#ashen oak

[turtledoggydraws]

I've been really enjoying Vintage Story: Torch playthrough and of course thought of the idea to draw the progression of the Ashen Oak settlement. And like my last fanart of the Oak tree, I added more quails and a hidden quail & fish

[turtledoggydraws]

I have granted thou a long bow and a source to thrive In turn you settle to survive We whisper our requests on thy leaves And thou take heed to my needs Whether fire, ice or sand harms thy skin Ashen Oak shall provide again

It was such a fun VS playthrough and watch the settlement progress on the Dunkin side from Quail's PoV

Ashen Oak fanart 1 [x] 2 [x]

[a-midnight-rest]

Time to Self promote!

I am uploading a lightly narrative let’s play of FFXIV. No commentary, some additional journal entries, subtitles during songs, a few editing tricks... The main idea is to allow people who have zero interest in video games or mmos to still enjoy the story of this wonderful game.

All stories are explored, all side content, all job quest, everything the game has to offer except the long grinding sessions.

As of now, the 150 episodes of the base game are recorded and edited, it’s just going to take a while to upload everything, so you won’t have to wait much if you decide to binge watch it. I can guarantee 2 each day, minimum

The story follows Ashen Oak, one of the many adventurers of Eorzea, the Land of the Gods. Still recovering from a war with the Garlean Empire, culminating in the Calamity of the battle of Carteneau, the City States of Eorzea have ample need of mercenaries will to help wherever they can. Ashen, however, is plagued with dreams and visions. And while she came to Ul’dah seeking fortune, Fate will find her first.

For information, the game is narratively divided as such. There is the base game, which is a complete story, followed by the “Patches”, which resolves loose ends, introduce other narratives, and hint at where the stories are going, and then there is the expansion, which is a complete story and the cycle continues. I will cover from A Realm Reborn, the base game, Heavensward, Stormblood, Shadowbringer, and Endwalker, but not its patches. The reason is that Endwalker is the conclusion of the first overarching arc and truly feels like a final point to the game. I will first complete all recordings of the game/expansion or its patch before starting to upload it, leading to future hiatus. But considering how long it takes to upload things on Youtube, it’s possible I would finish the recording before finishing the upload of the previous work, we’ll see.

ANYWAY, all are welcome ^^

[a-midnight-rest]

Thank the gods of video game for de-genderizing outfits. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why some cloths are limited to men and some to women. Tell me she doesn’t rock this outfit!

For all its fantasy, Final Fantasy has often successfully fused several genre in one game, and FFXIV being the most ambitious project yet, it is no exception. There are several good option for Steampunk outfits, and one job specifically centered around this idea. The Machinist wield a gun and field various mechanical inventions to help him in battle, from automatic crossbows, to powerdrills, to an actual mech at some point. While not powered by steam, they are powered by Aether, both the magic and fundamental life force of the world. A true “Magitek”.

[helloitea]

(I started writing a novel and this is part of it)

A branch snapped in the distance. The song died in Mavero’s throat. The child stiffened again. Mavero’s pace stayed even. They couldn’t know that he’d noticed. His eyes were now open and alert though his face showed no sign of his worry. There was a series of light rustlings from behind. In more than one direction. More than one enemy. Mavero couldn’t fight with the boy in his arms, it was too dangerous. His eyes scanned the horizon. There was nothing but fields for leagues in any direction. He looked out across the wheat field to the right of the road. There! A small shanty sat just to the other side of it. He mentally calculated the run. His chances were slim but slimmer still if he tried to hold his ground. At least the shanty was a defensible position.

He had no other choice.

Mavero turned his head to the boy’s ear. “Hold tight to me. We’re going to have to run,” he whispered. The child’s grip tightened around his neck despite his shaking arms. Mavero did the same about the boy’s waist. His heels dug into the muddied ground, his feet kicking off into a dash. The rustle of fabric behind them told of the enemies’ pursuit. The cold wind bit at Mavero as he powered across the field, the wheat whipped at his legs, dragging against him, forcing him slower. The pounding of footsteps behind him rang like drum beats in a death march as he desperately made to pick up the speed. The shack was too far away. The beats were getting closer. Mavero shut his eyes and focused on the fire across the field where the hasty funeral pyre lay burning. He called on the flames, summoning them to him. There was a rushing of air as the fire sliced through the field behind him and the cries of surprise from their pursuers.

Surprise, not pain. Mavero glanced over his shoulder to see them already raising their own hands to the fire to force their way through.  He cursed under his breath. The shack was closer now. Just a little longer. He heard screeches of triumph and the resumed pounding. Mavero swept the fire back in behind him, creating another wall. He just needed to distract them a bit longer. But they were expecting it this time. They broke through easily, barely slowing down.

He had to think fast. They were nearly at the shack. Mavero threw his hand back savagely, focusing all his energy at the ground. The land beneath them shook as a chasm opened up, consuming two of the attackers, sending another sprawling to the ground. There was no time to celebrate the victory. Mavero reached the shack. He kicked the door open and put the child back on his feet.

“Go inside and stay hidden,” he ordered as he drew his sword again from its sheath. He obeyed with wide, frightened eyes. Mavero turned back to see the remaining two attackers standing some twenty or so feet from him, watching. This was the first real look he’d gotten of them. They wore familiar robes; grey and of a simple fabric with a winding oak tree embroidered from the bottom hem up either side of the opening, held closed by a length of grey rope, and around the edge of the hood that hid their faces. This was the garb of a Rootisian priest. The only skin visible was a small triangle at the neck and the hands, each holding a small knife. Mavero took a steadying breath and adjusted his stance. These priests were clearly no amateurs and they had at least some of the Ninalde in their veins. This would not be an easy fight.

The first priest adjusted the knife in his left hand, turning the blade down, while the second shifted his weight to his right foot. They moved first. The two leaped forward in near perfect synchronization. They darted in opposite directions, coming toward him from both sides. Mavero hefted his sword in his hand, jumping out of range of the first, blade connecting with that of the second. They pushed off each other, jumping backward a few feet. The first rounded on him again, swinging one knife high and the other low. Mavero ducked, blocking the lower blade with his own, and kicked the priest’s feet out from under him. He fell to the ground. Mavero’s sword rushed down after him. He rolled out of the way, swinging his blade. Mavero cried out, blood blossoming across his shins, spinning back to face the second. He lashed out with his blade, hearing the priest howl as it slashed down his chest. Mavero stumbled forward, the first’s foot connecting from behind. The second slashed across Mavero’s shoulder. He roared in defiance, whipping his blade up and spinning full circle. He heard a muted scream and a clatter as one of the priests fell.

Mavero turned to the remaining attacker. His shoulders shook and, for a moment, Mavero thought him scared. But then he raised a hand to point just over the soldier’s shoulder. He was laughing. Mavero snapped around to see another priest, the one who had fallen, now recovered and standing just outside the carnage of the fight. He raised his head so his mouth was visible and smiled, lips pulled back over hideously sharpened teeth. He raised one hand, palm out. Mavero’s eyes widened in realization.