#entry 21

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite24 Entry #21: Shade

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #21: Shade

Darkness. Darkness and hunger.

It was all she had known for so long that she had lost track of how long she had been trapped within the Void. Time had no meaning and no measure. Devour or be devoured was the only immutable law of the Thirteenth. Death was a fate she could accept–embrace, even–but to live on as a fragment trapped in another’s body as a conglomeration of forgotten souls was not. So the succubus disposed of the few Voidsent foolish enough to challenge her without prejudice, devouring their lives and growing more powerful with each one. So what if she lost a bit more of herself each time? What did it matter? Was that really such a bad thing? What use was sanity here? What good in being herself? At least it was a brief, hollow relief from the hunger. But the darkness, there was no relief from that. Not until, without warning, that fateful day came. Light, blinding and brilliant, burning and insufferable after so long in the pitch, a portal tearing itself through the blackness. Something unignorable called to her from beyond, beckoned and invited her to come through, tugged at her body and soul. Or maybe it was just the ravenous hunger within her, drawn to that world shining with aether on the other side, so instinctual it moved her body without her own volition. She couldn’t be certain. There was very little she could be certain of anymore. The only thing she did know–had decided–was that the portal was for her. Other creatures were drawn to the light like moths to a flame, starving and desperate, clambering for escape from their eternal Hell. But she fought them tooth and nail, and as always in the Void, the superior demon triumphed. She clawed her way out over their bodies, through the rift and into a dizzying, overstimulating world of light and life and sustenance. Where or when she was didn’t matter. No such thoughts occurred to her now. She only had one drive, one urge: Feed. Whoever had been foolish enough to open the Voidgate stood before her, brimming with aether like a beacon in the night. She pounced on him without hesitation and she was intent on making sure there would be no fighting back, her vicious claws swiping toward his face, rending flesh and leaving his visage a bloodied mess. The mage crumpled to the floor with her atop him, straddling him and siphoning the very lifeforce from his body to sate herself. So lost was she in the hedonistic decadence of a proper meal of aether at last, she was not prepared for what came next. But the mage, he had been prepared for her. He had managed to recover from his mauling just in time to spring his trap before his fate was sealed. She was so focused in her single-minded, feral pursuit of her prey that she had failed to notice the arcane circle and sigils carved into the floor beneath her. He triggered his spell, incorporeal bonds of aether winding around her limbs and ripping her off him, holding her in place. She struggled, thrashing and baring her sharp teeth like a wild animal, but she could not break free, and he wasn’t going to wait long enough to afford her the chance. He pushed himself to his feet, the lifeblood seeping from his face dripping to the floor and pooling into the ritual circle etched there, triggering the spell. The runes glowed to life with aether, and she instantly knew what was happening, but it was too late. The Voidsent was bound to her new master, their aether and destinies irrevocably interwoven. “You…” he began, voice dark and deep, one hand pressing to his wounds and covering half his face. “What is your name?” he commanded, and she was powerless to disobey his will.

@shadiyah-ffxiv @of-darkness-and-dreams

[wulf-and-eadwacer-project]

Entry 21: More Research

16th May 2021:

I’m working on my last assignment for Research Methods. It ties in with my overall honours thesis, so it’s not all wasted work.

I’m going over Murdocks’ The Heroine’s Journey again. It seems like a good idea to emphasise the protagonist’s mother if I want to use The Heroine’s Journey as a narrative device.

[grow1ng-gurl]

Entry #21

Day 57, haven’t been writing a bunch since I’ve been living off the land. And stealing from nearby stores. Evan has a nice little patch of woods next to his place, so I’ve been hanging out in there. Boobs are bigger too, and they’re starting to become a pain. Can barely look down if something’s not like five feet away. I accidentally stepped on a dumb squirrel that didn’t get out of my way. Looked like roadkill. Had to find a stream to wash off my foot.

[farawaythinks]

The starting of today was nice. Then it just got alright to ok to just tiring and exhausting and stressful and weird and upsetting. It’s only been a week of college and I already want to get it over with. I also heard of something I wasn’t expecting because why would they when they know how I feel but whatever. There’s too much on my mind and I just wanna sleep and wake up in a different world where I’m successful doing what I like and being happy and not what I’m feeling right now. 02/05/2018

[housealderscorn]

Entry #21: Wind

Another gust surged and Raven tightened his grip on the railing until the knuckles of both hands were white and the wood groaned in protest. Once the wind subsided, he exhaled the breath he was holding and a plume of mist danced in the cold air. Stealing a cautious look over the railing of the airship was a mistake and he eased backward again. “That was stupid,” he croaked to himself. So distracting was his thought-paralyzing fear, he did not hear the captain’s approach behind him.

“Ah, tis a fine day for a voyage!” The captain said, slapping Raven hardily on the back with her massive hand, causing him to gasp and strangle the already belabored railing.

The captain’s name was Perilous Cloud, the irony of which was not lost on Raven. Had he, in fact, known the Roegadyn’s name, he may not have hired her to pilot his vessel for Alderscorn Imports. As it turned out, Perilous was an extraordinary captain in whom Raven placed considerable trust with his company’s cargo.

He did not, however, trust the wind or the sky that harbored it.

“I couldn’t imagine a finer day to plummet to one’s death, Captain,” Raven said.

She laughed and shook her head at the silly man, hiking her foot onto the top railing and striking a match against her boot. “Ye of so little faith,” she said, lighting the pipe she gripped in her teeth. “I swell with pride at the confidence you bestow upon me,” she said. She winked at the elezen who was clearly having a difficult time seeming casual.

The vessel listed slightly larboard, shoved by another strong pulse of frigid wind. The ship compensated for it and gracefully corrected itself level again. Raven had been easing his grip on the railing, testing his fear against the confidence he had in the ship and it’s captain, but he latched on again. He screwed his eyes tight and fought his instinct to panic.

He could have stayed below decks, of course. Safe and sound in his cabin, the automatic stabilization systems rendering him completely ignorant of any motion the ship encountered. It was his fear that convinced him to do otherwise. It was foolish, he thought, that a man should avoid that which terrifies him. He was a knight, by the Fury, and no stranger to the horrors of war. He’d faced man, beast, and dragon with steel in his hand and ice in his veins. On those bloody fields his fears only served to drive him forward, to challenge himself against unlikely victory.

Flying, however, was an adversary he could not bring himself to face with a steady hand.

Perilous looked at her employer, tapping the tip of her pipe against her lip as she considered. She knew Raven was no coward, had heard about his victories during the dragon wars and trusted her own instincts on the matter. He was no coward, she knew that. Still...“Had yerself a bad experience,” she said, more of a statement than question. Raven nodded without looking up.

“Aye,” said Captain Cloud. “Reckon you’ve seen your share of scary stuff. Heard the stories.” She lowered her voice and put her hand on Raven’s shoulder, “Cryin shame about your folks, Navigator lay them in peace.” She felt his shoulder stiffen and then sag slightly beneath her hand and she squeezed. “Point, bein, m’Lord, that you’ve come too far through too much fuckin’ mess to let the bleedin wind turn ya white...beggin yer pardon.”

She was right, of course, and Raven knew it. But the divide between ‘knowing the path’ and ‘walking the path’, at least in this case, seemed uncrossable. He simply nodded.

“C’mere,” she said. Her voice sounded further away and Raven turned to see that she’d stepped away from the side rail and toward the pointed bow. She stood there at the edge of the ship where the railing sank into the deck, leaving nothing between herself and the open air but a few feet of wood..

Raven looked at her with wide eyes, his expression painted more with disbelief than with fear. “What in the hells are you doing?! Get away from the edge, you fool!”

Perilous Cloud responded by extending a finger, pointing at the deck. “Ain’t askin. It’s what you need and ye know it.”

He did know it, but every ounce of his instinct fought against the notion. He felt it holding him to the railing, heard it plead, beg, order him to stay. Raven growled to himself. Enough, he screamed into his head, drowning out the voice of fear. He stared at his hands and forced his fingers to loosen their grip and, before he could change his mind, raised his chin and walked slowly toward the captain.

Once he was in reach, Captain Cloud snatched ahold of Raven’s arm and pulled him to her side, edging over slightly to make room.  Admirably, Raven resisted the urge to yelp, but now that he looked out, seeing more sky than boat, the clouds rushing by, the airship version of foam against a prow, he panicked. “Steady on, boss,” Perilous said, clamping him against herself to keep him still.

As his breathing slowed she relaxed her grip. He became still and calm. His legs began to loosen and accept the rocking of the ship. Even when another gust blew, Raven remained still, only shifting against the wind to compensate.

Perilous Cloud smiled widely and plucked the pipe from her mouth and puffed out a thick, sweet cloud of smoke. She pushed out her chest, filling her lungs with the crisp virgin air of the free skies. “See, now? Isn’t it wonderful? The clouds at yer feet, the wind in yer hair? The smell of freedom and adventure?”

“No, I hate this,” he replied immediately.

Captain Cloud nodded and sucked on her pipe again as if she’d not heard him. “Aye, well, learn to love it. Cuz I ain’t lettin ye go.”

[davina-wolfthorne]

Entry #21 - The Coming Storm

Twenty-first writing prompt [Wind] for FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge

Tucking herself in against the plush cushions of the manor couch the doctor buries her face into a pillow. Last night Cynric stayed at her apartment for the first time. Living in a one bedroom apartment doesn’t really give her much space so she let the Hyur child have her bed while she sleeps in the living room. Eventually, if she ever gets around to it, she’ll have to look into getting a two bedroom place. She could even re-purpose her smoking room but that is her little sanctuary to escape to at the end of the day. Plus it would take too much time which she is very short on as is. Sleeping on the couch isn’t so terrible. It is rather new so the cushions still are full and bouncy. Tugging the covers up to her chin the bow mage goes to burrow more into her temporary ‘bed’ but a loud series of bangs wake her from her light slumber. 

Bolting upright on the couch eyelids snap open. Groggy sapphire seas glare around the room. Sleep is incredibly precious to Davina. It isn’t often she is able to escape into a dreamless realm of darkness, but when she does the doctor savors it. So to be awoken when she was actually able to slumber fills her with irritation. For a moment she isn’t concerned, as if forgetting about her new role as a ‘mother’, but her tired mind finally realizes she isn’t the only soul in here. 

Cynric! Leaping off the couch she slides the door to her study open and dashes through the room. Gripping the partition door, that leads to the only bedroom, she shoves it open. Panic flooding through her veins. A wave of relief washes over her in a tidal wave when she notices the child stirring from his own sleep. “What’s going on?” He asks sleepily. Small hands rubbing his exhausted eyes. 

“I’m not sure, but I’ll have a look.” Davina replies gently and pads over to one of the bedroom windows. Pulling back the long curtain she peers out into the darkness. That is when she notices empty barrels rolling down the street and crashing into stone fences and buildings. At first she believes that something is wrong, but out of the corner of azure eyes she can see the trees bending in the furious winds. Davina releases the curtains to let them fall back into place. She can hear the howling of the wind. How it makes the windowpanes vibrate from its vicious touch. “It’s just the wind. Go back to sleep.” Her voice gently reassures. 

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite Entry #21: Foibles

FFxivWrite 2020 Prompt #21: Foibles Masterpost 

Faye Covingon was a steadfast woman, unmoved by most things, ever the stubborn and infallible creature. Fear almost never shook her and greed did not often taint her. Love rarely ever moved her, and the pleasures of the flesh held little interest for her. She’d never smoked, and she could get by without a drink. She could deny anyone and anything without batting an eye. What, then, was her weakness? What unstoppable force could push this immovable object? What was the one temptation the noblewoman could not resist? “Would you like some tea, ma’am?”

[fair-fae]

Entry #21: Crunch

FFxivWrite2019 Prompt  #21: Crunch Warning: Violence, abuse, injury, blood

Sanislas’s presence had long been missed in Garlemald, his successful work in Eorzea having most impressively spanned over two decades. He had left behind in that time a worried wife, and a son so young he could scarcely recall his father by the time he’d returned. The happy reunion--or perhaps it was really more of a first meeting, almost--with his father had not been everything Aelius had dreamed it would be.  No sooner than he had arrived and gotten settled in, he demanded a display of son’s skill, a test to measure the man he had become, to see how he had grown in his father’s absence. Aelius might have seemed confident--and normally, he was--but in that moment, it was all a facade. He knew better than to show weakness or doubt. He didn’t truly know of what his father may be capable. He had never seen him in action, barely knew him. He was little more than a legend. Aelius had only heard tales of him, and no matter how hard he tried, he felt he could never live up to them to carry on the legacy. Steel clashed with steel, and as the first blows were traded, Aelius felt his confidence begin to grow. His father was no easy foe, but Aelius was holding his own against him. Perhaps they were evenly matched, the vigor of Aelius’s youth matched by the measure of Stanislas’s experience. Of course, despite his age, Stanislas seemed little worse for wear. Luckily, Aelius was not particularly lacking in skill or experience, either. Despite having seen less than 30 cycles, he’d been trained as a soldier his whole life. It was a destiny that had been set out for him, long before he was even born. But then suddenly, the tides of battle had turned. With embarrassing brevity, only moments since the start of the bout, with the sickening crunch of his ribs even beneath his plate as the longsword impacted with his torso, Aelius was laid out upon the ground, flat on his back, dizzily peering up at the clouded sky. However, the fight was not over there. His father’s sword was swiftly descending toward the center of his face, aligned perfectly with his face. Despite the pain radiating through his side, he quickly turned his face away and rolled aside, just in time to avoid his having skull crushed in, perhaps, but not to spare him from the blade cutting deeply into the skin of his face, cleaving a jagged line from beside the bridge of his nose, over his cheek diagonally down to the corner of his jaw. With what narrowly could have been a killing blow, Stanislas considered the spar to be complete, sheathing his sword and peering down at his son in disdain as Aelius rolled himself onto his back once more with a groan, blood seeping over his face in a stark contrast to his fair skin, turning wet crimson his once white hair.  “What a disappointment. I expected more of my own son. You’ve a lot of improving to do.”