robes, but the features are far from the usual Seeker depictions of Azeyma... Eventually, they shrug, and approach it. They have a little bit of their latest Culinarian practice left over, and so they take the little pouch from their belt, lay it upon the offering table before the statue.

#ffxiv #venat #wolvenat #someone has dangerously tempted me to go through and clean up various snippets

#ffxiv #fic #the sky is blue and i'm writing more ascians in arr au fic #touchstarved long-ish fic continues. slowly. editing a chapter divide but it keeps expanding.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/74437166/chapters/221817476

Touchstarved verse chapter update. After five million years. There’s even non-injured hugging and sleeping in the same bed!

shroudcryptid

Sinking, sinking through endless refracting blue. Blue fills his dreams, his thoughts. Fingers of iridescent crystal like grow into his mind, while disjointed thoughts flicker over them.

It's hungry. Eating him, slowly, slowly digesting his aether away, grain by grain. This is not new. Not the first time he's had this thought.

He falls through dreams, fragments of memory. Worn and chipped and shattered fragments, scattered around his mind. And yet, what with the frequent revisits to the dark corners they lay scattered in, some have started to reconnect. To find their matches, bits of of a puzzle one finds piece by piece along a hallway's dusty floor.

shroudcryptid

Some time later- An instant, an eternity- Another wisp of orange floats before him. Beckoning.

For lack of anything better to do, he reaches out, cups it in his amorphous hands. And that's the only reason, not the sudden longing for something he can't put words to.

It's a field of flowers at sunset, that the wisp deposits him in. There's a brief flicker of gold at his feet… Some kind of sigil? But it's gone too soon to identify, especially with flowers swaying over it.

#ffxiv

Sinking, sinking through endless refracting blue. Blue fills his dreams, his thoughts. Fingers of iridescent crystal like grow into his mind, while disjointed thoughts flicker over them.

It's hungry. Eating him, slowly, slowly digesting his aether away, grain by grain. This is not new. Not the first time he's had this thought.

#ffxiv #fic #elidiwol? from this blog? gasp.#elidibus

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"Ah." There's words there that they don't have context for, but their echo gets enough of the meaning across that they think they understand. Softly, they take in a breath, holding it in their chest. It tickles, but doesn't hurt, and they smile as they appreciate that. "Thank you, Elidibus."

What little of his face they can see seems taken aback at that. His sleeved hand comes up to hide everything below his mask, before he makes a little scoffing noise. "There is no need. You cannot play your part for me if you are dead."

He's flustered, they realize, smile stretching into a sharp-toothed grin. They've found a weak point of his- The gloved hand thwaps solidly down upon their face again.

"Desist."

#ffxiv #fic #posts barely edited fic during maint. passes the fuck out goodnight see you in 7.4

shroudcryptid

"Good morning." The Ascian says, pleasantly.

"Where the fuck are my clothes." They say back.

shroudcryptid

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

shroudcryptid

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

#updates #feel free to block this tag

shroudcryptid

"Good morning." The Ascian says, pleasantly.

"Where the fuck are my clothes." They say back.

shroudcryptid

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

#elidiwol but queerplatonic #they're friends and it's very weird

"Good morning." The Ascian says, pleasantly.

"Where the fuck are my clothes." They say back.

#only the finest of writing in this fic #hello i'm not dead #it's somehow not nsfw

Snippet from the Lahabrea!Louisoix AU. Feat. Thancred having a bad time.

When Thancred finds himself before the Ascian, blade in hand, there's an odd feeling. For a moment, he's a child again, fat wallet in his hand but wrist caught by an old man's iron grip. Stronger than he looks, stronger than he should be, with the looming sense of something far larger looking out through elezen eyes. Something that overshadows all around it, whispers of darkness and burning and old, old, older than the rocks he stands upon. He is naught but a fleeting spark before this presence, momentary and miniscule. Irrelevant.

But that presence had faded. Had curled back in on itself, retracting into the shape of a man like a snail into a shell. Petrified with fear and shock, Thancred had let the thing pull him onto the ship, to do with him as it would. And when that had proven to be mercy, to be changing his life for the better, again and again and again, he had even begun to convince himself that he had seen false.

Not here, though. Not now. Sleep deprived, underfed, and pushed to his limits all around, Thancred cannot spare the energy to lie to himself again.

#ffxiv #thancred #lahabrea #the first half of the fic is turning out so fluffy. twins and grandpa bonding. and then there's this. oops.#snippet

Day 2 - Texture

A gloved hand fists tight in their hair, claws scratching against their scalp. By that grasp, it pulls their slack head back, showing the line of their jaw. There's a moment of pause, of examination, but not content, it keeps tilting their head from side to side, up and down. Rotating it until bones protest.

Even that is not enough. Tilting their chin up again, another talon pokes sharply at cheekbones, scrapes along the line of their lip. Pokes their nostrils, and tugs at them as if they weren't tender flesh. Little stings linger in its wake.

It's as slow as moving through deep mud, but after some effort, they groggily get their throat to growl a low complaint.

Adorable." A distorted voice says, mockingly. "Are you a hero, or the monster they slay? Those of Eorzea may call you the first, but what I have seen so far leans more towards the latter…" The voice trails off, and their head is pulled sharply back again. "And yet, something of the lines of your face….. What is this dissonance…"

Another pause, longer this time. Absent of change, the Warrior starts to sink back down into murky unconsciousness, even through the uncomfortable position.

Eventually, there's a distant sigh. "This brings me nowhere…"

Abruptly, they're released, falling and hitting solid floor. A pained sound rumbles, dies in their throat, but even that is distant.

#.....ahem.#i'm trying to make him meaner. i think i'm just making the scene hot though

Day 1 - Sprout

Chin in the dirt, the wounded dragon finds its eyes focusing on the smallest stalk of green, pushing its way up through the island's earth. It's pale, malnutrition from poorly kept soil taking its toll, but still, it lives.

Over the cliff's edge, machines whir, an omnipresent wall of noise, just as unrelenting as the nauseating wall of storm and lightning that has kept the dragon a prisoner for so, so long. They fly so far away, with naught beneath them but air and emptiness, and it is yet another stab in the dragon's chest that it cannot remember what that is like.

Vision fading, it hones in on the little plant. Lets it become the only thing in its mind, as all else darkens around it. Such a little thing, it is…

#ffxiv #;w; was in azys lla for hunt reasons and this caught me

The massive, deep green paw flexes by his head, talons easily as long as his hand emerging and scouring furrows through the earth of the den. Casually, Elidibus pulls his outstretched arm closer to the relative safety of his body.

How irritating, that merely scouting had led to this. The people in this border region of the Twelveswood were few and far between, and those with the sight to notice his brethren even more so. The passive protection of the so-called elementals had barred his sundered brethren, but the brief burst of aether had been too unusual to not investigate....

It… would be a hassle, to abandon this body when there was still the chance of getting more use from it. The coup he had been instigating yet had a starring role featuring its face. And yet, for how long would this animal’s fascination last? How long must he wait before it lost interest and wandered off into the woods, never to trouble him again? Already this was more work than he’d put into this body’s hair in the combined months he’d had it.

He says as much to the beast, more for his own benefit than for it, doing what little he could do to keep his mouth out of the dirt. His lips are still brushing it.

Barely an inch from his eye, a pale grub escapes from the clawed furrows, wriggled its way back beneath a scrap of rough bark. He watches it, detachedly, because he is not the vessel and does not especially care what happens to its long term functionality.

Seemingly in response to his comment, the beast pauses in its attack upon his hair, and makes a low, chuffing sound above his head, before vigorously returning to its self appointed task.

His hood is haphazardly pooled around his shoulders, having been delicately taken between the rows of blades in the creature’s maw and pulled to just barely fall loose. Taking absurd finesse and care with the act, when taking his entire head off his shoulders would have come far easier to the immense creature that was now roughly grooming his exposed hair. Spined tongue sweeping through his ruffled mess, running as deep as a comb’s tines.

The distant sensation from the body's scalp is… tickling, perhaps. Yes. That was the word tied to this sensation. Elidibus supposes he doesn't mind it.

Briefly, Elidibus wonders what species it is. It was a green unlike any native coeurl or torama…. It had also far longer fur than them, a shaggy coat instead of a sleek covering.

The fur brings to mind a creature he faintly recalled seeing an eternity ago, in the testing grounds of…. He can’t remember the name, but the sunlight had felt so warm upon him. Why…. Of all things, why had he managed to recall that. Because the person he’d been standing beside, had discussed it with….

The memory slips through his grasp, fading like mist before the sun. Above him, the creature abruptly lets its head fall beside him.

He tilts his head to see, looking for any injury tiring it, and instead meets a single large, orange eye, angled back to stay fixated upon him. The pupil, slit in the manner of felines, is in a rather round state. Did that mean anything…? Elidibus suspects it might.

“Surely you must grow hungry eventually.” Elidibus says, evenly. Meeting the beast’s intense gaze, and the odd intelligence within. “Am I to be sustenance, played with and stashed away for your later whims?” This vessel, at least. He would be long gone, soul fled back to the rift. “Or will you grow weary of me and sate your hunger elsewhere? Devour those lesser beasts that call this wood home? Perhaps even turning towards those that call themself people? How much bloodshed it must take, to satisfy a beast of your size.”

Ignoring his taunting, the beast merely chuffs again, and lazily nudges him with a massive paw.

As it turns out, the beast does not grow weary of him. Instead, it simply carries him along in its mouth when it goes to hunt. It stalks along, his slowly fraying robes hooked firmly between razor edged teeth, akin to how other Coeurl variants were known to carry kittens. And yet, that is presumably not the nature of the creature’s intent towards him, as kittens were left within the safety of nests, or with others of their pride. He's not sure why he remembers that, either.

All his knowlege means is that he knows naught of its intent. He ponders this as his legs slide limply over branches and bushes, the creature winding and wending its way through the forest. The only sound at its passage is from him, and he wonders why it is so fixated upon keeping him, even as he decreases its chances of catching prey unaware.

At last, it slows. He cannot turn to see it, but from the shifts in its posture, he knows it is gathering its hind under it, ready to pounce.

His vessel makes a choked sound at the speed at which it’s suddenly moving. The creature bats at something, and an animal’s startled squeal is wetly cut off.

Clumsily, it drops him from its mouth, and slaps a paw down to pin him there.

While the creature’s focus is on devouring, Elidibus strikes. He tears at his robe, leaving mere shreds in the creature’s claws. Leaping backwards and up, floating in the air yalms backward, and swiftly pulling at the magical threads by which he will teleport away.

His cast, swift as it is, is Interrupted by a massive paw slamming into his chest, the heavy blow batting him into a solid trunk. Mortal bones crunch at the impact, breath flees his vessels chest, and as he flinches, the ground comes up to meet him. The next thing he knows, the paw has returned to pin him, sharp talons growing from their sheaths and sinking into the wood around him. Two flex forward around his head, brushing against his cheeks, so close to his vulnerable flesh that he can’t even turn. Lower, other talons were sinking through his robes beneath his shoulders.

Looking up, Elidibus meets massive, orange eyes, set above a red-dripping maw. He smiles, thinly, as a deep rumble in its chest makes the vessel's bodily hairs stand on end. "You will not keep me here forever."

In response, the creature only growls again.

It was strange, how pleasant it was to be pressed against the massive, fluffy, intensely vibrating chest, Elidibus mused. How calming. Even with the risk of being ripped to shreds and devoured by that fanged maw.

Was it something about its aetheric signature? Had he known the person who’d made this line of concepts? Was the warmth in his chest a reaction towards yet another ancient ill-advisedly implanting an affection override towards another person they cared for? Was that why the creature was so fixated upon him?

He remembers it very faintly, that fad. Complaints about it had made their way to the conversation, arguments ranging from how it was disgustingly partial, to how it was opposed to the very ideals Amaurot held in their stewardship to the star, to it as a mere trinket of acceptable affection between citizens of Amaurot.

He... doesn’t remember what the convocation had ruled on the matter. And so he sighs, and lets his head fall into the fluff. The odd feeling of safety is… unusually conducive towards good quality sleep. More than for the vessel, Elidibus finds himself tempted to sleep, for the first time in….. Well. He's not sure.

It doesn't matter. And so it's especially surprising when the next thing he knows, the sun is in an entirely different location.

…The fluff against him is still purring. Elidibus loses yet more time. And yet, when he wakes (How funny it is, to be waking once more, to realize that he had slept), he finds his head…. Cleared. There are projects coming to mind that he had utterly forgotten about, for… Centuries, perhaps. One or two that are mere years out of date, and which he may yet be able to salvage.

Thoughts whirring on how to address them, he does not react as the creature yet again begins to groom his hair. Had he truly been in such a suboptimal state? It only seems obvious now, when he has come out of it. But why now…

The creature's tongue drags roughly over the vessel's ear, and it flinches.

Elidibus, on the other hand, does not care. What he does do is lay still in quiet contemplation, and tilt his head up to look at the creature's eyes. His irritation from before is gone, in its place is calm measurement.

"I must attend my duties." He says, watching it for reactions.

And indeed, the creature responds to his words, as if they meant something to it. Responds with a quiet, mournful rumble, and agitation flashing in its eyes.

Hah, Elidibus thinks. It listens better than multiple of his coworkers.

"And if that distresses you… I could take you with me."

The creature goes still for a moment, bright eyes wide, fixed upon him. For a moment, Elidibus is sure it's about to bite his throat out. And then in the blink of an eye, it's rolling over to lay upon him, chuffing and delightedly rubbing that heavy muzzle and face upon him.

Hm. More evidence of its intelligence, even if… "Ghhhk-" …It was overly enthusiastic.

"…If." He says, forcefully, and the creature freezes. Good. Growls quietly, which is less good. "…You will behave yourself. I cannot tolerate interference during matters of import." Once again he meets the creature's burnt orange gaze, although he has no idea what color his vessel's eyes are. Grey, probably. Proximity to him tends to wash vibrancy away.

It's still growling, but it nods its massive head in a rather spoken-like gesture, and then roughly drops down on his chest again, making the vessel wheeze.

"Good." Elidibus says, ribs twinging distantly, and worms an arm free to pet at the short hairs of its forehead.

When he steps through a portal, the creature following after and slinking into hallways of dark crystal, a collar of white and gold rests twined around its neck.

Peacefully, it follows him to what could be called his quarters. The place where his soul rests, in the scant times when he is not needed. And then it looks so lonely there, the room empty around it, that Elidibus finds himself Creating a bed for it to rest upon.

A week later finds him trapped upon that same bed, sunk into rumbling fluff. A hearth now takes up some wall space, soft coverings scattered around the rest of them, and a food dish and water fountain reside in a corner.

Well, Elidibus thinks. He has done the preparation work for the next five years of the various plans. Technically, the only thing to get up for would be to check in with Nabriales and Halmarut for the third time this week, regarding their planned intervention next year in the pro-war political faction in that kingdom upon the Ninth…

The creature rumbles, and starts grooming his hair again. With a sigh, Elidibus resigns himself to pleasant captivity.

Barely a day later, he's in a meeting room and slapping the sullen creature on the nose, until it begrudgingly spits up their current Nabriales. Wet and in shock, the man does naught but stare, and then teleport to the far end of the room, behind every single other attending member of the Convocation.

Elidibus doesn't say it, but with the creature lurking behind his chair, the rest of the meeting is the quietest and smoothest he's had all millennia.

#ffxiv #elidiwol #hi. have some self indulgent crack fluff.

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