#strammund

[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.

[renofmanyalts]

The Sailor, I hear him called. Awful far from the sea, ain't he -- and ain't sailors usually a rowdy bunch?

This one wears a grim stillness like a cloak of fog, grey as that tunic he favors. He keeps his lips pressed tight together, thin and white, a muscle jumping in his jaw -- like there's something he can't let past his teeth.

He's got a kind face, somehow, in spite of it all. Maybe it's those lines around his eyes, creased into his sun-worn skin, like they're used to crinkling in a smile. 

You can catch him at it, now and again -- smiling, I mean -- but that tight-lipped quality don't ever quite leave. You get the sense those eyes could be honey-sweet, all charm, if they weren't so... fixed. Always focused, sharp -- when they ain't just blank, fogged over... far away. 

Wonder where he goes, then?

-----

Written for FFXIVWrite2020 Warm-ups #2:  Write about your character’s facial expression (10 sentences max)

[renofmanyalts]

♞ - physically pick my muse up and carry them (or mine pick up yours?)

Prompt 8: Clamor

Who: Strammund Grehmerlsyn, Mi’ke Tia (who belongs to @donpom-loredex)

What: The barkeep at Strammund’s usual haunt has called in a favor. 

Where: A back alley tavern in Ul’dah.

When: *shrug*

Content notes: alcohol, drunkenness, nausea, vertigo, nonconsenting physical transportation(?), food mention

"HEY!"

Strammund continued, unperturbed. No sense wasting his breath. 

"Hey, don't-- Hey, man! Put me down!" A fist swung woozily at the back of Strammund's head, knocking his bandana askew. 

Heave-HO. Strammund pushed against the floor and slowly stood, a very drunk -- and surprisingly dense -- Seeker slung over his shoulder like a sack of very animated popotoes. The young man hollered, beating his hands against Strammund's back and lashing his stub of a tail.

"Quit wigglin'," Strammund warned as he made for the door, one arm wrapped securely around the back of the patron's knees. "Crack yer fool head open if I drop you."

His undignified cargo changed tactics: "Now hang on a minute, let's be reasonable! Just put me down and we can talk -- urgh -- talk it over!" 

Having moved through the door and a little way down the walk, Strammund did, indeed, put him down -- kneeling and setting him on his unsteady feet. Strammund stayed down, holding out a hand to make sure the miqo'te wouldn't fall over before he could catch his balance. 

"Star's spinnin', is it?" 

"Ugh." 

"Sit." Strammund pointed to the bench just behind him. The miqo'te resisted -- until the floor pitched under him, and he sat. Strammund offered him a tight smile. "Not real familiar with ouzo, are ye?" 

"Of course I'm familiar with it!" he began, jerking his chin up -- though from the sudden greenish tinge in his tan face, he instantly regretted the sudden movement.

"Drank it dry hammer, eh? Sneaks up on you, like. It's the sugar."

"Why d'you give -- urk -- give a, a damn?" Yellow eyes glared blearily at him. The young man -- he couldn't have been older than twenty -- was gradually working himself up into a lather. "What kind of bouncer sits and talks with the drunk he's ejecting, anyway? You're supposed to toss me out and dust off your, your hands, and go back to your post. Worst bouncer I've ever met!" 

Strammund shook his head. "Ain't a bouncer. Just know the barkeep."

"So do I!" came the reply, accompanied by the clumsy jab of a thumb against chest. "Best buds, her and me -- she would never throw me out! Mi'ke Tia, best customer she ever had." Something similar to understanding slowly dawned on his face. "...but, oh, I get how it is." Mi'ke, as his name apparently was, reached out poke at Strammund's breastbone with a drunken smirk. "You're not even a real bouncer! You're just-- just some jerk taking matters into his own hands!" Mi'ke launched into a series of taunting insults covering everything from Strammund's bouncer credentials to his choice of headgear.

Strammund quirked an eyebrow, letting Mi'ke talk without either agreeing or disagreeing with him. 

When it became clear that the stream of excited words and accusatory jabs was not likely to wind down, Strammund interrupted him: "You oughta eat somethin'. Stay put, or don't." He pushed to his feet and headed off toward one of the vendors around the square. With luck, Mi'ke would be there when he returned.

[renofmanyalts]

Venting starters/prompts, 20: finding them in a secluded, out of the way place (for any)

Don’t Cough

Who: Strammund Grehmerlsyn, an unnamed other PC (up to @menord to decide who it is!)

What: They were almost to town when the tickle started in his chest. Strammund’s medicine has run out. He struggles to keep it together until the job is done.

Where: The Silver Bazaar, Western Thanalan

When: Sometime in the past year.

Content notes: drug mention, drug withdrawal, HEAVY medical/illness themes, graphic description of a coughing fit, nausea. 

(Please be reassured that although Strammund has a chronic cough, he does not have a communicable disease.)

Written for MAHI prompt words: beach, demon

They were almost to town when the tickle started in his chest. 

Cold dread washed through his guts. Not now. Please, whatever gods are listening: not now. 

Strammund patted the pouch at his waist for the twentieth time, even though he knew it was empty: his pastilles had run out two suns ago. (That was fine. He could deal with the jitters, the crawling feeling in his stomach, the chills. He could deal with it until he could get more, once he got paid for this job....)

The merchant took his time with the pleasantries, and Strammund stood with cold sweat soaking through his tunic, trying to keep his breaths shallow, crossbow at the ready as he kept watch over the cart and its load of... of... 

He couldn't remember what they were carrying out here to this sleepy town, out here on the border of Thanalan. (It came with a nagging sense of familiarity, but like their cargo, it remained just out of his grasp.)

His vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges, fading in and out with the sound of the waves somewhere out toward the horizon. The sun was slipping the rest of the way down, sinking into the ocean in a wreath of fire, and Strammund was seized by a sudden ache that had nothing to do with the maddening feeling building in his chest. 

He must have inhaled accidentally. The tickle asserted itself, growing sharper. Needle-like. Strammund held his breath. 

     Don't cough. Don't cough.

         Don't cough. 

His diaphragm heaved under his ribs, and Strammund tightened his chest, forcing it down. Stars wheeled across his vision.

"Oy! Sailor!" 

The nickname barely registered as Strammund turned his head. 

"If you're gonna be sick, don't do it on the rug." 

"I ain't--" He clamped down on another would-be contraction, trapping it in his throat. Let it out slow. Controlled. 

Don't cough. 

"I ain't sick."

"Sure. Here." The weight of a coinpurse pressed against his palm. "Good work, see you next sennight?"

"Aye."

"Good. You're dismissed." 

-------

Strammund made it a hundred yalms from the empty docks, all the way to a tiny strip of beach at foot of the cliffs, before he couldn't hold it any longer. 

As his control gave way, the first cough tore its way out of him like a thing with claws, raking up his windpipe with another close on its heels. Cough on cough on hacking cough poured out of him, overlapping until there was no time to draw in air between---until his lungs were burning, empty, and his head spun. His stomach clenched; he gagged, spat into the sand. 

He gasped for breath, pulling in salt air like a drowning man, swallowing and swallowing -- only to be wracked with another coughing fit, stumbling in the twilight. His shoulder crashed into the cliff wall, and he sagged against it.

Strammund thumped his fist on the stone, eyes streaming. Each inhale enraged the demon clawing at his chest. Another cough doubled him over, punching the breath out of his lungs as an aching feeling of wrongness bolted down his arms to tingle painfully in his hands. 

As the fit passed, he closed his eyes, letting himself slide down to sit on a patch of grass that clung to the base of the rock face.

Stubborn, came the fragment of thought as his fists closed around its scraggly leaves. Cussed, like me. The tide shushed him, the fingertips of the waves reaching up the sand to pat at his heels.

The coughing weakened slowly, petering out. His stomach muscles were overtired and trembling, the white sparks spinning across his field of view finally starting to fade. 

He was exhausted, but if he sat here any longer, his boots would get wet. 

Then again... Strammund tested his arms, trying to push himself to sitting. ...he might not be able to get up. 

Let the water come, then. His boots would dry, eventually. He let his head fall back to rest against the rocks.

-------

"Ho there, are you alright?" 

It took Strammund a moment to place where the voice was coming from -- overhead, leaning out from a window set into the side of the cliff. The figure was no more than a dark silhouette against the fading sky.

"I'll be fine," he said. Tried to say -- as soon as he pulled in the breath to say it he started coughing again. 

"Stay right there," the figure said. As if he had been planning to move.

Humiliation burned in Strammund's face, but he sat still, waiting for whatever was coming. 

[renofmanyalts]

➹

Prompt 23: Shuffle

Who: Strammund Grehmerlsyn, Nanatoda Reretoda (“Toad,” who belongs to @negevshadov )

What: Strammund and Toad are both terrible at cards.

Where: A backalley bar in Ul’dah

When: Recently, probably

Content: Alcohol, gambling, minced oaths

Well, that went about as expected.

Strammund chuckled silently as he threw down his cards and pushed back from the table with a friendly nod. Weaving his way over the floor, he lowered himself onto a bar stool with a soft grunt. 

"When I counted more tells than cards in your hand, knew you were in trouble,” came the comment from the neighboring seat.

Strammund turned to face Toad, who was somehow managing to smirk without smirking. Strammund narrowed his eyes. "...didn't you bust out three hands in?" 

Back at the table, laughter broke out as the deck riffled through the dealer's fingers. Toad shrugged -- not denying it -- and poured another round of whatever terrifyingly-efficient swill he was drinking. 

Toad kept his eyes forward, face unreadable. "Ey, Sailor." 

Reaching for the bottle, Strammund raised an eyebrow. "Mm?"

"Go fish." 

The alcohol burned its way up into his nose as Strammund nearly choked on his drink, spluttering. 

"Go fish yourself, Toad." ---- With immense thanks to Negevs, Toad’s player, for brainstorming this scenario with me. 

[renofmanyalts]

∯∯∯!!

There are so many strange sights here. I have filled up nearly two journals with sketches, questions, and more. 

These thoughts drift through every so often, like clouds that obscure the sun and throw soft shadows across the scene before me: what would you think about this? 

Would you laugh? Would you see this with the same awed fascination as I do, or would you be unmoved? Or moved secretly? 

What hidden place would you find, and tell me to visit? 

Or would you flatten your gaze -- tell me to keep my aim true?

----------

Llymlaen’s breath, it’s so godsdamned bitter. Like a rotten stone in my stomach, mislaid ballast. Pulls me off-center, sends me aloft in a pitching swell.

Warned me about this part, didn’t ye? Told me: bless the bitterness. It’ll stop you.

Navigator guide, but my compass is fucked. 

I’m just trying not to drown.

----------

Would you laugh, to know I have taken up archery? You always said that mine was the sword and yours the spear -- that the arrow was cowardice. 

Perhaps that is the role I am accepting, slowly. That of the coward. To stand at a distance: draw, aim, loose. 

I remember your arms around me. To correct my stance, you said. Your cheek burned against my neck as you whispered how this did not become me. My hands shook, and my aim fell short. 

I have hit the center of the target three times today, despite those words ringing in my head. I will do so a fourth time before this ends. I have no choice: this is the task set to me, and I must fulfill it.

Draw, aim, loose.

I think of a cowardly arrow from the ramparts -- the death of Achille and all his rage. Pure luck, you said, for the invincible to die. Fated by a mother’s mistake.

Rage was never mine, yet you loved it in me.

There is stillness in the tension, the hum of the bowstring. 

The leather around my neck has started to choke me when I strain against it.

Draw, aim, loose.

-----------

You ridiculous creature, why do you do this? 

Don’t you know you belong to someone else?

Don’t you know who saved you?

Go drool on HIS lap. 

...

...please, don’t make me miss you. 

[renofmanyalts]

does Strammund have any friends?

FFXIVWrite x Inbox Catchup resumes! Thanks for the ask, friend!

Prompt 12: Fingers Crossed

Who: Strammund Grynemerlsyn

What: The stalwart sailor stares down his fate.

Where: A dingy inn room in a back corner of Ul’dah.

When: About a year ago.

Content notes: Illness, brief mention of blood, loneliness/depression

A sailor knows not to whistle into the wind, and to treat the ship’s rat-catcher with proper respect. A sailor knows which birds are sacred to the Navigator, and never to look for the source of voices coming from overboard. A sailor knows that superstitions aren’t superstition when they prove themselves true again and again. 

And a sailor knows that when your mate comes down with a cough that tears his throat bloody, you steer well clear, lest you join him. 

But sailor’s wisdom says not a godsdamned thing about what to do when the cough doesn’t stop – when the sickness never worsens, but settles in your chest like a nesting bird. Like a roosting bat, rustled into whistling, flapping chaos by a laugh too loud, a jig too happy, anger too bright – aught but calm, grim stillness.

Stillness he had – an airless doldrums of his own making. 

But the choice was stillness or storm. None but a fool sails headlong into a tempest.

[renofmanyalts]

Ren Alts: Mundane to Fantastic

Tagged by: both @aisbraena and @bride-and-bride (via shotgun-tag) Tagging: @moonhartsffxiv, @ex-atomos, @cliffroseffxiv, @diregate, @ever-searching, @gridanianroegadyn, @great-grey-raven, @lectra-xiv, @pastry-fish, @ylaziel, @purple-eel and you, if you want to!

So, apparently I can’t just do things the easy way -- so I ended up breaking down the mundane/fantastic spectrum into three different domains: 

Magicalness: To what extent does this character have the ability to wield magic? How strong is their magic? How easily do they pick up new techniques? How inherent to their personality is their magical ability?

Protagonist-y-ness: If this character were in a fantasy novel, how obvious would it be that they are the main character? Are they undertaking a hero’s journey, or are they more part of the supporting cast -- or a side character? Bonus points for convoluted, improbable, or especially emotional backstories. 

Lore stretchiness: How neatly does the character fit into what we know of the lore and what “regular people” in the world are like/what they are permitted to do? How much does their story require in terms of extra headcanoning, speculation, or selectively ignoring parts of the existing lore?

Each domain is (very subjectively) rated out of ten. The Warrior of Light would be rated 30 out of 30.

(And if you choose to do this, don’t feel like you have to use my weird overcomplicated system -- feel free to keep it simple!)

Without further ado...

Strammund Grehmerlsyn: 5/30 

Magicalness: 0/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 3/10 •  Lore stretchiness: 2/10

Given that Strammund is literally based on a nameless NPC, I guess this isn’t really a surprise, haha. He is a Lominsan sailor who ended up out of work after he contracted a chronic respiratory disease from a shipment of bat guano and was told in no uncertain terms that he must stay in areas with dry air to prevent it from getting worse. He is currently trying to get his feet back under him and adjust to life in Thanalan.

Rhetzedyr Guldarensyn: 7/30

Magicalness: 0/10 •  Protagonist-y-ness: 2/10 • Lore stretchiness: 5/10

Zedyr is definitely on the mundane side of things -- other than his profession as an artisan specializing in custom-made adult toys, at least. Although he has his own arc to go through and some trauma in his backstory, he tends to be more of a supporting character, as his friends and acquaintances are often fairly fantastic.

Maayan Delafontaine: 7/30

Magicalness: 5/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 1/10 • Lore stretchiness: 1/10

Maayan has much more magical aptitude than Zedyr and is a fairly proficient alchemist and academic as well as a savvy businesswoman. However, she functions much more like a supporting character and has a relatively mundane backstory, leaving the two business partners about on par. 

Amande Desrochers: 8/30

Magicalness: 0/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 6/10 • Lore stretchiness: 2/10

The exiled servant of a minor Ishgardian house, Amande has a backstory fit for a period drama, complete with a star-crossed love affair and accusations of heresy. Even so, he barely nudges the sides of the lore box and has no magical aptitude whatsoever (or combat ability more generally, for that matter).

Seselahi Rerelahi: 9/30

Magicalness: 3/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 2/10 • Lore stretchiness: 4/10

Selah quite firmly occupies the “supporting character” role, despite having some unrealized capacity for arcanistry. Instead, he plies his trade as a scribe, calligrapher, and secretary. I have had to elbow out a little corner in lalafellin lore for him, however, as he is a trans man.

Rhenbraen Helbsyn: 12/30

Magicalness: 5/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 3/10 • Lore stretchiness: 4/10

Rhenbraen’s story so far isn’t much to speak of: they are a miner living in Thanalan, worn down into rough-edged bitterness. However, they seem to be just on the cusp of a journey, making them a nascent protagonist -- and they also have quite strong aetheric potential. The lore-stretchiness comes in because they are nonbinary and have taken on a name of their own choosing in the Old Tongue.

Silver Sage: 12/30

Magicalness: 6/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 2/10 • Lore stretchiness: 4/10

Silver Sage is a quiet Hellsguard elder, come to Eorzea from Abalathia’s Spine on an errand which he has yet to disclose. Although he is a skilled healer and counselor, his story is not especially dramatic -- as far as he has shared, anyway. I have had to fill in the quite sparse Hellsguard lore with headcanons in order to give him a measure of context. 

Zhah’ra Savaptha : 15

Magicalness: 5/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 5/10 • Lore stretchiness: 5/10

This surprised me a little bit -- but Zhah’ra has slowly developed to where he has every indication of being, if not a main character, then at least part of the main traveling party. He has a slightly exceptional backstory, and has just recently been given his first big push onto an arc which will hopefully explore the implications of his innate ability in conjury. 

Mamaati Maati: 19

Magicalness: 4/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 7/10 • Lore stretchiness: 8/10

Although Maati has a fairly plain backstory as the bookish daughter of a nouveau riche Dunesfolk family, she is poised to go on a journey of spiritual discovery with a definitely lore-stretching magical component. It involves Nymeia and fireflies.

Renan Avnei’shoham: 24

Magicalness: 8/10 • Protagonist-y-ness: 5/10 • Lore stretchiness: 11/10

Where do I even start with Renan? They’re practically off the charts -- maybe not as far off the charts as the Warrior of Light, but getting there. 

They are a chronologically-displaced chimera: a lalafellin Nymian Scholar and his roegadyn Nymian Marine bodyguard/companion were sent on a mission to investigate the Void Ark at the tail end of the War of the Magi, and a magical mishap jammed them together inside a stasis coffin. A millennium or two later, they were discovered by Negevs Ha’Dov, who gave the new entity their present name. (Yeah. It’s weird! Lore, what lore?) Although they have a great deal of magical knowledge and combat experience, their magical and physical abilities have been significantly compromised. As a result, between trying to figure out their new body and dealing with the information overload that comes from being so far from their home culture, Renan tends to be more of a sidekick type character.