Styrnrael Malqir

[starstriderart]

Reflections in Crystal...

[styrnraelmalqir]

[styrnraelmalqir]

Uncharted Waters

Chapters 1-3 of a little thing I’m working on about Styrnrael’s parents! Hoping to continue this soon and maybe even post it on AO3!

---

The young cartographer’s fingers gently brushed the cover of a sun-bleached book. Inside its pages, she found several descriptions of the villages she knew well – all written by someone who had only traveled through the vast plains of the Azim Steppe for only a few days. The Namazu working at the bookseller’s booth that day looked sheepishly at the Au Ri woman who lingered. “May I help you?” He asked politely, as if to hurry her along.

“Oh no, you cannot help me. All the maps in this book are,” her voice trailed off.

“Yes-yes?” Gyocho half-heartedly pressed his fins together inquisitively.

“They’re all wrong. Every one of them.” She closed the book.

“Very well.” His voice was heavy with disappointment. He tried another tactic. “We have other wares available. This book about Ul’dah has been quite popular of late – full to the brim with resources for selling and making a profit. You could be rich--”

Before he could finish, the Au Ri woman slammed a handful of gil onto the stall, loud enough to alert some of the Qestiri who were guarding the market in Reunion. “No, I’ll buy this one with the maps.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon picking the book apart, crossing out inaccuracies. At times she laughed out loud to no one in particular.

“I’d like to buy this one.” Sarangerel called out to the Namazu at the end of the week. Seven-hundred seventy-seven blessings that his schedule once again coincided with this tenacious young woman’s. Though he was surprised at her selection – a common, plain, blank notebook bound in dzo leather with subpar bindings and thin parchment – he did not refuse her payment of 714 gil. She left before he could say, “Yes-yes.”

Sarangerel and the others who lived in Malqir Iloh, had moved with the seasons along The One River or Yat Khal. Much like their cousins, the Mol to the north, the Malqir lived in a kind of peace and tranquility. This was all afforded by a glamour prism nested in the river’s rocky bed.

Although hidden, they could come and go as they pleased, but many decided to spend their entire lives along the banks of Yat Khal. Though she was most likely to become the next leader of Malqir Iloh, Sarangerel’s true passion was in the creation of maps. The completion of which would require travel well beyond the Steppe. This was something her mother was becoming increasingly aware of as Sarangerel started to trek further and further away.

 West of Reunion, toward the Tail Mountains that encircled parts of the northern Steppe, Sarangerel searched the horizon on horseback. The landscape transformed the higher she ascended. The stones were larger, their jagged edges reaching higher toward the summit. Colorful flags danced in the winds surrounding a base camp composed of many different Au Ra families. Her horse was tired from the long trek of the day and she led it to water as she silently watched the others. Some were traders, making their way home after visiting the market town below, but most were travelers—adventurers from beyond the inland grasslands. One among the caravan approached her. A handsome Viera man ten summers her senior approached her with an offering of fruit. He used a small blade to cut a piece for her and another for her horse. She returned the gesture with a nod.

“Where are you headed?” He asked, his eyes fixated on her as she gently brushed the black mane of her horse.

“Just a little further.” She answered, suddenly remembering to keep her guard up. She continued walking past the Viera and did not turn around as she waved. “Thank you for the fruit.”

The sun was low in the sky as she reached a trail where stones were stacked like mountains leading up to a tall peak. She took a few flat stones with her as well, determined to start a new mound, perhaps somewhere no one had stepped before. She tied the lead of her horse to a boulder and continued down the narrow path.

The sky was a deep blue as the sun hushed out the last breath of the day. Yet it was just enough light for her to look below and see a glimpse of the sea below her. She stood upon a rock and took out a spyglass. From this point, she could almost see the Bay of Yanxia. There were dark mists in the furthest distance she could see. Names she had only read about – the Knowing Sea, and further on to the Ryakgyr Peninsula, suddenly became shapes in the glass. She sketched quickly. As the last light left the clouds, she stacked the flat stones on the ridge and made her descent, returning to the adventurer’s camp.

She listened to the stories the travelers shared. Her attention sometimes turned to the stars glimmering above the mountain as she warmed herself by the fire. Covered in a heavy wool, she and her horse waited until the sun rose again to make their return to Malqir Iloh.

 Chapter 2

“Seek it out!” Maral exclaimed and her cane clicked on the slate floor.  

“Is it alright to leave in winter? Will you need the extra hands around here?” Sarangerel said this only halfheartedly, as she was already packing a satchel across the table from her mother.

“Of course, dear! I have things well at hand here.” Maral walked closer to the table and took a seat. “Besides, you will return by the next Tsagaan Sar!”

With this, Sarangerel was silent. Maral took notice of this response or lack there-of.

“Will you not?” Maral asked another way.

“No.” Sarangerel said plainly and closed her book. She looked directly at Maral, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and of an untold anger. “The books are wrong about the Steppe. I think they might be wrong about everything.”

“And so you must find out for yourself the truth of it all. You will not just disprove them, you will make new maps unlike any other.”

They were silent for some time as Sarangerel looked through the other parchments and papers scattered on the table. Some she rolled up and placed in the satchel. Others, she just shook her head at. She smiled at an illustrated guide of the Ruby Sea, which included descriptions of the Kojin and their customs.

“I only ask that you be cautious and make intelligent choices. That you know the consequences of your actions and that you return to us with new knowledge in exchange.”

“You are so eager to see me go.”

“Not at all, my dear. I only know that there will never be another who can best me at a game of Kharaqiq and instead of taking the chief position for herself, choose to seek out her fortune on a much greater game board.”

Sarangerel frowned deeply as her eyes welled with tears. She held her mother closely. Their arms locked around each other for some time. Before another bell passed, Sarangerel got herself ready to leave that night. Under the cover of the moon in winter, she was less likely to be seized by raiders on her way past Reunion, keeping her safe beyond the Steppe, toward the tides of the Ruby Sea.  

 Chapter 3

“Sarangerel,” She said, tipping her head slightly toward the deck of the ship. She slowly lifted her jewel-toned eyes toward the crew.

“Very pleased to meet you.” Maduin, a Roegadyn of eight and twenty stepped closer to her. “I am the chief navigator and pilot. Your maps have already served us well.”

She pursed her lips together into a proud smile.

“Set sail!” A booming voice cut off the formalities. His order cracked through the deck like a thunderclap and broke the stillness of the water. Every person aboard the ship struck into action – dashing from one station to the next. Arms buckled under the weight of heavy trunks of cannonballs and gunpowder. The voice came from an older Roegadyn man at the helm of the ship. His gray hair was tied back with colorful bandanas woven into rows of braided hair. His eyes were a fierce cobalt blue, the same color of the choppy waves beneath him.

The rowdy crew cheered their agreement and began to hoist the sails and lift up the heavy ropes from the sea. Sarangerel followed suit and joined the navigator who was climbing the stairs to the top deck. On a fine wooden stand near the helm, Maduin and Sarangerel searched the horizon. The captain beside them kept one of his strong arms steady on the wheel of the ship. The wind carried them out to the open waters.

The ship was modestly sized, with only one mast and a cargo hull fitted just for day trips only. The small size was made up for with its unmatched speed – particularly in pursuit of imperial vessels twice or three times its size. This was all-too apparent when the sails carried the ship further away from the harbor. A bell passed and they no longer could see the dock, or the land attached to it. It was then that the navigator and cartographer entered the captain’s chambers and set to work.

“Sarangerel, was it?” The navigator smiled up from the papers spread out around the quarters.  

“Yes?” She responded but did return his glance.

“I never told you my name!” Soft lines around his eyes crinkled toward his brows.

“It’s Maduin, is it not?”

“Yes, my name is Maduin.” The Roegadyn man felt disarmed, and his eyes slowly pointed toward the map on the table. He desperately wanted to fill the silence and continue learning about the intriguing cartographer before him. The planks of the floor creaked as the ship crossed a wave.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” Sarangerel still did not look up from her map.  

“I was going to ask – where are you from?” He hesitated, but his determination to know her better never wavered. A few strands of his dark teal hair loosened and fell across his forehead. He brushed them back behind one ear and noticed she had finally looked up at him, if only for a moment. A sudden warmth touched the tips of his tan cheeks, dimpled by his widening smile. He was nothing if not persistent.

“Here.” She noted, pointing to a sketch of rounded yurts punctuating the Azim Steppe on her hand-drawn map of Othard.

The question of where had piqued her interest, but she did not elaborate. Many of the other crew members carried on with their tall tales or sang jovially. There was almost no quiet, especially when they were underway and out to sea. Her curtness was almost refreshing, and most certainly unexpected.

The cabin rocked and swayed as the sails carried them further away from the coastline. The two of them continued their work in a comfortable quiet. Occasionally, Sarangerel found herself looking up from the maps to think. Maduin would carefully steal a glance at her. Though he had seen many other Au Ri, particularly fellow crew members hailing from Raen settlements, her visage was unlike anyone he had seen before. Her azure skin was covered in indigo scales that ran up her arms, neck, and framing her face. Her hair was a delicate silver that looked like a river illuminated by the moon, the tresses of which just hit below her shoulders. Her beauty was difficult to miss and proved to be a challenge to ignore.

It did not escape Sarangerel’s notice that Maduin was staring at her as often as he was staring at the map. At first, she was annoyed. Her expression softened once she realized how patient he was with the coordinates. She could see him carefully studying her survey of the Ruby Tide. She hoped he could see the care she took to detail the surrounding islands. Traveling between each of them had taken nearly six moons and she felt proud of her work. Once she knew he was going to take her maps seriously, she finally felt at ease in the close quarters of the chamber.

“Your maps are remarkable, Sarangerel. I believe this course you have charted will be best suited for a swift return to Onokoro.” He glanced at her again, but this time she was ready to meet his gaze. A bead of sweat gathered on her temples; she thought it must have been the warmth of the afternoon sun trapped inside the room.

Finally, Sarangerel reached toward Maduin, close enough to embrace him, but then extended her arm past him to pick up a map behind him. “This is the one we need to look at before we travel further north.”

He didn’t realize his mouth had opened as she approached, but he quickly closed it before letting out a sigh. Something that felt like relief and disappointment erupted in his chest as he glanced at the map she had started to unroll. She placed four weighty inkwells at each corner of the map so it could lay flat and smoothed her fingers over the heavy cloth. “The nautical charts from Koshu are not accurate.”

“We are frequently in these waters and have never taken another route. There is no other route.” He gestured toward her, surrendering to his curiosity and confusion. “Is there?”

“The Kojin of the Blue would say otherwise. Besides, it’s well known that no information leaves Koshu unless it is certified by Bukyo. Anyone claiming to have a map from Koshu is either smuggling information or simply making it up. And I’m more inclined to believe the latter.” Sarangerel tapped her chin as she theorized.

“So, this map is from the Kojin? How can we be sure they are to be trusted? The Red will attack us on sight. The Blue are not so different.”

“They can be trusted because I have sailed this myself. I’ve seen where this leads and I’ve added my own notes to it.”

He seriously considered the consequences of a new course while staring into the chart.

“Do you trust me?” She turned toward him and extended an open palm.

“I don’t have any reason to doubt you.” He closed his fingers around hers and shook her hand.

They were still for a moment, holding each other’s hands. The light from the sea and the sky danced across the room, filling the ceiling with bright reflections of waves. Suddenly the ship turned over another wave, shifting their hands apart as they struggled to regain their balance. The pilot then adjusted the rudder and climbed the stairs to the helm of the ship where he explained to the captain the plan to take the Kojin of the Blue route.

Sarangerel could see the captain’s arms swing around Maduin in approval.  He chuckled loudly as he spun the ship’s wheel.

The trip took 3 bells shorter than their normal route – and was far less treacherous overall. Their target was a small fleet of smugglers who had stolen from the neighboring village of Isari. The smugglers proved to be no match for those employed under the banner of the Ruby Tide. Not only was the cargo recovered, but the smugglers soon found themselves marooned without their ships. With Sarangerel’s map, they had come out of the scuffle unscathed, and far richer for it.

After returning their stolen goods, the fishermen of Isari shared nearly half of it to the privateers they had hired to steal it back. Once Maduin, Sarangerel, and the rest of the crew had returned to Crick, on the island of Onokoro, they began to remove trunk after trunk of the bounty collected from the day’s work.

[styrnraelmalqir]

[styrnraelmalqir]

The Last Vigil

[ MAJOR SPOILERS FOR FFXIV 3.0 AND 3.1 AHEAD. ]

I just have a lot of feelings and needed to put them into words. Spoilers begin right away so please be warned, thank you! 

“He would not have told you,” the Count turned to his steward, trading his cane for the broken shield of his son, “but when Haurchefant begged me to accept you into our household, he described you as ‘hope incarnate.’”

The room was hushed at the sight of Count Edmont de Fortemps touching the failed steel before him. He studied it for a moment before turning back to Styrnrael. “At the time, I assumed that he was waxing lyrical, as he was wont, but I have come to see that he simply spoke the truth.”

A breath escaped the steward’s lips as he looked upon his lord. Of the many secrets the steward had kept in half a century of service, moments such as these still came as a surprise. His focus moved to the warriors who stood in the foyer of the Manor. The steward’s vision narrowed on Styrnrael behind the thick bifocals resting on his nose. A tear threatened his composure. The warmth she and her friends brought to Ishgard was enough to fog his glasses. He batted away the tear. Before he could remove a handkerchief from his pocket to clean his lenses, Edmont surprised him yet again.

The Count stepped toward the free paladin whom his son had trusted most ardently. His gaze was still fixed on the shield in his hands, eyes low beneath his eyelashes. Of all the passing times she visited Fortemps Manor, sometimes for only a few hours of rest, not once had Edmont warmly addressed her as such.

His gaze slowly lifted to meet her own. “You are hope.” He spoke softly as if just for her to hear. His deep blue irises held an ocean’s depth. For a moment in the fading light of sunset that pierced through the windows, she saw Haurchefant in his eyes. She dared not to blink.

He cleared his throat, regaining the equanimity required for that of the head of House Fortemps. “You are hope,” he repeated with purpose, “a shining beacon that shall guide the people of Ishgard through this raging snowstorm.” With that, he lifted a heel and bowed before her, presenting the shield with both hands. She reached toward the Count to receive his gift. Her hands traced its rough edges. It was not sharp enough to nick her calloused hand, try as she might. The dazzling color of the setting sun filled the crevices of the shield’s damage with light.

“A memento,” the Count began again, looking directly at Styrnrael now. “Were my son here…” Styrnrael was entranced and the all too familiar ringing in her head made her stagger away from the present. The Echo, a gift of her mind to see memories as they were lived, could also be a curse. Suddenly her vision was every color at once and yet nothing at all. The rigid décor of the room, the flowers in the vase, the Count, the steward, and Seishin, all disappeared around her. The emptiness engulfed her in a pyre of dancing colors. Memories that were not her own flooded her reality. The Echo within her wove unrelated images together into a coherent form. The steps of a familiar quarter of Ishgard appeared, illuminated by servants lighting the gas lamps that lined the mithril-colored stone pathways of the Pillars. She stepped into the past.

--

All too familiarly, the past becomes present for just a moment.

A boy not yet ten is outside on a cold day, playing with a stick and a book. “En garde!” he shouts, defending a small toy from a would-be intruder. “That’s enough for today,” A man approaches. He is not yet forty-one. He does not make eye contact with the child. “You can return to the Manor now that mother’s guests are gone.”

The boy laughs and gathers his effects. Giving himself a running start, he jumps and grabs the Count’s hand. “And please, be reasonable Haurchefant. Leave the sticks outside this time, won’t you?”

The gaslights on the perimeter of the street begin to flicker as father and son return to the Manor. The fire within the lamps turns to smoke and color fades around her as Styrnrael steps into another vision.

Now at nearly thirty himself, the teal haired youth has grown into a thoughtful adviser, studying the charts on his desk in his quarters at Camp Dragonhead. Atop the strewn maps and coordinates of the warfront is an envelope. It was nearly torn to shreds in excitement. “What is it, my lord?” Corentiaux clamors to know what message would be so important that it drew Haurchefant’s attention so abruptly this early in the morning.

“A missive, from the Scions of course! I have been awaiting news of their decision to hear our case! We must needs their assistance posthaste to ensure Francel’s record is expunged! I know he is innocent, we just need to prove it to the Inquisitor.” His eyes dart over the words of the letter, comprehending quickly the limited envoy they approved to aid his needs. His hope never faulters for a moment no matter how slim the chances might be. “By the Fury! They have accepted our call for aid and by some fortune are sending the primal slayers themselves!”

Corentiaux is unconvinced, knowing how idealistic his lord is wont to be. “Are you sure that this will be enough to aid us?”

“Hope. That is always enough.” He nods to his squires and begins planning the reception to welcome the Scions who would answer his plea. He shuffles the papers on his desk like an Astrologian’s cards. The wind of the fanned-out pages sweeps Styrnrael to another time.

Even at midday, there is mist covering the Sea of Clouds. Scatterlings of Rose Knight scouts line the area, some swiftly rising to attention as the noble approaches, and some others ignoring him entirely. The indifference they show is quickly parted when Laniette approaches, flanked by wounded soldiers and a trembling Honoroit. “Lord Haurchefant,” the Lady begins. “Your dutiful brother has taken the growing tensions with the Vanu Vanu into his own hands to prove himself. Might you and Master Garlond have a moment to spare for one of your trademark deus ex machinas?” She smiles through gritted teeth, cursing Emmanellain for causing so much trouble, then cursing herself for entrusting him with the task.

“I thought you would never ask! Last time I so much as suggested involving myself in the dealings of the Warriors of Light, twelve men had to restrain me!” Haurchefant resigns to a smile, sparing his company the details of his favorite story to recount. He knows Laniette’s duties here in Cloudtop are much like corralling gaelicats. “You can count on me, my lady!” He nods and gently shakes his fist. Then, turning his sunlit disposition to Cid, the two of them board the airship docked at the side of the camp. Lifting into the air, they cast off the airship landing, and fly through the heavens upon the Enterprise. The clouds mingle with the exhaust of the airship’s engine, flowing through the lush lands of the camp. Styrnrael’s vision becomes clouded, too, as she flies to another image.

“I’m certain there is a joke about a monk and a House Fortemps Knight walking into a bar,” Gibrillont chuckles.

Seishin and Haurchefant laugh heartily and take their seats on weathered stools.

“What will it be, boys? For what you did tonight to provide aid and succor to the Brume folk after today’s eventful showdown, when you could be at home nursing your own wounds, I’d say this’ll be on the house. Though tis a right shame you didn’t bring along that Lady Iceheart I saw shouting about peace earlier!”

Haurchefant almost begins to order but pauses as he sees his friend still considering the vast menu. Gibrillont notices a certain paladin missing from the party. “Say, where is Styrnrael? Do you think she would fancy some mead? I will get some from the storehouse while you two make up your minds about your drinks! I’ll put in an order for trout and chips while I pass by the kitchen and be back in two bells.” Gibrillont swaggers away, leaving the monk and the knight with some privacy. Though it is only thirty past eight, nearly all the tavern’s regulars have staggered home.

“How about some hot chocolate, for old time’s sake?” His words comfort the monk who is tapping one foot against the floor. He steals a glance at Seishin while he is looking at the menu and his cheeks warm at the thought of his return. His mind wanders, “Though I was never much of a religious man before, tis Halone’s blessing you have returned to me unharmed.”

Seishin glances up at Haurchefant coyly, flexing his hand to highlight the bruises on his knuckles. A monk is ever ready to show off his battle scars.  

Haurchefant grins incredulously, still convinced his companions are invincible. That he may count Lady Iceheart among his newfound allies; that is an entirely new kind of faith. “Though I will measure it took much more than the Fury to accomplish this feat. Ysayle, is it? She may prove to bring hope to her people yet. In some way, she reminds me of our dear Styrnrael. I recall how terrified she once was to be seen in the streets of Ishgard. No matter how many times I tried to console her that my countrymen would not look upon her in disgust, I’m not sure she fully accepted that until today.”

Gibrillont returns with their drinks and supper before Seishin can respond.

“Thank you for bringing us here, Haurchefant.” He extends his hand and the heavy glass mugs clank together. “Thank you for taking us in. Styrnrael, the Scions, and I would be beside ourselves without you.”

“My family and I were happy to do so! Though truth be told, I was not sure how Artoirel would feel.” Haurchefant, ever a hospitable host, waits for his comrade to begin eating before he takes his first bite of the warm meals before them.

Seishin lets out a hearty laugh, knowing full well what he meant. “I understand completely. My older brother is also overzealous in his endeavor to protect his family.”

“I see even Ishgard’s more beloved sons have taken you in. It was truly a pleasant surprise to see you and Estinien fighting side by side.” They continue to praise each other, delighting in the company and the well-deserved respite.

“I always knew you would be Ishgard’s saviors!” His glorious shout can be heard across the entirety of the Forgotten Knight’s dining room.

Nearby, a machinist and her men glance up from their table at the commotion. She rolls her eyes at the idiots and smirks fiendishly at her comrades. The room is full of joy – for peace is on the horizon.

Their happy exchanges muddle with the commotion of the tavernkeeper moving chairs and sweeping debris. Styrnrael can hear them talking, but they are both too far away to hear. Some memories even the Echo cannot access. Styrnrael notices another Xaela. He glances downward at the child beside him, unamused with the ruckus. He leaves as quietly as he came. Before she can follow him, Styrnrael can hear Haurchefant and Seishin speaking again.  

“Twelve have mercy! Have you told her yet?” Haurchefant inquires, ears perking up at the thought of his friends’ happiness. “I should be glad to see what she says in response. When you linger too long away, I worry what the world asks of you, how you are ever saving the world from the latest calamity.” He rests a hand on Seishin’s. “You are both so precious to me,” His confession stings like a needle to her heart, ever bleeding as she hovers in the Echo. “Your feelings are safe with me, friend. I will keep them close to my heart for as long as I live.”

She wakes up in the night on a tufted settee finding a blanket that was not there when she fell asleep. Styrnrael sits up in the darkness. She feels safe, seeing Seishin and Haurchefant sitting on the floor beside her, both of them fast asleep.

The nightmares of the future dance in her mind. In her dreams, she is running ahead, trying to catch a phantom. Her armor is lead and her sabatons melt into the ground. Her heavy legs will not move. The piercing sound hits her like a drum. The crack of the shield and the splinters flying. The glare of the spear.

“I could not bear to…” His words are the ringing in her ears. She blinks away the sight of his head in her lap. He reaches for her. In the dark, she silently repeats his words.  

She looks away as the Echo tries to show her the light fading again in the dusk of The Vault. She looks away and sees Seishin. He is lost for words. She cannot turn away now, the image is burned in her mind. She steps into the memory and lets the Echo consume her at last.

--

The vision was gone. The present pulled her back. All the colors joined together until there were none. Seishin gently touched her shoulder as she awakened. The Count’s eyes were still fixed on his son’s sources of hope.

“Are you quite alright, Mistress Malqir?” Count Edmont’s voice carried genuine worry. Styrnrael’s emptiness was not the reception he was hoping for, though he did expect it, having seen the Echo sweep his friends away at times. “I know that…” His eyes, the same eyes as his son’s, closed. “I know he meant a lot to you.”

Styrnrael nodded. The embarrassment of riches this shield was, and the memories that were held within it, felt almost too much to the Xaela. No one in the room would have guessed that not weeks ago, she was wont to hide her face beneath a cowl lest she be rejected. For in the light of day, when the snow settled, she at last felt welcomed, as was her hope.

“Were my son here, he would have wished to fight at your side in the battles to come.” His eyebrows knitted together while a somber grin wrinkled his cheeks. “Take care, my friend, and return to us!”

Seishin and Styrnrael smiled, to the Count, and then to each other.

[styrnraelmalqir]

Dawn in Ishgard was little different than the night. An opaque sheet of fog blanketed the snowcapped banks, limiting Styrnrael’s visibility even with the blessings of the echo. Twice had she seen such dense fog. The first time was when she was little more than a babe, but the mist cleared as quickly as it came, taking the Sea Wolf and his men with it. The second time, the Malqir stood as tall as her foremothers. The fog was thick with shame. 

She cared not for the cold. And even worse yet, the misunderstandings that the clear light of day might encourage. At the behest of Lady Yugiri, the Au Ra arrived in Camp Dragonshead in disguise. The hood did not cover everything, but Yugiri was sure it may do well to protect her from the disarmingly polite Elezens. It was enough to mask her appearance that, to the average isolated Ishgardian, would in plain sight be all too draconic. 

On her arrival, the kindest of hosts reassured her. “Would that I knew how you felt. I assure you that Who am I to judge? would be the common opinion on the matter of your... visage.” the head of House Fortemps explained. His agreeable nature was rare here. Even he knew that.  She knew, however kind his welcome was, her allies were limited among the archbishop’s followers. Though many in Ishgard had heard stories of the defender of Eorzea, their absence from the alliance tables was humbling. Her deeds were less than empty echoes, unworthy of songs for their great halls. Lady Yugiri was justified to hide her features, even in the great accepting shores of the Eorzean Alliance. Here, it was more than discrimination to be wary of, here it could be persecution or worse at the hands of inquisitors.  Styrnrael cursed the thick fog, for it did not hide enough. For if they truly saw her indigo complexion contrasted in the light of the gleaming white snow, night would fall before she ever reached the Holy See. 

[styrnraelmalqir]

Upon reaching Thal's respite, Styrnrael paused inside the chamber. She lit a brazier and knelt before the altar. Until now, she had only half-heartedly pledged her sword to Ul'dah, but somewhere along the way had come to realize what that truly meant: she must needs some way to unite people across differences. Did not the merchants look at her scaly visage with the same fear they reserved for Amal'jaa? And did not those same junkmongers look down upon the refugees just outside the city gates, abandoning their own kind? Those sworn to protect the Sultana could turn around tomorrow for the highest bidder. The gaps between the tiers of castes were ever more present here than in all Eorzea. She gazed upon the statue in reverence but was overcome with an earthly question, "Who are the monsters and who are the men? Only Thal knows." She thought quietly before extinguishing the flame.

[featherwurm]

For years I have been (very gratefully and gladly) using hibbary’s watercolor texture packs but I thought it was time to expand my selection of colors and make some of my own. These are a great big mix of colors I use frequently, some are washes, some are gradients, some have borders, and a lot use salt textures.  It’s a very scattershot mix, but I find that all the better for my use, and I hope some folks out there might too.  Each image is (very) roughly 9"x12" at 300DPI.  These are generally very bright and vivid, and are very suitable for backgrounds, overlay textures, or whatever folks use this sort of thing for (I mostly made these with my own use in mind, but I want to share if anyone else might find them useful). There’s a download link on DA here for the ZIP file. These are 100% free for use as a way of paying it forward for the use I’ve had (and likely still will have) from hibbary’s textures.  If you use these in a project, I’d be more than happy to see, so please feel free to link me here or show off what you do, but it’s by no means a necessity.

[styrnraelmalqir]

[ ooc; These are ABSOLUTELY gorgeous textures that look beautiful on FFXIV screenshots - I would recommend using these for any project! Thank you @featherwurm <3 !!! ]

[styrnraelmalqir]

[ made using https://characa.kkimu.dev/] 

[styrnraelmalqir]

about styrnrael

♔ Forename. Styrnrael is a Roegadyn name, meaning "star doe."  Her first name does not carry much meaning to her and at times it feels like a reminder of being different than some of her cousins. In truth, she is of Roegadyn and Xeala origins. Her father was a Sea Wolf who left shortly after Styrnrael was born. Her name was the only thing he ever gave her. ♕ Surname. Styrnrael was raised by her mother, grandmother, older brother, and several cousins among the Malqir, who value intellect and games over fighting. She grew to be a wise, critical thinker like her foremothers, but something, ever shifting like the trade winds, kept calling her to battle. Much of her understanding of the world was shaped by her matrilineal upbringing and very little is known of her Sea Wolf father. However, having both Au Ra and Roegadyn lineage, she took to the sword easily. In her young adolescence, she trained with a wooden sword while honing her skill at Khraqiq until she was old enough to help with provisional quests among the tradespeople. ♚ After the Calamity. One day, during the annual gathering of Xaela, Styrnrael enters a combat tournament, and bests one of the strongest warriors. He is visibly furious, as are his brethren. In exchange for her agreeing to forfeit quietly in the last round of their bout, thus helping him save face, he would teach her everything he knows. Knowing that he could teach her the ways of the sword, a skill she always longed to know more about, she agreed. He was known simply as her mentor, though he has carried many names, and wielded many swords. And like many of the nomadic people of the Xaela, he was well-traveled, too. Having survived the Calamity, he had many stories to tell. ♛ Before the Adventure. During her training, her mentor tells of the Coliseum of Ul’dah. He weaves a story for her, telling of the city’s immense wealth, the intricate relationships among its people, and of the king’s ransoms awaiting eager sellswords. Her mentor paints a picture of just how easy this scheme is: he and other of his brethren fight for a season, make a fortune of gil, and leave before getting involved in any of the Syndicate's dealings. He called it his trade. His enthusiasm is infectious. Hearing this, Styrnrael asks for her foremothers’ blessings to set off in search of the Coliseum. However, her mother proposes that a game of Khraqiq will help them decide. Her mother is a formidable opponent, having spent most of her years studying the techniques of Astrologians and Scholars, though never fully mastering either of their skills. She is a jack of all trades. Her wit, instead, is agile, able to bound across the board with ease, almost making Styrnrael’s head spin. The game is set -- her mother is ahead-- but the outcome? A tie. Styrnrael begins to forfeit this game, as she knows her mentor would want her to save face, explaining that she could find some other work to do around the Steppe. “Winning the game was not the wager,” her mother says with a wink. She bestows Styrnrael with a map that is etched with the handwritten notes of a well-studied scholar. “These were my notes, and what I ask dear child is that you continue them. Use them well to think of home, no matter how far you roam.” The stories her mothers had heard of were echoes of stories from traders, passed down through generations. 

[styrnraelmalqir]

[A western steppe tribe characterized by its unique leader-choosing ritual which, instead of the usual test of brawn, is a game of Kharaqiq--a chess-like game played on a circular board divided into three rings.]

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[styrnraelmalqir]

about. [ooc]

meg. she/her/hers. married to @seishinfuda

new player; august 2020 - present

washington state, usa 

aether/adamantoise