I Got A Thing!!  Thank You So Much @mirror-apple, I Love It!

sorry theres not a single person on this website id pay to follow idc if we’ve been mutuals for six years, if you put up a paywall we’re done

Another entry...

i still wish I hadn’t said anything to Lyta. Just let her bring the mangey maingey mangei dirty cat with her. And no, I didn’t know she was handling things in private because it was in private - every time we were in public it was like she just ignored what happened. i would have never known she was supporting me. Im thankful Anzu was there to back me up but also to keep us...more civil than anything else

i miss lyta. I need to ask her about thise these problems. the song. the scar. The dreams. Did that girl Jessika have them too? Hear the song too? And why, everytime I touch my sword (which has become even more awkward to control and use) the word “Bloodthorn” screams in my mind.

we think we found where the twins were being held. thank the twelve their they’re still alive...Master Zezewai is going to infiltrate another possible location alone, but I’m sure Lyta and Elrick are correct so I will be going with them, assuming Lyta doesn’t turn my words and intentions against me and force me to stay back with Myra. I just want to make sure they’re safe. I hope we can save them

The Warrior of Light from Final Fantasy 14 is so funny. Like there's nothing inherently hilarious, it's pretty standard Fantasy Hero fare, but it's just the epitome of it, because it never ends.

Imagine being a normal person in this world and you see this catgirl living down the street going about her business. One day she's out getting groceries, another she's practicing archery, another she goes on a date with her wife. Then the next day she slays a dragon god summoned from beyond time or some shit. And the next day she's going fishing. And you're not even impressed anymore. Because this person has been single-handedly protecting the world for years. But there's nothing else special about her. She's normal. She's getting the same groceries you are. She raises racing birds in her spare time. She destroyed a giant robot by herself yesterday. She's wearing a new scarf.

This is an amazing and awesome take on this character

Why Lolorito despite being a Ruthless Ammoral Capitalist is actually still a better person than a modern day CEO.

He actually pays those under his employ fairly well from what I can gather considering the kind of loyalty they seem to have for Lolorito. Money is a powerful motivator.

The thing Lolorito cares about above his own wealth, is Ul’dah.

He still has standards as to what he will and will not do for profit.

What does a Modern CEO care about more than profit? Their own Wallet, to the detriment of everyone around them so long as they have fat stacks of cash.

You sometimes think you want to disappear, but all you really want is to be found.

Kid Cudi (via quotefeeling)

Dream Journal 11

((Quickly scrawled on the top of the page in atrocious handwriting is what seems like notes Anafenza has taken during a very rushed research session…))

Vignesang house accused heresy – consorting with dragons     unnatural abbilities  no transformation allowed?  What mean?? House leader – mistress vignesang – tried at witchdrop   body not found – assumed guilty of heresy.  Rest of house now servants subsumed within Dzamael    

   Ishgard is full of records. While most literature concerning heretics and their stories were burned or just didn’t exist thanks to the War, records of trials and judgements?  Plenty.

Mistress Vignesang was tried on grounds of heresy shortly after one of Nidhogg’s raids on Ishgard some hundred years ago.  The woman had been seen on the top of her roof, screaming at the attacking dragons, within a maelstrom-like aura of darkness.  She was tried at Witchdrop – meaning they hurled her off a cliff.  If she lived, she’d have been considered guilty and struck down; if she died, she couldn’t have been in league with the dragons, and so would have enjoyed Halone’s blessing of pardon in death.

Seriously?  Who believes this shite??

They never found her body at the bottom, so it was assumed she transformed into some kind of beast and escaped.  Because of her guilt, the house was torn apart; surviving family members became servants to one of the great houses, Dzamael.  After that, no more record of the name exists.  Nothing outside of that judgement exists, either; whatever history the house had, it was destroyed.

No one at house Dzamael would speak to us.  We couldn’t even get past the door guard    Given our appearance, I’m sure we were immediately met with distrust despite the dragonsong war being done     Any hope of speaking with any descendents is a lost cause for now.

 Another dream – Again, the light-covered field.  More of the child-like laughter and calling those words again  Aenc Tyr   The sky was a ablaze with light, but there was no warmth from a sun.  It was not unpeaceful, and I awoke with the dawn feeling rested, but I write this to just continue to keep record for my own benefit.  I still do not hear the song the others hear, but even my own song – the vignesang’s song, for surely it was HER’S – has grown more faint.

We return to the tower tomorrow.  I don’t know about kiratai, but I should be glad to be away from this freezing hell

Magus Musings - Reflection

“Wicked white, Angan, not again! I told ye’ already, we don’ ‘ave no berry fruits ye be after!”

Angan tilted head to the side, staring at the hume merchant in confusion. “But I haven’t asked for any berries, Varden. I was just coming for the daily supplies like always, for the Spagyrics. What is this about berries now?” The young drahn woman shook her head, her mop of unkempt black hair falling over her shoulder. This was the third time today on her daily rounds through the Musica Universalis that someone had been exasperated with her for some reason or another.

The hume pointed a fat finger at her. “An’ another thing, how the bleedin’ ‘ells ‘re ye changin’ yer hair so damned fast like? It ain’t natural it ain’t! Ye look a sight better now than ye’ did just a bell ago, tha’s fer sure.  Bleedin’ bright pink as a pixie, as if we didn’ ‘ave enough bright colors ta stare at in the sky! But the answer’s still ‘no,’ so don’ think of addin’ – “

“Berries to the order, no, I got that. Pink hair? Me? Have you been drinking again, Varden? It’s only the eighth bell in the morn!” She took the sack of vials with an annoyed “thank you” and turned to walk away, shaking her head.

All morning, her usual rounds had led to one odd encounter after another. Pink hair. Barely dressed. Smelling of seaweed and “wet” – whatever that smelled like – and always, it seemed, just a bell or two ahead of her.

It was difficult in a town like the Crystarium to be mistaken for someone else. Sure, the occasional dwarf was hard to tell apart, and the zun all looked alike anyway, but there were so few people left in the world to begin with…well…it was difficult to find someone that would look or sound so similar to you that people you’d known for years could mistake you.

“What bloody sinner is going around acting like me,” Angan wondered aloud, making her way to the next stall. She paused, thinking her route again. The imposter was further ahead of her by at least a bell; what if she cut her off at her final stop?  Angan hurried out of the markets to the aetheryte, then down the steps to the Horotorium. It was usually her last stop, so she could go to the library for a new book, and then take the aetheryte back to the Exedra. She hurried down the stairs, her powerful tail swinging behind her.

In the Horotorium, no one seemed to notice anything amiss with her presence, other than noting how oddly *early* she was. “And you’re sure, there hasn’t been another drahn that looks like me down here” she asked the botanists.

“No one except you, Angan. Is something the matter?”

She shook her head, scratching behind her horn a moment in thought. “Thanks anyway,” she replied, turning away. She approached the Cabinet of Curiosity, deciding she could at least get her new book while she was down here, and then return to her daily errands.

The doors of the great library swung open in front of her, and she looked up in time to see –

She blinked.

She saw herself blink back at her. At least, it could have been her, if she had decided to put a flower in her hair and color it bright pink. Or if she had decided to dress as if she were cavorting on a stage in Eulmore.

Angan raised a finger, pointing at the other woman. “You!” She took a threatening step towards…well, herself. “I have been looking all over for -!”

The other woman went wide-eyed, then made a dash for the nearby aetheryte. Her hand reached out and she was gone in a flash, just as Angan managed to hustle to close the gap with her. She cried out in frustration; the woman could be anywhere in the Crystarium now, or even leaving.

But there had been no mistaking that face…those horns…the tail even. Her eyes had been ringed yellow, like Angan’s…the patterns of scales covering her. The woman could have been her twin, had Angan not known better.

“Who the hells do you think you are,” she said to no one in particular. “How did you…wicked white…”

At that moment, Angan thought it may be wise to finish her errands in the markets – the sooner she finished, the sooner she could enjoy a much-needed drink.

I like this...

Reblog this if you’re okay with people sending unexpected IC asks to your muse at any time! No meme prompts needed!

Dream Journal 12

Woke up to kiratai shaking me roughly    I was talking in my sleep and I sounded like I was in trouble, so he woke me.  I was the younger girl again, and again I felt as if the wind and rains were at my command.  I wore special armored gloves that made these incredibly strong sounds that could throw grown men through the air.  I was with two other women roaming a…city, I suppose, though I’ve never seen buildings as tall nor constructed in such a fashion…that is, until Ishgard.  I suppose the location could have lent itself to some of my fancy.  I’m going to curl back up with Kirikun now and sleep

 ((Scrawled quickly, in shorthand and sloppy, the follow passage appears on the page, as if Anafenza was once again taking notes hastily))

 There once lived a brave knight.  Full of courage and chivalry and kindness.  He was a knight of Ishgard, a Temple Knight, one of the most respected in the land.  His shield bore no hint of his allegiance, beyond the blue as the skies and white wings.  His devotion was to his country and his countrymen.

But he was young...and as most young men do, he fell in love.  He fell in love with a woman he shouldn't have even known.  She was common; he was valiant.  But he loved her.  And, everyone knew, she loved him as well.  They married.  There was talk, as there should be in Ishgard, but no one truly cared.  They were happy for the knight and his wife.

But the nights in Ishgard are rarely peaceful, and rarely do the knights know peace. gods that sounded amazing when he said that!!

The wyrms attacked one eve, not more than a bell after sundown.  They brought down fire from the heavens, ripping the great stone walls apart with their claws, and eating up women and naughty children  did he really just say naughty children!?  Is this a bedtime story?

The knight fought bravely, as he had every other night.  He fought with a fire his fellow knights hadn't seen before.  He was scarcely the same man.  They said he had something far more important, far more dear to fight for, for his wife, he’d learned, was with child.  With a great, ferocious cry, he thrust his sword into the head of the last dragon.  The battle was won.  Ishgard stood, strong as ever

The knight hurried home, not even bothering to wash his hands of the deeds from that night, his armor crimson with wyrmsblood.

But when he arrived, not a stone was left standing atop another.  All the walls had been felled.  The roof burned away.  And there, in the center of the rubble, lay the knight’s wife, still as the night.

The knight dropped his shield.  His sword he drove into the ground, the only support left for him that night, and he wailed.  He wailed and he cried and he cursed and he prayed and he swore and he hoped and bargained, he said anything he could think and everything he should not...all for the sake of his wife.  

But some bargains are better left unmade...and more still better unpaid…A dark cloud rose from the rubble, shadows dancing inside.  The cloud surrounded the knight and his wife...and in it a voice that said…"Brave knight of Ishgard, we have heard your grief. Tell us, what you would do for our relief?"

"Anything," was his reply.  "You may have my sword, my life.  Please, bring back my wife."  

The voice, it laughed, and then replied.  "On you and on yours, twenty-fold.  We bind you, brave knight, and your sword, and take your oath, your word.”

The cloud grew thicker...it drowned out the light.  The knight fell ill, and then fell asleep.  by the kami I know this cloud!!

The sun rose, the morning came.  The knight awoke, his sword in hand.  It felt heavier now; no longer did it shine in his hand.  He heard a gasp, and a sob of despair.  The knight sat up, looking for where.  

His wife was alive; in the rubble she stood.  But she seemed different somehow, somewhere.  Her eyes seemed dull, her hair darker still.  Her skin far more ashen...her voice trembled, "what did happen?" she asked.

But the knight only stood.  He stared and he wondered and he thanked the gods and the hells...His fair wife was alive, and with him still.  From then on he fought with no purpose, none save for his wife...and the oath he had sworn. They still were in love, and she bore him a daughter.  But the love was not strong, not as it had been, not any longer.  And the knight was reminded of the bargain he'd made, day in and day out...for the monsters had carved it upon the maid.

  Dzamael servant stopped us at the airship docks.  wanted to speak but could not be gone from his master too long.    He had overhead us asking about the house Vignesang, which he is a descendant of!!  He could not speak to the location of Jessika’s family – they’d left decades ago – but he did know the legend of the knight’s wife and told it to us.  I wrote it down above as he spoke…I asked him if this was nothing more than a bedtime story. He laughed,s aying most stories are just truth that’s been forgotten.  Then he pointed at the scales on my side, saying I bore the same mark as the maid – the Bloodvine, the symbol of House Vignesang.  He bade us leave ishgard before an over-zealous inquisitor see it, and then he left.

Eee! I'm the River Knight? Yay!

((L’yhta, with the The Priestess, The River Knight, and another adventurer, sneaking through part of a Castrum on a leve. “This really seems like a trap, you know?”))