(Amethyst isn’t on this list, have the next best thing) Jade: What are you running away from?
Lucas takes a breath before answering. He licks his lips, a slow drag of the tongue. It’s not suggestive; he’s nervous. “Oh... I’d say plenty of things. Used to be I was running from some bad decisions I made in Ishgard about a year ago, but I’m taking care of that. I’m -- I’m setting that one straight. I’m working on it.”
“Above all of it? The Alaudae. I told Castor I’d put it out of my mind, but just between us? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not since I saw those corpses in the Sea of Clouds. The ones hanging from the pitons on that Allagan pillar. Perfuga, Timidus, Infirmus. It’s just so fucking easy to see myself next to them. Proditor.”
(( @rinrin-rinalys also asked this one -- thank you! ))
👻If they were a ghost, what methods would they use to haunt someone?
Horrific Headcanons.
Thanks for the ask, @bootanicals. @atomicdeke also asked me this one, and I’ll probably do one for Adi in response to that.
Behind the cut: ghosty stuff, some references to death, murder, possible suicide, and abuse.
Don't want your money for my silence
I don't care who knows your name
Don't tell your friends that I'm lying to convince them I'm insane
Over my dead body, oh
- Miya Folick, Deadbody
The first sign of trouble is something almost common: puddles of water, glinting in the candlelight, warping the smooth gleam of the polish wooden floor. Drips by the fireplace, footprints -- familiar to anyone in Ishgard, really. If you stay too long in the house with your snow-caked clothes on, of course it makes a mess.
Someone was here. It's quiet. And the owner of this manor is dead. Just like the owner of the manor next door, last sennight. And one the sennight before that.
They are found in their studies, slumped over a pile of damp pages. The water dripping has left the first page of their letters blurred, but always the same words: IN DEATH, I REPENT. I AM SORRY. HALONE FORGIVE ME.
The pages afterward describe their list of crimes. They start with, "I cannot speak for others. I have no voice of my own any longer. But I will try and describe my crimes..."
Each victim writes an eloquently-worded missive. They do not always take emotional responsibility for their crimes, there are usually a lot of excuses. But it is as if they are going to confession, pushed by an Inquisitor who will not accept anything but the full story. Each letter contains damning details that no one would describe unless under duress. Each letter contains only things the victim would be able to describe.
Many times, inquisitors and knights who investigate are forced to confront the crimes they themselves ignored. They are reminded of complaints overlooked, concerned parents, Brumefolk with bruises, corpses that went unclaimed. Investigators quietly obey the letter's request to redistribute the victim's wealth toward those the victims harmed in life. That is not usually how it is done, but it does seem to be the victim's dying request. Funny, how each family usually has a few vindicated members: a cowering youngest, an anemic spouse, a grandparent left to wither. Generations of denial collapse with this missive. That seems to be the aim.
Cause of death is difficult to determine. Usually, if someone dies of hypothermia (in their own home? With a raging fire?) one would expect some signs of paradoxical undressing. The blood pooling to the center of the body, however, suggests the victim could have frozen to death. The lungs often show signs of asphyxiation, though no water is present in the lungs. This suggests that perhaps the victim was frozen in ice long enough to kill them.
Returning to that statement, "I have no voice of my own any longer."
None of the victims were particularly shy people.
Clearly, the perpetrator is someone bent on exposing these crimes. It feels a little wrong to put any weight on those letters, then, but each time the claims have been investigated, they've been true.
There are no signs of forced entry, no hairs or errant threads. The trails of water seem to appear in random places before heading toward the study, but the only footprints that can be determined belong to the victim.
Heresy? Black magic? Voidsent? It is hard to imagine any of these things happening with such regularity in the Pillars. (At least, not without someone somewhere knowing a reason for it. Without someone greasing a palm. Without a priest or a knight looking the other way.)
There are, of course, rumors about ghosts. Ishgardians are, in equal measure: superstitious, dramatic, romantic, paranoid, and paralyzed by guilt. Of course there are rumors about ghosts.
Who but a ghost would dare undermine the nobility so without concrete proof?
~*~
It is said that Etienne Clairemont died alone, but with a plan.
The exact circumstances are irrelevant, perhaps. They died a bit on the young side, but that's not unusual for adventurers. Some might cite Etienne's struggles with what they called 'fits of melancholy' and imply they died by their own hand. People close to the prostitute-turned-mage-turned-counselor-turned-back-to-mage have little to say about it. They grieve the sudden loss in private. There is no reason to suspect foul play. That man accused of hurting them years ago was found innocent, after all.
(Though he is currently missing.)
It is said that Etienne left behind a book. An exhaustively researched and written volume of thousands of crimes. Not little things like stealing, but true crimes of violation, of manipulation and perversion, committed by untouchable men.
It is said that someone found the book and burned it, but they didn't bother to read the warning on the first page.
Do not try to silence me now. I'll come back.
~*~
Someone whispers to you, “Want to see Etienne?” If you want to, you must go to their grave. They're buried next to Claudinette Clairemont, their adoptive mother, and Margeaux Clairemont, their adoptive older sister, a crib death. The Clairemonts are a dead-end family now: resting on a hardscrabble hill beneath naked gray trees that haven't born leaves nor blossom since the Calamity.
Bring them flowers. Oldroses are the ones they like best - especially if they're near death, petals falling off.
Etienne's gravestone is pink cloud marble, engraved:
♥ I'm free. ♥
Leave the flowers, and an ice-cold wind will blast across that wretched, lonely hill.
Etienne Clairemont will appear to you, covered in a fine dusting of frost. Do you recall Etienne? Tall, solidly built for an elezen, broad in the shoulders, violet hair, opalescent eyes. Death has not given them a pallor, but every ilm of them glitters with that diamond-like dust. Their hair is tied up firmly into two buns. They wear gloves. Their neck bleeds and drips onto their pale pink gown. Rather than black lipstick, their lips are bloody red. It drips down, and smiles show bloody teeth. The blood is frozen too. Trails of ruby. Try not to stare.
Etienne will hold your hands in theirs, so icy it leaves your skin throbbing afterward. The air smells metallic. The wind whips your ears.
Etienne will listen to your woes and smile. They will point to your mouth.
Your throat stings like you've been running, the cold air a dagger into your hot lungs. And you will cough, once. Etienne will wave goodbye, the strange figure of them fading.
When you get home, you find you're unable to speak. No tea with honey, no potion, nothing remedies it. You are otherwise well, though perhaps after that encounter, you are filled with dread or anxiety. Or... did you expect this? Are you feeling confident and vindicated?
On the day your voice returns another powerful monster - another upstanding citizen - another manipulator, another abuser - is dead.
Your voice feels... more powerful than it did, upon returning. You stammer less. You speak up at parties.
~*~
Someone will probably try to stop Etienne at some point. A friend, a lover, a professional acquaintance. After all, in life Etienne expressed affection for Nald'thal's balance, and desires for the souls of all dead to be laid to peace. They would wish to be laid to rest, wouldn't they?
Wouldn't they?
Etienne floats instead of walks, the ruffles of their flowing pink dress whipped about in the icy wind that seems to follow them. They leave a trail of frost along the floors they walk. Crystalline. Beautiful. They always tried to make the world more beautiful.
Etienne speaks, but it is not their voice: it is a hundred others, all in chorus.
There is no tongue. There is a bloody hole.
"Darling, did you think I'd let death contain me?"
battle theme’s weak shit, you’re getting a boss theme my friends. though dramatically Eastern in influence, the chaotic pace and speed, joined with somber scaling, presents this as a damn good selection for a battle theme - because combat, for Caelrin, is not just a clashing of wills, it’s a showdown, no matter how many raise their arms against him, no matter the reason. a duel to be respected - and rest assured, he’ll respect it. that’s why it’s a boss theme.
If your character was going to get arrested, what would be the most likely reason for it?
I went back and forth... for a member of a Grand Company, she’s done a lot of things that would DEFINITELY get her in trouble if they came out in the wrong way, and some of it would CERTAINLY lead to an arrest, but this is about MOST LIKELY
With a lot of what she does she carefully navigates in such a way that she remains within the law so that she maintains either a layer of plausible deniability or a loophole that she can stand within... she balances the letter of the law with her personal moral code pretty well, so.
🌷 In what ways would your OC alter their body if they could? How would they do it using mundane means (hair dye, surgery, make-up?). What is their ideal look for themself?
Idristan would tell you that he is perfectly happy with his appearance. He is a lying liar who lies. While he's proud of most of his scars, some of the rest he wants gone cause they're bad reminders. He'd also like his black hair back and for his fangs to disappear. Maybe a smaller nose too...
The only thing he's actually likely to do is get more tattoos though. Specifically, he wants to put one on his left shoulder where a curse mark once was. He thinks that it might make it so he actually likes looking at that bit of his body again, rather than have the constant worry it might show up again one day.
He might be open for more than that though, depending upon what his lovers think. I can also see him maybe picking up a few more piercings; he does like to show off his jewelry.
“...Fury’s fucking tits! If she pops out of nowhere again I swear I’ll swing her out of this godsdamned... oh. I love that headdress. Where did she have it tailored...”
“...damn it. It wasn’t her? Or is she trying to twist my thoughts? What is she looking at? Stop looking at me like that.”
13: Any new friendships? If so, how is the friendship progressing?
Hi I was saving this for later
Lucas Nevin, head engineer of the Voyage. Not that any of it actually matters to Cheche. To the xaela he’s quickly become someone dear to her, wonderfully turbulent in every meaning of the word. She adores any time she gets to spend with the hyur and it’s always a good mix of introspection or silliness, both which she appreciates quite equally. To Cheche, he is more than his talents or his smarts. She sees a soul that resonates with hers.
Castor Arendt, an originally standoffish man that warned her against making friends with him. Through both trial and error and lots of patience, the two have been able to build a foundation of trust and support. Though there are still many moments where misunderstandings brew between them her care for the man is not easily shaken, as is her determination to stay by him when he needs it. Through whatever storm or seas that may pass.
Aidan Hawke, who had tried to convince her that there was naught left of him after the fire had passed. They have stayed strong together, nurturing each other through ashes long left untouched. He’s given her enough strength to look back upon herself and what fires may have grazed her heart, allowing herself to forgive and heal so that new things may grow. She is dedicated to him and doesn’t doubt that he does the same for her. Such promises aren’t easily broken.
Ser Camille Descatoire (Mille), she who will always be so much more than that knight with the sword. Though there are still many things left unsaid, Cheche doesn’t doubt that she’s spoken of the most important one; that she will care for the elezen regardless of what shape she decides to take. Though such a vow was offered without hesitation, there’s a part in the xaela’s heart that leaps with joy when she catches the softer scents of flowers around the woman. She thinks it fits her.
Ignera Arbell (Nera), a woman born from the cold and yet somewhere, somehow, deep inside there’s a warmth she’s fighting to keep hidden. At least to Cheche her presence brings the comfort as a candle might in the dark, and she finds solace in her company even over her simple presence and tea. When there happens to be conversation between them, a lot of things are spoken that she might never mention to anyone else, entrusted to her ears only.
Lux Lunseer, a remarkable woman that she finds herself wishing she had met under different circumstances and yet doesn’t regret it at all. There’s a strange sense of understanding between the two; an unspoken pledge that neither will move closer than the designated space between them. And yet the xaela finds herself testing the line whatever chance she gets and figures the other is opt to do the same, as much mutual comfort is sought from their exchanges.
Fugetsu, a strange swordsman that shares her interests of the many heavier things in life that are rarely brought to light. She cares for the older man, spending much time making sure that he’s taken care of; not because she has any doubt in his ability to do so but just because she wishes to. Besides, she knows he has an appreciation for the tea she makes for him.
W’kana, who she thinks despite the sharpest teeth has the softest heart. She’d never speak of her thoughts out loud (mostly for his sake and her’s) but she cherishes whatever glimpse she might catch of the warrior. She’s secretly been squirreling away little tidbits of things that he might appreciate, even if he might never say so. Not directly, anyway.
And many others, but I only have enough typing brain!!
❣️ - A song my muse would dedicate to their loved ones
I think this was probably one of the first songs I ever associated with him, waaaay back when I was just working with the bare-bones concept of a character. It still fits! What a nice surprise.
