Date: XX - X - XXXX.
Met prospective new patron today. First impressions: Direct. Well-spoken. Vain, but not overly narcissistic. Confident in his power, if insecure in his mortality. As equally well-versed in the intricacies of court politics and noble society as he is in matters of war and conquest. Intelligent enough to avoid the traps laid out before him by Amon and his ilk, but not quite so much that he can see the noose already tightening about his neck. Quite attractive in profile, if only from his right side; such a terrible shame about his left.
Most importantly, the man is possessed of a favorable temperament and more than enough material wealth to suit my needs. Construction of Arachnion proceeds apace, and he is more than willing to divert funds toward its completion so long as he receives of the fruit of my labor; a simple promise, all too easily fulfilled. Yes, he will serve me rather nicely.
[ . . . ] As an aetherochemical researcher of the late Allagan era, Damophon is best known today for his research into preserving one’s continuity of consciousness during transference of the soul into various media, both organic and inorganic. To this end he made numerous innovations in the field of cloning technology, some of which have been mistakenly attributed to his more infamous colleague and counterpart Amon. In fact, the entirety of his body of work might have been thusly misattributed had it not been for the man’s habit of meticulously chronicling his day-to-day activities, no matter how mundane.
Among these meticulously-kept notes can be found detailed records of Damophon’s many patrons: Allagan nobles of varying renown, each one bearing deep investment in the idea of immortalizing their names through contributions to science, or quite literally immortalizing themselves through Damophon’s discoveries. Only one such patron is never referred to by name, nor does Damophon attribute to him any other identifying information, as he indicates this particular patron’s funding is to be directed strictly toward a project ‘of utmost secrecy and import.’ Nevertheless, Damophon seems to have taken great interest in this chosen venture, as his writings on the matter — those which have been discovered thus far, to wit — indicate a level of vigor and interest rarely seen in his other reports. This interest is likewise shared with his mysterious patron, with whom he associates only a coded name: the Hanged Man.
[…] Yes, I know exactly what sort of man you are.
Not the man you were, once celebrated in story and song, for he has long since turned to ash.
In Meracydia did you claim your glory, seized it with both hands, and for a price no less than death; and when death came to claim you in turn, you stood upon that precipice, gazed into that yawning abyss from which no light, no life can ever escape; and rather than give yourself over to that eternal embrace, much less to allow your memory to pass into legend, what did you do instead?
You turned away, and gave yourself over to fear.
Yes, that is exactly the sort of man you are, now and I fear forever on. Neither your vaunted strength nor your storied accomplishments shall follow your name into the annals of history; in their place, only cowardice shall remain.
— An excerpt from the personal writings of Damophon, an aetherochemical scholar of some renown during the late Allagan era. The subject of this passage remains a mystery into the modern day, for no record has been found among Damophon’s other works in which he refers to this man by name; some scholars have theorized that Damophon is addressing none other than Emperor Xande himself, but no evidence has yet been found which might support this conclusion.
residence: a small basement apartment in Ul’dah, which he shares with stacks upon stacks of musty, aged tomes.
birthplace: unknown
fears: combat in close quarters; losing his identity; open water, drowning, and the deep sea; death.
relationships—
spouse: none
children: none
parents: unknown
other relatives: unknown
traits—
Extroverted / In Between / Introverted
Disorganized / In Between / Organized
Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded
Calm / In Between / Anxious
Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable
Cautious / In Between / Reckless
Patient / In Between / Impatient
Outspoken / In Between / Reserved
Leader / In Between / Follower
Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic
Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic
Traditional / In Between / Modern
Hard-working / In Between / Lazy
Cultured / In Between / Uncultured
Loyal / In Between / Disloyal
Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful
additional information—
smoking habit: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.
drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.
alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.
potential hooks—
full-time adventurer, part-time everything else. Robyn is a skilled spellcaster who primarily makes his living through adventuring, traveling all over Eorzea and doing whatever it is the common folk need done. Between travels, though, he most often calls Ul’dah home, and can commonly be found doing odd jobs for the various guilds of the city.
an unclear past. When the subject of his history comes up in conversation, Robyn’s answer is ever consistent: that he was attacked by monsters while traveling through Thanalan just a few years ago, and that he awoke in the Silver Bazaar with no memory of his past or identity. Though he’s not particularly secretive about his amnesia, he’s rarely interested in discussing the matter any further, not even with others who might share his condition.
the secrets of allag. Robyn has a very particular interest in learning as much as he can about the Allagan Empire; to this end he has gained quite a bit of specialized knowledge on the subject, and after recent adventures, he even has first-hand experience in the mythic lands of Azys Lla. Though he’s by no means an illustrated scholar, if there’s ever an adventuring expedition in need of someone with Allagan expertise, Robyn is (probably) the one to call.
black magic, white magic, sword magic, stave magic. Having studied extensively under the thaumaturges’ guild of Ul’dah, Robyn is most skilled when it comes to conjuring elemental magicks for the purpose of combat and destruction. In the interest of bettering his self-defense, he has also taken to using a blade alongside a gem-based focus for his spellcasting, in a style that is both inspired by and superficially similar to that which is employed by red mages; though he hasn’t been formally trained in the art of the crimson, he has a keen interest in finding someone who can help him do so, all for the sake of growing and developing as a mage.
let’s try more sword, less magic. Recent experiences have led Robyn to the belief that he needs to become stronger to protect those he cares about, not just magically, but physically, as well. To this end, he seeks a tutor who can train him in the art of the blade — preferably a bigger blade than the one he uses to cast spells with — but given his current level of skill in actual melee combat with an actual sword, which is to say almost none, where can he even begin his search...?
uncommon knowledge. Among those employed in the Brass Blades, there may still be rumblings of an incident which occurred in Western Thanalan some years past, in which the castrum at Cape Westwind was observed to be on high alert a mere day before a suspected Garlean deserter — suspected, but yet unproven — was found half-dead in the desert. Likewise, those Garleans who were at any point stationed at Castrum Marinum, conscripts or otherwise, may be aware of a similar incident — not one which involves any deserters, but rather that of an archaeological find in the currents near the Cape, a find of such significance that all related information was strictly classified before the object itself was moved elsewhere for safekeeping... ★ This hook is open only to those characters who would fit the criteria to know this information (i.e. Brass Blades or Garlean forces stationed in Thanalan), or who might have the requisite connections to have heard about it from one of these sources. If you’re interested in pursuing this hook and you’re not sure if your character would qualify, please message me so we can talk it out! ★
OOC information—
player: valya, she/her
discord: rianofski#4692
timezone: EST/EDT
only seeking RP partners who are 21+, please.
walkups/tells welcome when status is set to RP! if my status is not set — i’m probably just bumming around doing MSQ and other OOC stuff, but feel free to send a tell anyway! if you’d like to set up a scene, feel free to reach out so we can discuss availability/scheduling!
potentially open to mature/dark themes; please don’t hesitate to contact me OOC if you have any questions or concerns! additionally, soliciting ERP without any prior OOC communication or IC development will be firmly turned down.
Words without tone, without rhythm, without melody still echoed in Robyn’s mind; lyrics without a song, a heartbeat without harmony. He struggled to make it fit as he lay in his bed, to piece it together with the plucked and hummed notes he had heard from the others in the expedition, but none of it seemed to slot into place. None of it seemed to work as it should.
It shouldn’t have bothered him so. The simulated goddess had fallen to his and his fellow expeditioners’ best efforts, after all, and their might had been duly proven to the Allagan node which barred their way... But where Robyn had heard only the goddess’ biting words and the clash of sorcery and steel, the others had all heard something far different: a song, as though emanating from the goddess herself.
“Moonlight without dark...”
It shouldn’t have bothered him at all, that he had missed something so unimportant — but how unimportant was it, really, that he had missed something which sounded so clear, so obvious to everyone else?
What was missing? What was he missing?
“The heart seeketh equilibrium...”
It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did, to have identified yet one more thing that marked him apart from the rest. Was it important, truly, or did it mark him as inferior in some way? Surely not, but that hardly mattered so much as the fact that he was marked in the first place. Though the goddess wasn’t real, only simulated, there was still something about her presence to which the others had innately attuned — some sort of wavelength that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend, let alone tune into.
Why, then? What was he made for, if not for this?
“...A pointless feature, if you ask me. Why even bother...?”
As the voice rippled through Robyn’s mind like a distant echo, a sharp, sudden spike of pain drove into his head, pounding harder and harder as he clutched his face with a cry. It came upon him with such force that he rolled right out of his bed and onto the ground, only the ground seemed so much more distant than it should have been...and as he landed with a harsh thud, and as the sound of rushing blood faded from his ears, and as the pain in his head finally started to subside, Robyn realized very quickly that he was not where he had been just a moment ago.
The sensation in total was not something altogether unfamiliar to him by now; his first thought upon looking up and finding a dark, cavernous space where his cramped bunk had once been was to wonder if somebody hadn’t managed to activate a materia nearby. But he could see no familiar faces around him, no one at all that seemed to be caught in the same dreamlike state — save two figures in the near distance, both stood with their backs to him as they observed a massive, softly-glowing cylindrical chamber.
“The bother, as with all my ventures, is for your benefit.” One of the figures, dressed in sleek white robes and a pair of spectacles that flashed in the light, was the first to speak. From this distance, from this angle, their face was indistinct. “Did you wish for a mere one-to-one replica, after all? Or would you prefer a body in its absolute prime, perfected for aetherial manipulation and abjuration both?”
The other figure towered over the first, sharp lines of heavy armor silhouetted by the soft light from the chamber.
“My wish was for you to provide a result that matched my expectations — and my patronage.”
It was a cold voice that echoed from beneath that sharply pointed helm. The sound of it turned Robyn’s blood to ice, touched upon a fear so primal that he could only wonder how he hadn’t already heard it in his nightmares.
“And this...thing that you’ve just presented to me,” said the one in armor with a wide, dismissive gesture toward the chamber, “does not seem to meet either measure. Look at it; can it even breathe on its own, let alone stand or fight?”
Robyn had counted incorrectly. There were three figures there: the one in robes, the one in armor, and the one in the chamber, blanched so pale that he could hardly make it out past the glowing light and the shimmering liquid within.
“Your concern is noted,” said the white robes, “but wholly premature. This creature you see before you is a necessary first step in our endeavor; Mark I, if you will, in our efforts to advance and perfect this technology. The next iteration will be significantly improved, I assure you.”
“Why not flush it, then?” Another dismissive gesture from the armored one. “It seems to me much kinder to end its misery... Though I suppose you aren’t well known for your kindness.”
The robed one answered with a breezy laugh. “And dispense with so much valuable data? No, our needs require that I keep this one in store... A framework, if you will, to build future generations upon. Only once we’ve reached the final iteration will I consider permanent disposal.”
“The final iteration?” echoed the armored one. “And how many iterations do you suppose it will take before we’ve reached that point?”
At that Robyn felt a sudden stabbing pain in his head, and words like a sharpened dagger, every bit as cold and painful as pointed steel, bloomed into his mind, echoing the man in armor’s true intent: How much of my time do you intend to waste before you give me what I want? How much of my wealth do you intend to invest in the birth of these worthless creatures?
But the one in robes did not seem perturbed. “While that remains to be seen, you should know that I’ve already begun work on the second iteration. Their differences in ability are already vast, but without this one as a guiding foundation... Well, let’s just say that one could hardly exist without the other.”
Robyn reeled, doubled over on the floor while he clutched at his head all over again. Two pairs of footsteps echoed away from him, one heavy and clanking, the other light and airy, but he could scarcely hear either past the words still echoing in his mind. Words that could only have belonged to that man — words that he could only hear in his own voice, no matter how hard he tried to shut them out...
When the pain finally faded, and when Robyn was finally able to pick up his head again, he found that he was alone in the cavernous dark — alone, with the pale figure in the glowing chamber. Slowly, unsteadily, he got up to his feet. At any moment, this dream could fall out from under him; at any moment he could be cast out from this vision, this memory, whatever this was, and never again have the chance to see what lay beyond.
As he drew closer, the shape in the chamber became clearer to him — a frail-looking Hyur suspended in translucent fluid, its impossibly pale skin cast in a sickly light by the chamber’s glow — though its face remained indistinct, mouth hidden behind a mask connected to several tubes, sunken eyes hidden behind a floating mess of shock-white hair. It floated there — unhearing, said that echoed voice in his mind, unfeeling, unthinking — without any evident response to Robyn’s presence.
Robyn knew, somehow, that he would never have this chance again. Slowly, tentatively, he raised a hand to touch the glass chamber.
The Hyur’s eyes shot open then, clouded and milky white, and with a sudden force that belied its apparent frailty it smashed its head upon the glass in front of Robyn’s face. Again and again it smashed at that spot, the sound a cacophonous roar in Robyn’s ears, and as the glass of the chamber began to crack, as a cloud of blood began to mingle with the fluid already leaking out, there was a voice, an echoed voice, screaming louder and louder inside of his head—
Robyn woke with a gasp, flat on his back on the floor of his bunk, head throbbing and ears ringing. Only once both sensations had subsided — only when he could be sure that whatever he had just seen was a vision, nothing more — did he make the effort to sit up, to double- and triple-check that he was without a shadow of a doubt back in the waking world.
But hadn’t he been awake all along? It felt so much more than a dream, after all; it felt so much more like one of those materia-bound memories, unleashed upon him with such vividity that he could scarcely tell it wasn’t real. But how could that be, when he was nowhere near the devices that unleashed those memories? And if it was a memory, then who...
Slowly, Robyn drew his knees to his chest, rubbing his palms over his forehead as he took one deep breath after another. Whatever it was that had just happened to him, there had to be some explanation for it; there had to be an explanation for all of it. He just had to find it...
“With balance will your worry part...”
Slowly, softly, a melody drifted into the back of his mind; echoed words from an echoed voice. No, he couldn’t fret over such a thing now; he had plenty enough to be worried about already. He shook his head and tried to put it from his mind one last time as he hefted up to his feet, opened the door to his bunk, and made his way out into the corridor of the ship.
realized recently that there are quite a few screenshots on my xiv twit that i never got around to sharing over here...... so, might as well start now! with robyn, lost in ishgard. somebody please help him, he is very cold
