#emerik

[jitterbugbear]

your sign to print out lineart of your oc and design a bunch of clothes for them topmodel colouringbook style

[renofmanyalts]

Many Alts! Handle It!

Here's my current roster! All links go to the character’s tag.

For posts about all/most of my characters that may not be tagged individually, see #all the characters.

Note: At the time of this writing (July 2023), I only have in-game access to my Balmung alts plus Strammund due to my current FFXIV subscription type. I'll still take asks for any of them, though!

Balmung Characters

Zhah’ra Savaptha (“Flower”) - Keeper of the Moon dancer and bodyworker – formerly in Ul'dah, Rhalgr’s Reach, and Limsa Lominsa, now staying at the Stray Inn in the Upper Paths of South Shroud.

Rhetzedyr Guldarensyn (Zedyr) - Sea Wolf farmboy-turned-artisan; co-owns Harvest Fountain Toys and Jewelry in Limsa Lominsa and is a founding member of the Elytra Concord artisan cooperative.

Renan Avnei’shoham (Renan) - chronologically-displaced magical chimera – a Nymian scholar and his Marine companion who were squashed together in a mishap aboard the Void Ark and subsequently entombed in a stasis coffin. They split their time between living with Negevs Ha'dov at Firefly Grove in Lower La Noscea and with Maayan in Limsa Lominsa.

Amande Desrochers (Amande) - Duskwight who grew up serving a (very) minor noble house in Ishgard, now in exile. Working as a retainer to Mama Dee’s husband, T'arik Tia.

Seselahi Rerelahi (Selah) - Dunesfolk scribe and calligrapher, currently working at Firefly Grove in Lower La Noscea as Secretary of the Elytra Concord artisan co-op.

Rhenbraen Helbsyn (Rhenbraen) - extremely prickly Hellsguard miner. “Not a swivin’ LASS, rocks-for-brains!” Currently apprenticed at Naldiq & Vymelli’s in Limsa Lominsa. 

Silver Sage - Hellsguard elder from Svatn Byr, a small village in Abalathia's Spine. Formerly in Ul’dah to study at the alchemists’ guild, now returned home. (Temporarily on Sagittarius, Chaos datacenter)

Maayan Delafontaine (Maayan) - Wildwood researcher and alchemist; co-owns Harvest Fountain Toys and Jewelry with Zedyr. She handles the logistics/supply chain side of things, so she travels frequently to all three city-states.

Mateus Characters

Strammund Grehmerlsyn (Strammund) - former Lominsan sailor, abruptly “retired” due to illness. Currently consigned to Thanalan for his health; works occasionally as a caravan guard.

Mamaati Maati (Maati) - opinionated Dunesfolk bookworm. Philosopher-economist at the Milvaneth Sacrarium in Ul'dah.

Emerik Liubasch (Emerik) - Hrothgar city-boy from Ilsabard looking to recover lost family traditions. Currently seeking training with the botanists’ guild in Gridania.

Ryoku Kazemoto (Ryoku) - elegant Raen samurai from a mountain holding north of Doma. Currently traveling in Eorzea on a mission to find a sacred object that went missing from a shrine in his home village.

Danyell Dwynwen (Danyell) - Midlander minstrel from Coerthas, currently working the tavern circuit in the Shroud.

Raranen Sasanen (Raranen) - black sheep of a Dunesfolk merchant family (Maati’s cousin); breeds racing/hunting chocobos in the Shroud. 

Iris Menuisier (Iris) - sardonic Wildwood bathhouse attendant at The Pools in the Goblet (and former coworker of Zhah'ra’s). 

Mama Dee (Dee) - former leader of a miqo'te dance troupe in Ul'dah (and mentor to a young Zhah'ra), now retired and married to T'arik Tia, a wealthy ex-adventurer. Maintains that she is from Thavnair. (In-game name: N'dezhda Lev)

Zalera Characters

Maparhi Savaptha (Maparhi) - newly-invested Hearer at Stillglade Fane. Cousin to Zhah'ra.

Pash'a Khoroushi (Pasha) - former Imperial conscript from the East End. Previously stationed in northwestern Ilsabard; current fate unknown.

Firn Sjararstrok (Firn) - Veena spear-hunter, currently at loose ends in Revenant's Toll.

[runaway-modblog]

🕛 for emerik on @giver-of-eternal-life?

Poor guy, everyone has it out for him and he has such a huge job and duty in his future!

[b0-nowhere]

Another bitty Emerik for @giver-of-eternal-life, cause i like drawing him

[f4llen-d0wn]

Emerik as a diggersby is kinda adorable @betunae

[renofmanyalts]

(moods) Wistful for Emerik/any

Send me a mood and I will tell you how my character deals with it.

Prompt 1 (Make-up Day): Envoy

Who: Emerik Liubasch, Semir (original NPC)

What: Emerik must lighten his pack.

Where: A rail yard on the outskirts of Martrvje, a port city in occupied Bozja.

When: About two years before the events of the Bozjan Southern Front field operation began. Takes place a few months after this piece [Mature community label, requires login].

Content notes: Garlean colonial oppression, refugee struggles, partings in wartime, mentioned injury/abuse

Music: "Intro (The Envoy)" and "Outro (What It Means to Be Human)" by Being as an Ocean (both instrumental)

When a soft knock sounded at the door of the railroad car, a faint murmur of concern rippled through the two dozen heads scattered amongst the stacks of crates. Emerik's heart thudded in his chest, fur standing on end as he uncrossed his arms. He felt Semir do the same beside him, their elbows brushing. 

The boxcar was still at rest, one freight car among many in a long train waiting to leave the rail yard on the outskirts of the city. Had they been discovered? His fingers itched for the smooth wood of his staff, but it, like nearly everything else he owned, had been left behind. It would have been foolishness, in any case, bringing a weapon — no matter how simple. Emerik tugged at the cuffs on his borrowed jacket, the final piece of a traveling outfit intended to soften his features, to render him polished and nonthreatening.

After an eternity of rapid heartbeats, the door slid open a few ilms, a sliver of just-bluing sky showing around the silhouette of a hrothgar with one ragged ear. Emerik relaxed a fraction. That was their contact — the member of the Resistance that Semir had nodded to in a coffee shop four sennights ago, setting all this in motion. Emerik did not know his name. Gods willing, he would keep it that way.

The partisan pulled the door further open on well-oiled, silent tracks, climbed nimbly up onto the deck, and slid it closed again. The darkness returned.

"Bad news," the soldier said, speaking quietly. His voice sounded young. It had surprised Emerik when they first met, and it still seemed incongruous now. "We were given old information, and the expected gross weight for this car is slated to be a half-tonze less than we had accounted for. We have to reduce weight, or the Garleans will notice the discrepancy the minute we pass through the first checkpoint."

"Will... will someone have to get off the train?" The hesitant voice came from somewhere left of the door — the mother with her two young ones, Emerik thought. The little family had been huddled together when he and Semir had arrived at the rail yard, the children sleeping with their mother's skirts wrapped around their shoulders. Emerik could picture Semir's deep frown when he'd seen the swollen bruises on her face.

The soldier's voice took on an apologetic tone beneath his urgency. "Maybe. But I am hoping that we can reduce baggage weight, instead. Please go through your luggage and remove anything that is not absolutely essential to your survival on the trip, as well as anything that is particularly heavy." 

Worried whispers rose in the darkness, and the soldier continued: 

"This is not an easy task, I know, and I am sorry that I must ask it of you. You number twenty-four, so we need to eliminate more than forty ponzes of weight per person. Keep your necessary medicine, food and water, your identification papers, and money. Put it in a pillowcase or wrap it in a cloth to carry it. If you have jewelry, keep whatever you can hide on your person, and whatever clothes you can put on, plus a blanket and pillow each. Everything else, including your trunks and cases, please separate it out and set it by the door. Quietly and quickly, please."

"What will happen to our belongings?" That was the voice of an older man with an accent speaking of the wealthier parts of the city. He was accompanied by a young woman Semir figured for his daughter, though Emerik was not so sure.

"I'm afraid they will probably be destroyed. We cannot hide them here, and we have no way to get them to you once you have left, so we will have to dispose of them quickly — most likely in the river."

For a long moment, dead silence reigned. Emerik's thoughts drifted to the contents of his leather suitcase. What clothes he had, he wore — and some that weren't his, besides. He had no jewelry nor medicine, and all his earthly wealth sat in a pouch strapped below his shirt. Everything else had been sold in haste. Semir carried only their sack of shared provisions; there was nothing there to shed.

The suitcase, though.... It held a full dresser drawer's worth of treasure: a tin of long beeswax tapers, their wicks still conjoined; more than a dozen large blocks of herbal soaps, their paper wrappings labeled in his grandmother's handwriting. They sat heavy between his feet — heavier still with their role as the last fragments of his family's traditions.

The soap would sink easily in the river, he thought. Old as they were, the bars would dissolve slowly, and their flecks of rosemary, chamomile, marjoram would be carried away by the current.

The candles would float. Maybe some curious animal would eat them, or maybe some enterprising young scavenger would find them first. After decades hidden away, maybe they would finally have their chance to burn.

Someone flicked on a magitek torch. Cold, blue light washed thinly over the boxcar's high ceiling. The other occupants sprang into startled motion, flinging open trunks and boxes with grim purpose.

At a touch to his elbow, Emerik turned to meet his friend's eyes. Semir wore an expression of gentle concern

"That is your whole purpose in going, is it not?" he said, nodding to the suitcase.

Emerik directed his gaze across the dim train car and nodded. (The stack of discarded belongings at the door was growing, but only very slowly. "I must ask you to be ruthless," the Resistance soldier said. Panic fluttered at the edges of his too-young voice. "The train departs in just over a quarter bell.")

Ruthless? 

Emerik bent to snatch up the suitcase. He could do nothing but rue its loss — but there were lives on the line. What use a people's healing traditions without a people to use them?

But before he could step out from the bulkhead, Semir stopped him, one tawny hand laid lightly on Emerik's dark one. Emerik shot him a questioning glance, and Semir leaned down to speak into his ear.

"It's not going to be enough." Semir gestured toward the pile near the door. Still growing, but nowhere near a half-tonze. "Most of these folk didn't have forty ponzes of sentiment to pack. Even if everyone trims the fat, they're going to have to send some of us away. At least one."

Emerik narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying, Semir."

Semir closed his fingers around the handle of the suitcase. In the light of the Garlean torch, his golden eyes held none of their usual luster.  "Let me hold these for you. When you get where you're going, send a letter, yes? I'll get them to you."

"But—"

"I know. I thought we would travel together, too. We—" Semir stopped, swallowed. 

(We three as one, the sentence finished in Emerik's mind, his own voice raised in chorus with Semir and Vuk. But they hadn't been three for some moons now.)

Emerik pushed the thought away. Semir was speaking again, so close that his breath stirred the fur-tufts in Emerik's ear.

"I have connections," he insisted, nodding meaningfully to the increasingly-fretful partisan. "There's good I can do here. But you?" Semir tapped one finger against Emerik's forehead. "You have the memories — and the drive to chase down the knowledge needed to resurrect them. And with that blond bastard" — Emerik flinched — "nipping at your hocks? Best not to wait for the next run."

Emerik ducked his head. He could feel his pulse thudding in his throat.

With a snarl, he shoved the suitcase into Semir's arms, then snapped his teeth shut before any other sound could escape. Leaning forward, he thumped his forehead into Semir's solid shoulder.

Emerik felt Semir nose at his mane, and he could guess that he was smiling; when he murmured, "Keep my jacket safe for me," Emerik was certain of it. Then Semir pulled away, threading through the chaos. After a short exchange with the Resistance partisan — who looked rather relieved — he moved toward the sliding door.

"Semir—"

Semir twisted to look at him, still cradling the suitcase to his chest. 

Emerik forced himself to meet his friend's eyes, trying not to think about the last time he had looked into Vuk's. "If you don't hear from me within a few moons," he managed, "or if things get bad... use whatever you need, if it will help."

Semir nodded. A blink, and he was slipping out of the boxcar door, climbing out into the twilight.

Emerik bent to pick up the sack of provisions and settled it between his feet. It, too, sat heavy.

With a sigh, Emerik nudged the sack into a corner. He pushed up his sleeves, then went to help hand the surrendered belongings down to those waiting to take them away.

—

At this stage in his life — before he had come to Eorzea — Emerik was prone to falling into black, destructive moods rather than wistful ones, and also tended not to express much of that if he could avoid it. Now that he is out from under the direct weight of the Garlean occupation, however, he's settled into some measure of acceptance and is better able to attend to such feelings as gentle melancholy and yearning.

—

I sorta ran myself out of spoons yesterday and so I really struggled today. The length also got away from me, but I sure did learn a lot in all my diving down research rabbit holes! Got a bunch of Bozja lore and stuff settled and obviously filled in more details of Emerik's backstory. I've also just decided to give myself a fair bit of grace about that daily deadline, because the point is NOT to stress myself out — thus posting this about, mm, three hours late. XD

[renofmanyalts]

☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground

Prompt 10: (To No) Avail

Wings glide like the knife

Parting fruit from its red skin.

"...give back that apple--!"

-----

Image credit: Hooded crow apple food by baby_bimi on Pixabay, crop and color tweak by Ren

Yes, I know this is probably the wrong kind of crow, but I was in a hurry... and no, Emerik didn’t catch him. lol

music: Raganu Nakts by Tatumeitas (lyrics), which seemed appropriately autumnal in addition to being the correct mood. Content note: lyrics mention drowning, violence, death in passing, but the song itself is in Latvian.

[renofmanyalts]

🤛 - how does your character react to being hit? are they likely to continue a fight if someone else starts it, or try to de-escalate or get away? for danyell

Prompt 25: Wish

Who: Emerik Liubasch, Danyell Dwynwen, various NPCs

What: On the way back to Gridania, the traveling group of botanists stops in Bentbranch for the night. 

Where: Bentbranch Meadows, Central Shroud

When: Quite recently.

Content notes: Canon-typical racial prejudice, aggression, an averted barfight

The tavern at Bentbranch served no liquor, Emerik soon learned -- there was only wine and a cloudy sort of ale whose flavor blended oddly with the thick, nose-tingling smell of chocobo feathers. A minstrel sat at a high table on one end of the narrow room, tuning his lute and bantering with the tavernkeep and some of the regulars.

Emerik took a seat at the counter, sparing a friendly nod for the knot of locals occupying the table in the corner. He had long ago learned better than to grin. 

He was partway through his first mug and an explanation of apple-peel augury -- how young ones would take off the skin in one long strip and throw it over the shoulder -- "and, so, the letter you see is the first of your love's name" -- when a small clutch of stablehands filed through the door.

"Hey Wilmund," one of the hands called. "You importin' coeurl whiskers now?" His eyes burned into the back of Emerik's head.

The tavernkeep raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did not respond. Emerik kept his eyes on his mug. He had learned to shut his ears, too. 

"Lay off it," one of the others muttered. He bore a pair of white tattoos that curled over his temples, bright against his stone-grey skin.

"Why, Etraux?" the first one sneered. "You aimin' to hop on it?"

"Now, now, gentlemen..." The bard raised his voice over his strumming, missing -- or ignoring -- a warning look from the tavernkeep.

"Hush up, bard,” came the hissed reply.

Emerik turned slowly on his stool just in time to see the minstrel's smile go cold, though the music continued without interruption. He spared a glance for the heckler -- a tall elezen with a shock of blonde hair sticking out from under his kerchief -- and earned a hard stare for his trouble. 

"The wood's got no place for you, beastman. Like to spook every chocobo in the stables."

Emerik kept his face carefully still as he drank from his mug. He saw his companions sharing looks among themselves -- shocked, but silent. 

Gritting his teeth, the elezen took a lunging half-step forward -- but before Emerik had finished bracing himself for the blow, the bard appeared suddenly in front of him, arms spread. Emerik had to give the man credit for his bravery. He was half the size of either of them. 

Finally, Wilmund spoke up. "Danyell...." he said, low.

Danyell did not look away from the blond elezen, a line of tension running through his thin shoulders. Etraux -- the tattooed one -- came up and took the blond one's elbow. 

"Come on," Etraux said quietly. "Wilmund don't need any more grey hairs."

The blond shook him off with a curl of his lip, but let himself be led to the table in the corner, where he took a seat pointedly facing away from the bar.

Danyell turned around. It was a long moment before his face softened back into the warm look he had worn before, chasing off the sudden chill. He moved to stand at Emerik's shoulder at the bar. 

"No excuse for that," he said quietly. 

Emerik offered a shrug and a carefully closed-mouthed smile. "I did not expect you to make one." 

Danyell nodded jerkily, darting an appraising glance at the corner table. "Might I buy you a drink?" 

"If you will let me also buy one for you," Emerik replied, allowing himself a grin. 

This prompted a chuckle. "Very well."

-----

Danyell will attempt to avert violence if he can, but if that is not possible, he wades in without hesitation.

-----

Written to “Červené vínečko” by HRDZA, which I unfortunately could not find a good lyrics transcription for.