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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!
Hey remember when I said I shouldn’t draw after 3 AM...? Well now it’s 4 AM.
(Feat @renofmanyalts in the form of Rhenbraen. Based on this image that I couldn’t stop laughing at)
Assorted Adventurer Plates
I've been gradually working on creating portraits and adventurer plates for my characters as it occurs to me to do so.
It's really fun to figure out what to put in the background for the screenshots. I've been gradually refining my methods, and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it, but a lot of times I end up missing one or more details, lol
Further musings and an update of what's up with me lately under the cut:
Conduct
Who: Rhenbraen Helbsyn; NPCs at Naldiq & Vymelli's
What: Rhenbraen struggles with a custom order for a pair of daggers.
Where: Naldiq & Vymelli's, Limsa Lominsa
When: Very recently - mid-spring, after Rhenbraen returned from Ishgard following completion of the Firmament reconstruction effort.
Content: canon-typical swearing, anger, narrowly-averted misgendering
Written for MAHI prompt words: CUSTOM, ARM
The third time the dagger blade turned out wrong, Rhenbraen spat out a string of expletives as they tore their goggles off their face and threw them to the ground. They could hear the crackle as the strap pulled free of their hair.
Behind the receiptionist's desk, Randwulf jumped. "Llymlaen's breath, Helbsyn, who pissed in YOUR porridge?"
"Swive off, you nosy bastard." They swiped the goggles off the ground and yanked them back into place. No cracks, thank the Builder.
"If you keep stompin' around like that you're gonna hurt yourself," Randwulf warned. "Or someone else, fer that matter. Get yourself together, mate."
"Somethin' th' matter, Helbsyn?"
That was Brithael. The soles of Rhenbraen's boots squeaked on the stone underfoot as they executed a stiff turn, keeping their face even by pure force of will. "No sir."
"Don't seem like nothin' to me, la-, uh, laddie." The guildmaster picked up the blade and turned it this way and that. "What d'you s'pose went awry here, Helbsyn?"
"I don't know." Rhenbraen tried not to flinch as the ruined blade landed on the table with a metallic thud. It even sounded wrong.
Brithael scratched his head through his filthy bandana, squinting. "Well, ye quenched it right. I saw you do it."
"Yessir. It ain't that."
"Try again, let me watch you." Brithael offered Rhenbraen a smile and gestured toward the forge. "An' make sure th' fire crystals ain't gettin' low."
They grabbed a bar of stock and jumped at the near-audible ZAP, almost losing their grip. Gritting their teeth, they tried again, chafing under Brithael's too-friendly scrutiny. They could feel the eyes of the rest of their forgemates on them, too, and it made the hair on their arms prickle.
Their movements were seamless, near-automatic as they moved through the steps in turn. The same process they'd done a dozen dozen times by now, the smith's tools an easy fit in their hands.
All they had to do was concentrate. Follow the flow.
But with each strike of their hammer, the thought echoed: best off in the hands of a friend.
The blades were small in comparison to most - intended to be lightning-quick, but strong enough to parry a much larger weapon. If the mixture was wrong, or if the temper was off... if any of a dozen things were not done correctly, the blade could lose its edge -- or shatter.
The thought made Rhenbraen's stomach lurch.
Rhenbraen pushed down the fluttering feeling, felt it transform into determination. It zipped along their spine, buzzed in their hands. They seized the metal with their tongs, and it sang with each hammer blow...
And then the notes went sour. Again.
Brithael whistled, inspecting the blade. "Helbsyn," he said. "Anybody ever tell you that you're a bloody lightning rod?"
------
I am taking a great deal of poetic license with the metallurgical principles at play here, since the point was to write, not to spend several hours researching. And besides, levin-aspected aether is not exactly the same as electricity....
Rhenbraen Helbsyn: A Cocktail
Aragh moonshine with enough sour cherry syrup to cover the taste - plus blue food dye for the hell of it.
Assemble your own with the 500 Cocktail Maker on Picrew: https://picrew.me/image_maker/658765
Tagged by: @donpom-loredex - there you go!
Tagging: Do this if it seems fun and tag me!
⏳⏳- two for Rhenbraen
Rhalgr's Bolts
Who: Rhenbraen Helbsyn, Storm Haeron (brief mention; belongs to @ever-searching )
What: A visit to Rolanberry Fields orphanage brings back memories.
Where: The Firmament; Thanalan.
When: In the lull before the final phases of reconstruction in the Firmament; nine years before the Calamity; seven years before the Calamity.
Content: implied parental death, graphic descriptions of pain (headache), fainting, unintentional misgendering, adoption, extremely hinky power dynamics
Written for MAHI prompt words: snatch, cheer, Lightning
"Red rover, red rover, let Brigie come over!"
Rhenbraen watched as a spindly little girl in frayed homespun broke from the line and pelted across the orphanage lawn, screeching her determination into the cold air. She barreled into the linked arms of the opposite rank and -- was caught fast, doubled over their still-clasped hands.
"Fury's tits!" she spat, righting herself. She stomped to the end of the line amidst a chorus of laughter and cheers.
Rhenbraen crossed their arms, frowning, and looked out over the chasm surrounding the city.
--------------------------
Thanalan, 9 years before the Calamity
--------------------------
They climbed the stairs as quietly as they could. The brick under their bare feet was rough, sun-warmed. It felt like walking on coals. They pressed their hands into their temples, trying to make the pounding stop - trying not to breathe too loudly.
"...Amber?" came a half-whisper. They looked up, wincing in the afternoon glare. Averitt, the new hyuran boy, was sitting folded under the awning on the roof, hunched over something. He peered over at them, hazel eyes bright against his brown skin. "What's wrong?"
They grunted.
He blinked. "All right. Be like that," he whispered flatly in reply. He turned back to what he was doing. They squinted. He had a book in his lap, the spine broken, binding tattered around the edges.
The sun coming down was too harsh, but it was better than being downstairs. They edged under the awning and slid down the wall. The pounding in their head was lessening, slowly.
Averitt looked over at them, closing his book protectively, his finger marking his place.
"Nobody but you c'n read that," they mumbled, rubbing their eyes, "so y' don't need t' hide it."
"How do I know you can't read," he retorted.
Rhenbraen glanced over at him, eyes narrowed. "I can't prove that."
"'xactly." His gaze bored into them accusingly.
They gave a weary sigh. "...why don't y’ want anybody to read it?"
"'Cause then they'll take it away."
"Why?"
Averitt's face shuttered.
"Can't y' get another?"
He pressed his lips tightly shut, shaking his head and looking away.
Oh.
They remembered this some moons later when a pair of hyur, dressed in fine clothing, came looking for a son. The headmaster spoke with them in his office for more than a bell while Averitt waited outside in the hall, clutching his knapsack. He was trying not to cry. They pretended not to see.
Later, after Averitt had left with them, they heard the cook complaining to the headmaster that surely he could have asked them for a larger fee. There were mouths to feed.
--------------------------
Thanalan, 7 years before the Calamity
--------------------------
"Now, children, remember to treat our guest courteously."
A chorus of voices murmured in unison: "Yes, Headmaster." They stood together with the rest, arranged in rows with their backs straight, eyes on the opposite wall. They waited in tense silence while voices murmured together in the hall.
When they saw the black robes appear in the doorway, they sucked in a breath.
No.
The visitor was tall and broad, pale wrists peeking between black sleeves and black gloves. The bone staff slung across his back bore a dark red orb.
Their breaths came short -- first from panic, knowing what was coming, and then from the pain that swelled in their skull.
The headmaster's pointing stick prodded their knees. They pushed their spine straight, clammy hands clasped behind them. Their head was swimming.
They felt more than saw the visitor's shadow fall over them. The pressure in their head intensified until it felt like a scream that grew until it pushed into every ilm of their braincase. A ringing filled their ears, blocking the sound of the gasps they were trying to keep quiet as their vision filled with white static.
"And what is wrong with you, little one?" The visitor's voice was a low rumble, not unkind, but every syllable thundered in their head.
"--mber, answer when you are spoken to." The headmaster was in front of them, speaking sternly.
They tried to speak, but the only sound that came out was an agonized whimper, squeezed between ragged breaths.
Shaking their head was a mistake.
Suddenly, they were on the floor. One of the older boys behind them had caught them under their arms and was lowering them to the tile.
"Take her to the dormitory."
"Yes, Headmaster." Then they were being carried down the hall, their head lolling against someone's shoulder as the pain gradually faded, replaced by limp exhaustion.
"I'm terribly sorry for the interruption...." The headmaster's fading voice was the last thing they remembered.
-------------------------- --------------------------
Rhenbraen tore their attention away from the grey skies as one of the caretakers -- former knights all, it seemed -- asked them a question. They looked around for Storm and found him working with another ex-knight to explain the contents of the crates.
"Whatnow?"
"I was asking if you were affiliated with the Manufactory," he began. "I noticed---"
"--No," they said, cutting him off. They realized belatedly that their temples had started to throb. "I ain't. Naldiq & Vymelli's."
"Ah."
An awkward silence descended. The caretaker wandered off to tend the cookpot, and Rhenbraen found themselves watching the children at play once again.
------------------
Please forgive me for taking some liberties with the meme specifications. I thought this might be more interesting.
🌸 and a bonus one!! For Rhenbraen to Lili! :D
Send 🌸 for three things my muse likes about yours.
🌿 "He's got a gift - or a skill, maybe, I don't know if it was somethin' he had to work at - but he gets how flavors go together. I'd bring h- I’d bring back mess hall slop and he'd put in a little o' this and a little o' that and before I knew it there was a real meal on the board."
🌼 "He's so damned optimistic," Rhenbraen groused. "I don't get how, with all the shite he's been through. But still. Makes y' think."
🌕 "...much as I mighta grumbled at the time, it was nice havin' him around all night. Never been used to sleepin' alone, as it was, but. I slept deeper, with him keepin' watch. Rested better. He's as trustworthy as they come.
“...hope he’s doin’ alright.”
Happiness - Rhenbraen
Who: Rhenbraen Helbsyn, various other workers in the Firmament; mentioned only: Orrin Lyuhe (belongs to @mathemagiks )
What: Praise, and concern, and gifts... …oh no.
Where: The Firmament and the Brume, Ishgard
When: Early winter (quite recently)
Content: Good-natured ribbing, canon-typical cursing, illness mention
Written for MAHI prompt WEAVERS’ GUILD
"'ey, Helbsyn! C'mere a minute, would you?"
Rhenbraen kept their eyes on their work, hammer sending sparks flying into the frigid air. "Why?"
"Swivin' crane is misbehaving again." The hyur stood there expectantly.
Rhenbraen looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. "And you're comin' to me about it?"
"Aye, Helbsyn, who else are we gonna bloody go to?" he said, grinning despite Rhenbraen's suspicious stare. "You're the crane whisperer, mate. Foreman sent me for you specifically."
"Fine," they said. "But let me finish 'fore this piece gets cold and cracks. I ain't the finial whisperer."
"Sure, whatever you need to do."
-----
"There." Rhenbraen let the access panel fall shut with a soft clang and dusted ice chips from their gloves. "Try now."
The operator tugged at a lever, and the winch started to turn, reeling in the slack cable. Someone in the knot of workers whooped.
"Alright, back to work!" the foreman shouted, and Rhenbraen turned to go back to the forge.
"You sell yourself short, Helbsyn." Rhenbraen looked down to see the messenger from earlier at their elbow. He was grinning -- up at the crane now swinging into motion, not at them. "Good work."
They gave an uncomfortable grunt, crossing their arms. They returned to their smithing and did their best to ignore the swell of... something... that buoyed their heart in their chest.
-----
"Still impressed that you knew it was ice inside the mechanism. You've got a real knack for this kind of -- urgh -- work," their bunkmate said as he wrestled off his boots. "Especially for someone who hasn't seen snow before this year. Have you ever considered joining that new mechanics’ workshop-- or something like it?" He was almost shouting to be heard over the evening chatter in the barracks.
"And stay up here freezin' my arse off?" Rhenbraen grumbled, burrowing further into their pile of blankets.
"Maybe not in Ishgard, then."
"I don't know. Liked the foundry work better." It was true - work in the foundry was intuitive, simple, repetitive.
Still, Rhenbraen found themselves lying awake and thinking about the suggestion - or maybe just the compliment - for longer than they expected.
-----
Of course they came down with a bad cold the next sun. Rhenbraen blamed the lack of sleep. When their already-rough voice started turning into an inaudible croak, they were sent to bed with strict orders to rest -- followed up with a bowl of noodle soup from Orrin's stall.
The two suns following were a blur of soup, tonic, and feverish sleep. On the second, they awoke to an empty barracks and jumped down from their bunk in a panic, throwing on on their sweater and cap and toolbelt -- only to be sent right back the moment they entered the common room.
"We need ye healthy, Helbsyn - go rest up." The foreman carefully did not touch them, but he all but nipped at their heels until they were herded back under the covers.
They passed back out almost instantly, but not before they had spent a few seconds puzzling to themselves over why it had felt kind of nice.
-----
On the third sun, they started to grow restless. On the fourth, they finally passed muster with the chirurgeons and were sent back to the Firmament.
"Oh, thank the Fury, you're back! Are you feeling all right now?"
Rhenbraen snorted, as much to clear the lingering congestion from their nasal passages as to express confusion. "It ain't like I was gone for a moon."
"Aye, but we missed yer grumpy mug!" A broad grin accompanied the words.
A canvas-wrapped package was shoved into their hands. "What in the hells is this?" Rhenbraen rasped.
"Open it."
They pulled open the sack to find... a set of clothes. Two linen shirts, a woolen tunic lined with... hells, was this silk? and a coat in quilted corduroy to go over it. Gloves - thicker ones. Trousers, in wool to match the coat, and leggings to line them. Socks, again in heavy wool, knee-length.
And, at the bottom, a pair of tall boots with rugged soles.
"What in the hells is all this?" they repeated. Their voice was choked with emotion, and at the sound of it, their ears started to burn.
"Ain't you ever seen clothes before, Helbsyn?" A chorus of good-natured laughter accompanied the grinning jibe.
"Ignore him, mate. It's warm clothes. Had to take our best guesses on the sizing, but everything's got laces to adjust the fit. If something doesn't sit the way you want, we'll try again."
Rhenbraen opened their mouth to retort, but nothing came out. They shut it again, looking down, bewildered, at the clothing spread over the workbench. Equally bewildering was the way their eyes stung, pricked by tears.
"...lemme guess," they managed to croak out, unable to fully summon their usual irritation, "the bloody crane is frozen solid again?"
--------
Needless to say, “happiness” is a pretty foreign emotion for Rhenbraen, and it tends to be a little overwhelming. They tend to react by fleeing into their usual anger and irritation out of embarrassment.
