seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Ireland
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from China
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Saudi Arabia
You pulled me from out of the dark And lit a spark of love. As you held me, I became free.
You saved me from the darkest place I ever had to face. Now here we are Cuddled up under the stars.
Our love is at its greatest now and I wonder how I never knew that Fate would be sending you.
You saved me.
(Source)
Claire went to the Black Abyss Blitzball Rally, expecting party games and drinks...only to have the damn thing be attacked by Serpent Reavers and their pet Kraken.
The event was pretty fun. I’ve likely had more fun with the surprise combat than I would have at any sort of casual social event. I haven’t had a chance to fight with Claire since updating her and coming up with everything she’s been at for the past year, so I got to feel that out some.
The elk is the Kraken, generally, for reference.
@for-gold-and-glory @roscoerackham @aegir-ffxiv and a bunch of others.
Prompt #12: Accolade
"I think this will do..." he says, pausing before the stage in the lower level of the Hall, turning to face her.
She looks rather confused as he leads her. "For?"
"While I will do one for them to see I wanted a true Oath for you..." he replies, "One that is for us..."
She blinks a handful of times at him, again opening her mouth to speak but lacking words again.
He takes both her hands for a moment. "I give you my arm, to strike your foes when they come for you. To defend you at all time. My life, to stand with you in your times of need and to fall if it means your safety." He smiles at her. "I give you my heart, to fill your life with passion and love. To be yours not only as your Paladin but your partner. This is my Oath to you. Lady Ashe."
She somehow manages to look even more stunned, eyes wider than any of the expressions earlier. She looks down at their hands and realises she's trembling a little. After a long moment, she manages to regain some composure, and replies, "P-please kneel, Jon."
He nods and does so, looking up to her eyes as he rests on one knee.
She reaches her left hand out as if she means to grip the air, but it closes around a golden hilt as that myriad coloured illumination sparks beneath her sleeve. As the brilliance grows, she pulls a golden blade from thin-air, its blade lacking a true centre. Even after it has been freed, whatever is below her sleeve continues to glow.
He smiles up at her, watching what she does.
She holds the blade for a long moment, speaking in a soft voice. "By the powers invested into me from this blade, I dub thee a Knight of Dalmasca," she brings the sword down to touch his right shoulder, "and Knight of the Royal Guard." She touches his right shoulder with the blade as the second rank is granted. "Napredok Vitez vo imeto na Boga. Bidete hrabri, hrabri i lojalni," she intones in Ivalician, reciting the ancient words of knighthood to him.
He stays kneeling as she touches each shoulder, not saying a thing yet, waiting for what is next.
She withdraws the blade, smiling at Jon with a soft expression. "This is the Sword of Kings, one of the blades that were bequeathed to the Dynast King Raithwall. Through its power alone, you are now a Son of Dalmasca."
After a moment, she states, "Please rise, Ser Corwell."
He stands up and moves to place a hand along her cheek. "Always with you. My whole life."
The knight staggers, making his way down the stairs from the floor above, a wild expression upon his features, an unstable gleam in his eyes.
She smiles at the newly sworn Paladin, replying, "Pray tis not cut short, Son of Dalmasca."
"Wh- What in the seven hells are you doing, Ashla!?" the knight exclaims, eyes flickering between the other man, and the woman holding the glittering blade, his brow furrowing.
She looks back at the knight, inclining her head. "I believe the term is 'having a moment', according to you," she retorts, not yet aware of the older man's condition.
The knight struggles to keep his eyes open, clutching the side of his head with his free hand. Beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his brow.
"T-That aether is... Suffocating...!" the haggard man nearly shouts at her, taking another step down the stairs.
Eyes moving to the man on the stairs, the younger knight moves his hand from her cheek, asking him, "You okay over there?"
She frowns faintly at the state Leo is in, glancing down at the light from beneath her sleeve, still somewhat bright. Her voice briefly tinged with concern, she answers his exclamations, "I-- I was not aware that the Sword would be of issue."
The Miqo'te woman grabs the elder knight's arm before he did anything, and pulled him slightly back as she arrived on the lower stair.
Closing his eyes briefly, the axe-carrying knight manages to keep the hallucinations at bay...for now. He shoulders his axe and approaches her with a twisted look on his face - wriggling free of the Miqo'te's grasp.
"That blade... Where did you get it?" the ravaged knight asks, fingers wrapping tight around the golden blade.
She blinks as the auracite-inflicted holds the golden blade, but replies in a calm and clear voice, "Where do you think, Captain?"
Upon the upper stairs, the doctor assesses the medical kit in his pouches, assured there are still enough bandages within the kit.
Looking between the woman before him, and the enraged knight beside her for a moment, the younger man asks, "What is going on?"
Squeezing the metal tighter, blood begins trickling from between the fingers of the addled knight's gloves as he snarls in Dalmascan, "I'm bloody sick of your riddles, woman!" He begins yanking the blade closer to his person, trying to wrest it from her grasp. Too obvious to ignore, he was having trouble maintaining his faculties and maintaining his gentlemanly facade was proving to be impossible.
She is turned to face the time-ravaged knight as he tries to force the blade away, her eyes wide despite how calm her features are. She does the one thing she could think of at that moment, invoking something she had witnessed others do, but never done herself.
"Captain Leo Valera, cease," she replies to him, her voice almost echoing off the walls, projecting an aura of authority.
The elder knight snarls, relinquishing his grasp on the sword and readying his own blade, as images of Imperials began to replace those in the room.
"Silence, Pretender!"
With eyes that shine a bright fiery red, the hallucinating man rushes in with his shoulder in her direction, reaching for the blade like a beast possessed, despite his readied axe, roaring in their native tongue, "I'll not suffer your mummers farce any longer, witch!"
She sighs almost inaudibly at the rushing man.
"I hate to do this, Leo, but I have little choice," she states, the first signs of fear flickering into her voice, yet the blade disperses into aether in a single breath, leaving her entirely vulnerable to Leo's attack.
The nobleman cries out as the blade vanishes, the rush of aether causing him to drop to one knee before her, causing his shoulder not to connect. He is sweating profusely, his arms shaking as his heavy axe hits the marble floors with a loud clank, cracking the pristine white stone.
"S-Seven hells..." the knight manages to gasp out, managing to stay upright by force of his fading will.
The Miqo'te moves down the stairs, touching a hand to the winded man's shoulder.
Looking about at the others, the knight murmurs, "Gods... Wh-what happened....?"
As he sits upon the floor, the older knight looks down at his hands, a healthy amount of his own blood seeping into the cracks in the floor made by his weapon.
Beside her, the younger man looks as if he was half a second from lift his leg for a kick to something. His foot goes back down before he reaches for her, pulling the nearly assaulted woman to him.
He looks down at her with concern as he asks, the emotion reaching his voice, "You okay, love?"
Even as the winded knight collapses, she looks to him with concern, yet it lasts for a breath or two; she sways faintly, eyes closing as she begins to collapse to the floor as well. The man holding her wraps his arms around her entirely, pulling her closer to him.
"Ashe? Ashe what's wrong?!" he begs, looking a bit worried as he reflexively looks to her closed eyes. She remains rather limp against his embrace, eyes remaining shut; exhaustion is visible upon her features as he looks to her.
The doctor descends the stairs, nodding to the Miqo'te while offering the catte some gauze, inquiring, "Can you put pressure on his wound and help get him lying down?"
"Lady Sh'ala...? My apologies. T'was a shameful display," the knight murmurs to the Miqo'te, amber hues shifting towards the woman the younger knight holds - a nagging feeling of distrust tugging at his heart. He says nothing, taking the compress from the doctor, pressing it to his hand with all haste.
The doctor nods in turn to the knight holding her, explaining clinically, "She will need to lay down also, over-extended her aether again, one would bet."
With a nod to the doctor, the young knight scoops his charge up into his arms fully, stating, "I'll take her to her room then. Which one is it though?"
The Miqo'te says nothing as she takes the gauze and bandages and starts to wrap up the elder knight's other hand, traces of concern and confusion flickering across the feline-like features; the legends had been far less exciting as the reality.
Nodding to Miqo'te, the doctor states, "Thank you - if you can hold pressure there, will get the cleaning agent."
Once the feline-like woman nods and begins applying the pressure as the doctor says, the medical kit finds its owner's hands digging through its pockets, searching for the cleaning agents.
At last, the injured knight looks up towards his new comrade, chest heaving as he explains everything, "I respect her, Ser Jon, but she dabbles in that which she does not understand. Rest assured, she is aware of my.... Condition. She listens to you. Pray, have words with her about the dangers the stones pose... To herself, and those around her... Those she supposedly fights to protect."
To answer the young knight's question, as he cleanses the wounds, the doctor adds," We have barracks here, that is better than moving them around through the aetherport system. Rest is what she needs. No more casting for a bit."
Averting his gaze, the beleaguered knight does not wish to speak. His expression softens as the Miqo'te tends to his hand. He pulls off the gauntlet, revealing he has cut himself down to the bone.
"Do not suppose you are an aetheric healer, Sh'ala?" the doctor asks, smiling at the feline-like woman. "Otherwise this will need stitches."
Considering the layout of the building as he knew it so far, the young knight draws conclusions on where these barracks are, turning towards the stairs with his charge nestled within his arms.
"I will take her there then," he states, pulling her closer as he walks away. Pausing as he mounts the stair, he answers his superior, "I will see what I can do about that, by the way."
Smiling weakly at the younger man, the injured Knight replies, paying him a faint compliment, "I suppose her judgement of character is the one thing I can trust. Thank you."
Prompt #15: Plateau
There was not enough time in a day.
In the suns following her first meeting with the Lion of Dalmasca, life had grown more and more fast-paced, leaving her little time to write her thoughts within the little tome her parents had sent out of Dalmasca with her, and it appeared that such would become much more intense in the coming suns, turns, and moons.
While the former Knight was not as she had been raised to believe, her arrival had rekindled the burning spirit that a Son of Dalmasca should have, the man throwing himself into direct work with the resistance almost with abandon. Although taking time, the years were falling from the nobleman, and while his vices were rather ingrained at this point, he was gaining better acknowledgement of when there was time for such distractions.
She had never expected the cell within Eorzea to expand so expediently, with first the Ala Mhigan Raen somewhat passively assisting their cause, before formally joining their ranks. The Lion began devising a strategy where the company would be a front for their operation, with the truest goals of the organisation lying along those she had always striven for.
Over the All Saints' Wake festivities, she had met Rhyan and his friend Kieran, who led her to the Drunken Moogle, where she found Jon. When the man in the Moonfire shirt introduced himself, she hadn't the faintest idea that he would take interest in her cause, and even less idea that he would take interest in her personally; not in the wanton manner that it seemed other Eorzeans had thus far, but more genuine interest. At first, she suspected a similarity to the interest that Rhyan held, yet such was rather at once proven to be the beginnings of Jon's interest.
It was upon meeting Jon that the whirlwind of her life began to spin full tilt, and almost as abruptly as unfamiliar overtures began, she found she was conflicted by the strange feelings that were forming, feelings that clashed against her sense of duty to her kingdom. Somehow, the Blitzball player was a calming influence upon her, soothing over the fierceness she had acquired while trying to survive conscription. Nearly a turn after meeting him, she was finding that she wished for him to be around her more and more.
Both Jon's dedication to her, and to the cause of her people, formed the basis of the past two or three suns, his presence revealing more than she had expected to in such a short time. Where it not for his involvement with the resistance, nor for his want to pledge himself to be one of the Royal Guard, it was like that the discovery of the Lion's sensitivity to the relic she used as a weapon would have come at the moment when least favourable - during combat, a setting in which the Captain was often the focus of attention.
The incident had led to the fastest twists and turns of the cyclone that was becoming her life. She suspected that seeing an axe of the type that the Lion used being readied at her, its wielder charging her, and the sudden withdrawal of her weapon had deeply ingrained itself into the fresh knight's consciousness. The incident caused him to be disturbed with the Captain and led to the first night wherein he curled up beside her while the after-effects of the situation overcame her.
Since then, Jon was seldom found far from her, aside from when he was at his Blitz practices. Often displaying a disregard for any sort of formalities between the Guard and herself, the young knight would often hold her hand, rest a hand on her shoulder, or outright hold her, arm draped across her shoulders or wrapped around her waist. He showered her with attention, a kind of which she had never experienced before; it often caused her to flush, awkward insecurity rising each time he pressed against her boundaries.
He seldom attempted anything without her permission first, always doing his best to put her at ease before trying something new; the acuity at which he understood the fact that she was unfamiliar with a gentle touch, and his ability to find a way around it, often left her astounded. He would wait until she marginally startled when contact occurred, before offering another expansion of the boundaries.
And yet, it was this constant companionship that kept her from her writing. Part chronicle, part journal, part sketchbook, the tome was something she retreated into, leaving a record of what was occurring for others. Despite the Lion's insistence of reminding her to plan for life after the excision of the Empire, and despite Jon's requests to think of herself and her own happiness, she still staunchly believed that she would see the end of the occupation, yet not survive to experience the life after.
Leaving behind records, hiding the more sensitive aspects of events in the way that the resistance had taught her, assuring that unlike Beouvle, there would be an account of the truth behind the matter, even if others did their best to withhold it.
She would not become another Ramza.
Prompt 14: Validation
((This is really long. Also, so as not to have much hit my inbox over it, pay attention to the way Ashla phrases things, as it gives a great deal of clarity to many things that make eyebrows raise.))
"I can deal though love. I will do what I have to make sure you are protected and safe. Part of my Oath as an Ashesworn," he answers, smiling at her as he squeezes her hand.
For a Guard, he often fails to follow the orders he is given.
Prompt #6: Reflection
After the fight that ended the wedding, she finds herself wandering through the Lavender Beds, lost in thought. She was tired of fighting with Leo, yet it seemed that much of their world views were at great odds.
Were, at least.
The irony of the fact that the night before someone else's wedding, an event which she dreaded ever partaking in, even as a guest, she had her already fracturing world view be shattered is not lost on her. Not in the slightest.
Where her feet had carried her, she shouldn't have been surprised about when she looks up to push a vine of ivy out of her way, and finds herself back at the Drunken Moogle. Here, after all, where some people who cared about her, but also were willing to show her what they were preaching, attended.
She didn't resist the pull to the rather large tavern, glancing about the courtyard to see if there were any others about outside, yet she finds that she is alone. Without much more than another glance over her shoulder, half-expecting the Lion to be following her, she enters the tavern proper.
Inside, the general staff who seem to always be present greet her, recognising her face and eyes despite the fact that she was blonde again, for the moment. They allow her find her way over to the sitting room, with its elaborate fireplace and fancy couches and chairs. Where she had spent the better part of a night with Jon the prior eve, and nearly the entire night with Rhyan and his Tonberry, Fido, the turn of suns prior.
First, she sits down in front of the fire that Fido used to haunt, before she and Rhyan freed him from the state of limbo he existed in. She stares into the depths where they had found the Tonberry, a plush figure that was at the same time inanimate, but possessing emotions, yet not possessing thought and true will. Initially, Rhyan had accepted her offer to transform the stuffed Tonberry back into doll, yet as she attempted to do so, she felt much of the same emotions she had when partially dismantling her cohort not long ago - the distinct fight to stay alive.
Such a discovery lead to the opposite solution: instead of returning the doll to its former state, before its aether had been messed with, Rhyan had her try to finish whatever process the Sharlayans had before unfinished.
For the first time, instead of extinguishing life, she created it. Not in the manner that a woman typically does, through the kind of birth that requires a midwife, but through the kind of birth that magic and science create. While Fido's exterior was still that of a plush doll, complete with fabric knife and lantern, internally, Fido fully became a person.
As she sits before the fire, she wonders if Rhyan realises the exact gravity of what that moment was like, as she had not before.
Rising, she moves from one memory to the next, taking up the seat she was in while talking to Jon the prior evening, her eyes falling to the spot where he had been relaxing during the conversation. She stares at that place for a long moment, head inclining slightly, as she retraces the rather long conversation they shared.
She had found out that he was a Blitzball player, and a former Coliseum fighter, while he learned that her magical gifts were not as purely wonderful as he first thought they were. She had admitted - since they were largely alone - that she had been essentially kidnapped as a child, controlled by the people who had invaded her kingdom, forced to use her talents at their command, lest she wished to die.
Upon learning of this, and the fact that they were still after her - though not aware of all the reasons why, or the fact that her pursuers were the Garleans - Jon told her that she would have nothing to fear when he was around; he would place himself between her and her pursuers, as the situation did not sit well with him.
Between the fact that he had led her properly up to the sitting room, like a knight escorts a lady, and had made such a statement without knowing all the facts should have made her realise he had to be nobility, or at least had to have been around them for a decent length of time. Whether the strange music, or her confusion with the concept of the event the Moogle was having, she missed that his proclamation was eerily like Valera's the day they had met.
Rising again, she makes her way from the sitting room, towards the curtains that are hiding the stairs to the lower floor. Glancing back at the staff, and noting they are all distracted at the moment, she slips through the curtains and makes her way down the stairs, slowly.
Last eve, she had been surprised to find the curtains blocking off the main area of the tavern, and even more surprised as she walked down the stairs into the strangely lit lower floor. She had no idea there was any sort of special event, and was even more surprised to find that there were far more people about than there had been the prior turn of suns.
It didn't take long for her to cross through the main bar area, to the dance floor, to where the couch had been that she, Jon, Miss Meela, Miss Anna, and Mister Valis had occupied towards the end of the night. That dwindled to she, Jon, and Miss Meela as the event wound down. Not long after Anna had joined them on the couch, Jon had lowered his arms from their draped position along the back of its cushions, to resting on Anna's shoulders and her own.
Finding the couch missing, she sits on the marble floor, back resting against the wall, her eyes wandering to the spot that Jon had occupied. Absently, her left hand raises to touch the ear that he had delicately dragged his fingertips down, before she straightens some at recalling the touch of those same fingertips along her back, all the while the smile of encouragement from Miss Meela haunting her peripheral vision.
Initially, she had reacted negatively to becoming the focus of Miss Meela and Jon's attention; while she had become used to Jon's arm around her shoulders the longer he left it there, his shifting it to her waist had caught her off guard, as Miss Meela leaned against her right side, and draped a bare arm where Jon's had left.
The reaction lead to explanation, and given that the majority of patrons had left, and the music was loud enough to cover their conversation otherwise, she explained to both Jon and Miss Meela that she had not known physical affection since she was five, since leaving for Doma. Instead, she had known the harsh reality of violence that both a strict academy and the horrors of war can bring. She was asked if she was Ishgardian, and when she answered negatively, Miss Meela realised that she was speaking of the Garleans - which she confirmed to the Miqo'te and the man beside her.
Jon spoke of his own trouble, with having been birthed into a noble family, and expected to marry, to be the perfect husband so that the house might grow stronger, gain more recognition. That life was not something he wanted at all, even if parts of the education he received was useful. He admitted everything he knew about women was skewed from the perspective of learning how to handle them delicately, both in the bedroom and without.
While Miss Meela teased Jon about this education, and proved it ather incomplete, it led to Jon admitting that there were a more things he could think of, with regard to her. The first had been the touch to the ear, the second the touches along the back, but the rest he refused to share. Part of her was concerned, but part of her was not - he had, after all, asked before doing anything each time; he had also told Miss Meela more than once that he wasn't trying to bed either of them.
After the shifting conversation with Miss Meela, she and Jon ended up being the final attendees to leave the event. He had offered his hand again, helping her stand, before leading her from the dance floor and up the stairs; he paused once, to retrieve his shirt and put it back on.
She rises one last time, retracing the path that Jon had guided her along the night prior, until she reaches the spot in the lobby where he had halted them. With most of the staff gone or busy cleaning up, he seemed to have gained confidence, and asked her if she wanted to know what the other thing he had thought of was.
The part of her that had been leading her life since she left Dalmasca told her to leave, to find out what had happened to Leo while she'd been away, make sure that forcing the poison from his system had not done lasting harm. The part of her that had been affected by the moment they had within the archives after Zanin had calmed Batu and lead him back out to the foyer, the part that listened to him every time he worried over her efforts - that part told her to stay.
Perhaps because Jon looked startlingly a bit like a younger Leo, perhaps because he had said much of what the Lion had, and had elected to do more than speak; perhaps the fact that Jon seemed to understand that she wasn't knowledgeable about such, and was willing to be patient and actually help her learn, rather than lecture and hope for change.
Whatever the reason, she asked what else there was in his mind.
He had turned her to face him fully, leaving his hands on her shoulders, before closing the space between them more. Before she could question anything, his lips were fluttering across her right collarbone, until her tunic forced him to stop. Then he took a step back, and released her shoulders, leaving her lightheaded and wide-eyed.
Once she could speak again, he told her that there was one last thing he had thought of, that he wanted to try. The responsible side of her was screaming to leave, yet the parts that the Captain's words, the fewer words that Zanin had spoken, and the words from Miss Meela and Jon that evening led her to nod.
Jon then pulled her into a rather intimate embrace, until there was little space left between them, his nose perhaps an ilm from her own. He gave her two options: she could pull away, and he would do no more, or she could finish what he had started. She was entirely unsure of what he had started, until he gave a more detailed explanation, until he made it clear that she could put her lips to his, or break away.
Duty fought with lightheaded state that it all was causing. One side argued that she would either lead him to his own death, or leave him mourning hers. The other side wanted to know if his lips would feel different on her lips than they had on her collarbone. One side argued that this was merely the alcohol she had drank clouding her judgement, the other vaguely understood why Leo was so fond of drinking.
While she did not move to place her lips on his, as first suggested, she nodded instead.
At first, the closing of proximity made her panic, but once Jon held his lips to hers, the panic evaporated, even if her heart continued to pound in her chest. Her eyes closed, though she had no idea what else to do aside from stand there, hands resting lightly upon his upper arms, and let him lead.
In the present, her hand absently reaches up to touch her lips, the intake of her breath slowing a little upon the recollection of the moment the night before, followed by the brief moment after his Blitzball practice earlier in the day.
And then her hand lowers to her side, and she turns, leaving the tavern.
She was beginning to understand what Leo had been trying to tell her, as much as she hated to admit it.
(( @drunkenmoogle since I stole your bar for this. ))
