I love it, thank you <3

happy birthday @ezribex !

Socmed

My favorite OC, it is Ezri.

So a friend in my FC (Hi Ocean!) and I are doing this OC-tober challenge from @bweirdart . I've never done digital art before and I lowkey misread the prompt where there's a "palette week" rather than "each week is a palette". But I crave structure so I downloaded medibang paint today and made the first palette listed. Tomorrow...I draw something resembling Ezri, hopefully?

FFXIV Write Day 30

There’s something lonely about it, something sad, something scary. Leaving home (whatever that means) again. And again. A fleeting acquaintance with countless individuals while deeply entwined with none. Some say that strong community bonds are the surest path to happiness. If this is so, then what does it mean to travel? 

Boots touch down upon the red dirt at the dusty end of a trolley line. You breathe in the hot, dry air, cough as the sand blows into your nose. Any tears would turn to mud on your face, so instead you cast your gaze upon the ground in front of you and brave the storm. 

May those who wander paths in the dark find firelight. The traditional prayer to Nald’Thal repeats in your head as you make your way into town, both heading towards something and running away. You consider the amity of a campfire, the brief respite you take while in the company of fellow travelers. Is this all there is? 

You’ve been called brave for living your life the way you want to, for setting out on that adventuring road. But your secret is that you can’t live any other way; it’s your nature to pack up when things get hard. Even when you try to make it work, when you labor under the strain of whatever it is that holds you down…at some point you break and think what you always think, I can leave. It’s not a life for everyone, maybe it’s not even for you, forever. 

There’s a tavern up ahead. Maybe there’ll be ale, a soft bed. Perhaps you can even find a way to help people here, assuming that you can find common ground, mutual goals. You clutch the crystal of Azem in your hand and feel its glow.

FFXIV Write Day 29

“It’s a contravention of the laws of aetherial flow, of the ethics of dimensional travel, of my oath as the keeper of the Crystal Tower!” Beq Lugg admonished Warrior of Darkness harshly as she pouted in the Ocular. “As I’ve said many times, the Crystal Tower is NOT a toy.” 

The Warrior of Darkness shrugged. Beq Lugg appreciated that this Mystel with an ugly haircut had saved the world from the Lightwardens and returned the night sky to the First, but if she wanted to show off some Dwarven tanks she helped build to a “kindly adventuring chocobo and his Omicron companion—I’m not sure if they have souls could you maybe help me check” she should get an image painted, or, better yet, just drive the damned tank through the portal. “But they want to see the workshop, sample the local brews.” Chocobos can’t drink ale, and while Beq Lugg doesn’t know what an Omicron is, they don’t see any reason why the Warrior of Darkness can’t bring the wonders of the First to the Source on her own. 

But you can’t easily say no to the savior of the multiverse, so Beq Lugg sighs. “In order to check if a being has a soul, you must tell Y’Shtola to…” 

FFXIV Write Day 28

"Pardon my bluntness, but what you did borders on insanity." Emissary, I promise you, there was no other way. What youthful idealism! Athena had to be dealt with. I had tried incarcerating her among her research subjects, had created the entire Pandaemonium to hold her. And still, she worked toward Godhood. Every letter from Agdistis grew more dire.

The decision to kill Athena was easy, as was the decision to sunder my own soul in order to do it. The part of me that loved her, the part of me that understood her love for me would not allow it. So, for the good of the Star, I performed the ritual without regrets.

Here among these proto-people, walking the remnants of the Star, I understand even more deeply what I have done. Agdistis, Elidibus, it was not insanity, but it was fated--because, and now I know it for sure, a soul can only be sundered once.

FFXIV Write Day 26

You’re standing around the counter at the Last Stand on a cool fall morning, mulling over yesterday’s embarrassing breakdown in the library. You still have a few months until the Studium goes on winter break, and you can’t wait to see your family in Ishgard for the Starlight festival. You’ll stay through Heavensturn and then, ugh, you’ll be back studying in Sharlayan. You’re composing a letter to your parents in your head, one where you inform them that you’ll be dropping out. They’d be supportive, of course–they were excited when you were accepted to the Studium’s program for foreign students but they miss you dearly and eagerly await your return after you complete your degree. There’s no disgrace in knowing when to quit. 

Your fantasies about dropping out of school are interrupted when the barista calls your order. “Oat latte!” she shouts cheerily, and you grab the warm cup with a smile. You cast your eyes about the restaurant looking for open tables. It’s pretty busy. You spot Avery reading a book in the corner. You’re not sure if you want to bother them, but as you’re contemplating walking over, they look up and wave at you. 

You make your way over to Avery’s table, carefully cradling the latte in your hands. You set your drink down and pull out the chair across from them. “Thanks for inviting me to sit with you; it’s pretty crowded today.”

“You’re welcome.” You look across the table at their book; it’s a lot slimmer than the usual tomes people read for class.

“What are you reading?”

“A graphic novel from Hingashi.”

“What’s a graphic novel?” You’ve read novels, of course, and you used to adore cheaply printed pulp magazines, which were often illustrated. You think fondly about the printing press in the Brume, where they churn out revolutionary tracts and the latest creative works from Ishgard’s commoner classes. 

Avery slides the book across the table and bids you to pick it up. Its construction seems similar to the pulp magazines of your hometown, and the cover shows an illustration of two very beautiful people staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. You blush a bit. “It reads back-to-front,” Avery says, helpfully, as you begin to flip through it. The back cover has an export stamp bearing the crest of the East Aldenard Trading Company. “They’ve only recently started translating and exporting these. Before that, I used to have to ask my mother to send them specially.” 

You look up at Avery, searching for…something? You’re not sure. They tuck a lock of impeccable white hair behind their ear. “My mother’s Hingan, yeah. My father is Sharlayan. They split up when I was little, and I grew up here. People always look at me funny, though. Kind of like you’re looking at me now.” 

You blush again and look away. “I’m…so sorry.” 

They smile kindly. “It’s okay, really. I suppose you know as well as I do how difficult it is to be a foreigner in Sharlayan. Even if you’ve lived here your whole life, it’s not easy.” You start flipping through the novel again. The illustrations are all lovely, and the story itself seems to be a fairytale about a beautiful bird who loved a man so much that she assumed human form. “You can borrow it if you like,” Avery says, after watching you read for a moment. “This is only the first volume.” 

“I…would really like that,” you reply. 

“Just let me finish it first,” they say, grabbing the novel back and picking up their tea. You fish some study materials out of your satchel and start sipping your latte as well.

FFXIV Write Day 25

At a study desk deep in the stacks of the Noumenon, you’ve been working diligently on an analysis of memoir in the colony of New Sharlayan for your literature class. Of course, what was once known as New Sharlayan is now that experimental adventurer-goblin-treasure hunting haven known as Idyllshire, and much of the original infrastructure stands in ruins. 

Idyllshire was your first introduction to Sharlayan culture, actually. Once the war had ended and travel through Dravania became possible for Ishgardians, you made some deliveries to the House of Splendors out there as part of your duties as a Skysteel apprentice. Sharlayan’s touch was apparent everywhere, even with very few Sharlayans in residence. You were taken by the white and blue aesthetic, the grace of the buildings, the clear durability of the roads. Riding through the Hinterlands, you beheld the wonders of the old arboretum and the great library, and you couldn’t help but fantasize about the place and people who cared so much about knowledge that they built these great edifices for research and reference. 

You chose memoir of New Sharlayan as your research paper topic because you were personally curious about those people who built the Great Gubal Library, who performed experiments in Saint Mocianne’s arboretum. New Sharlayan was an active colony for over two centuries, so you’re trying to find works representative of different stages of its development. It’s slow-going, since some records were lost and Sharlayan literature is different enough from similar traditions coming out of Eorzea that you have trouble understanding the cultural references. You’ve found some works that you really love though. The cultural context may be different, but people are people, and you find that you connect to the hopes of those long-dead, and you weep for the fact that much of what they built was ultimately destroyed upon the Exodus. 

You allow tears to freely roll down your face while you read a story about a Sharlayan sage learning and growing alongside her faithful chocobo. Chocobos were introduced to Sharlayan society by Ishgardians and the people of Tailfeather. You think you’ll have to include this book in your literary survey. Just as you’re finishing up the final chapter and sniffling through your attempts to make notes, you are startled by a voice behind you. 

“Hmm, are you alright?” You look up and see a familiar face. It’s Aliphine, the Elezen who is your usual peer review partner in literature class. They look concerned, and fish a handkerchief out of their robes, handing it over to you. You take hold of it and gently dab at your eyes, nodding, trying to convince them and yourself that you are, indeed, alright. “...We had plans to meet at the reference desk at the sixth bell?” Your eyes widen in shock. Sixth bell…that was at least half an hour ago. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and you start to cry some more. 

“I’m…so sorry…” you manage to say, looking intently at your notes as you try to regain your composure.

Aliphine pulls up a chair from a neighboring desk and sits down next to you. “It’s quite alright, I assumed you had gotten immersed in your studies and thus I set out to find you among the stacks. It’s a very Sharlayan thing to do, you know? Forgetting the time when one is so taken by their research.” They look over at your stacks of books and notes. “You’re working on a paper about New Sharlayan, correct?” You look up and they are smiling. Their brown eyes are almost red in this light, and their long blonde hair shines. You nod. “You’re from Ishgard, right?” You nod again. “So have you visited the ruins out there, the new town of Idyllshire?” You nod, smiling as well. “I’ve never been, myself. I’ve always wanted to go but with my mother on the forum and my brother always out adventuring…well, I haven’t gotten to travel much.” They reach across the desk with large, graceful hands and pick up one of the books you’d been reading. 

“It’s…very beautiful there. After the war, I was sent to make deliveries to the House of Splendors. The ruins of New Sharlayan are actually what inspired me to apply to the Studium in the first place.” 

Aliphine puts the book down and smiles right at you. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About us, now that you’re here.” 

You shake your head, unsure how to respond. You find Sharlayan culture confusing, the Studium workload relentless, and the food terrible. You’re not even sure you’ve learned anything of particular value to bring back home yet, though your marks in Astronomy and Literature are at least improving. You like Aliphine, though, along with a few other people you’ve met here. “It’s, um…” you trail off, unable to formulate a reply. 

“Ah, well. You’ll have to tell me what you really think sometime. I won’t be offended, I promise.” Their eyes sparkle as they crinkle their nose somewhat inscrutably, you think maybe it’s some combination of amusement and concern (?). You dab at your eyes a little bit more and rest your head in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. You suddenly feel exhausted, and realize you’ve been reading for hours at this point. Aliphine stands up, adjusting their mage’s robes. They’re so tall. “Let’s call it a day, hmm? You look tired.” You nod, and start sorting your books–some will return to the circulation desk, some you’ll check out. 

Aliphine helps you pack up, carrying the books you don’t need back to the circulation desk as you check out the ones you’ll be using in your project. They then walk you back to your dorm, chatting with you pleasantly. You don’t say much, but are intensely thankful for their help. Before you part (they of course live with their mother over in the Journey’s End neighborhood), they take hold of your shoulder and give it a friendly squeeze. “Take care of yourself, ok?” You nod, and they turn to leave, long robes and hair fluttering gracefully in the twilight.

FFXIV Write Day 22

Dearest Chupa,

I hope I do not come off too fulsome in my praise of your accomplishments, but I am so grateful for all of your work around the Free Company house. Your skills as a craftswoman are impeccable and you are beautiful as well. …

Love, Ezri

FFXIV Write Day 23

“The Four Lords are not as elusive as you think. Don’t be looking for telltale tailfeathers or tufts of fur or a reptilian tongue. They are well-hidden, their human forms impeccable.”

“So then how do you know them?”

“You have to have a personal connection, know the correct people to ask.”

“And do you know whom to ask?”

“I wouldn’t be an information-dealer if I didn’t.” The Hingan sighed. She surely didn’t have anything of value to this man, and even if she did, it wasn’t guaranteed that the Four Lords would hear her out. She looked glumly at her hands, afraid to make eye contact. “I jest, I jest. In actuality, the last time they came to Kugane the Four Lords were so ridiculously disguised in bunny suits that any passerby should’ve been suspicious.” 

The Hingan girl stood up. It was one thing to be shaken down for money, but another entirely to be mocked. The man she’d asked was laughing and twirling a quill in his hand. He hadn’t seemed menacing at first but it was strange, now that she thought about it, that he was wearing his sunglasses inside. She walked out the door as quickly as she could, trying to ignore the shivers running down her spine. She’d find the Four Lords someday, but certainly wouldn’t be asking for information from that merchant again.

FFXIV Write Day 21

The graves in Ishgard and surrounding areas of Coerthas are numerous. Marked and unmarked, you are burdened by the senselessness of war, the screams of soldiers and civilians alike as they succumb to dragonfire. Greater still is the burden of knowledge that your side (if you had a side) was to blame for Haurchefant’s death, that it was the weakness and the cowardice and the hunger of the Ishgardians that started the war. Not that Ishgard’s children deserved to burn. 

You stand in the snow and remove your hat, scarf, and gloves. The wind whips around your face and you struggle to keep your hair out of your eyes. The headstone of your beloved friend stands before you, his cracked shield leaning up against it. You reach into your bag to pull out some flowers that you grew at your new home in Empyreum. Would he be happy with all that has happened in the city since, peace having been made, systemic changes to the city-state's government, the restoration and the adventurer’s housing ward? You kneel and place your flowers. Your eyes start to water but the tears are frozen by the wind before they can roll down your cheeks. 

You kneel there in the cold until your hands grow numb and your nose and ears begin to hurt. It’s been years, but it still hurts. Sometimes it hurts as much as the day he died in your arms, blood seeping from his mouth as he bade you to smile. Today is one of those days. The injustice of it all, death at the hands of his own countrymen, betrayal at the highest level. Why the hell is the world like this? There’s no beauty in sacrifice, there’s no nobility in death. No goddamn honor in war. 

The pain in your extremities is searing now, omnipresent. Do you really need to do this? To manifest your emotional pain onto your body? Put your gloves on. You shake your head and don your outerwear, then stand up slowly. Your flowers are already covered in a fine layer of snow. If this storm keeps up, they and the entire grave will be fully covered ere long. Fine. You turn away and start trudging back to the city, leaving deep footprints in the snowdrifts. 

You’re entitled to your grief. You know that, right? Your pain, your rage, your fear of death. You stick your hands in your pockets and slowly they warm up. Our heart pounds in your chest. We breathe in the frigid air. Ice crystals form on your scarf where the mist of your breath is filtered through the fabric. You stretch your fingers and curl your toes. There’s part of you that enjoys this icy pain, isn’t there? Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. But maybe we should draw a hot bath once we get home, hmm?

We make our way back to Ishgard, slowly, painfully. All that meaningless violence and death. Humanity is a sorry lot, isn’t it? But we do our best, regardless. To Serve. Save. Slave. Slay.

FFXIV Write Day 20

This one was a request from someone in my FC (hi Kuma!). It references a longer work about how they do laundry in Amaurot, among other things.

***

"Why are you here? You can't just barge in on a guy whenever you feel like it, seriously." Hythlodaeus adjusted his robes while standing barefoot in the entryway to his home. His hair was disheveled, and he looked a bit sleepy. 

"My clothes are dirty. Can I use your laundry machine?"

"I'll get it done. Just put whatever you need washed in the hamper and then leave, ok?"

"I thought we could hang out. My partner picked up another shift at the Akadaemia today and I'm bored."

"Not today, Azem."

"Why not? …" Azem finally beheld Hythlodaeus with his messy hair, bare feet, and hastily fastened robes. Realization that she may not be the number one friend on his list dawned. She was still getting used to the idea that they were together now. It had taken decades of her prodding, and now… "Oh wait, is Emet-Selch here?" Hythlodaeus smiled and nodded.

"Yes, fine, are you happy? Now give me your laundry and get out!"

Azem craned her neck around Hythlodaeus and called down the hallway, "Hiiiiiii Emet-Selch. See you at the Convocation tomorrow 😉."

A response came from down the hall. "Go home, Azem!" Hythlodaeus giggled, grabbed Azem's laundry bag, and gently shooed her out.

FFXIV Write Day 19

Upon our return from the confrontation in Tartaros, Lahabrea left the facility, as did our ally the familiar. I wasn’t surprised about the familiar–she seemed to come and go as she pleased, and it was clear to me that she’d be around in our time of greatest martial need, and for not much more than that. Lahabrea, though. Well, I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. Erichthonios and I returned to his apartment. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me there, but he didn’t stop me as I followed him. 

He sat down on the couch and bent over, elbows on his knees and hands grasping his forehead. The sleeves of his robes fell down and I noticed weals around his wrists, from where he had been bound by Hephaistos’ chains. 

“I suppose there are some questions he cannot answer, and that is his right. But I wish to know– Why was I born? What experiments was Athena using me for? Does my father, as a member of the Convocation, a leader of this Star, find me so unimportant that he couldn’t spare any effort in telling me the truth? He let me believe that my mother loved me!” He breathed in sharply and shuddered, then began to sob. 

I sat down next to him, consciously keeping a bit of distance. “All the love I had for my mother…all the love I held for Hesperos…all the love I’ve ever given in my entire life has been a waste.” He continued to cry into his hands, seemingly not noticing his wounded wrists. 

“Erichthonios,” I said, as gently as I could. “Your love was never a waste. As much as everyone in your life has taken advantage of your loving nature, you’ve stayed true to yourself. You’re a hero to the Pandaemonium, to the warders. Lahabrea wished to destroy this facility and you wished to save its people, along with those creations that could be saved. Your compassion is what will break the cycle, not your father’s coldness.” 

He shook his head and sniffled. “I wish I could believe you.” 

I inched a bit closer to him on the couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He deserves to be loved, I thought, again. “Do your wrists hurt?” I asked. 

He sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve, then looked at his wrists. The places where he had been chained were chafed and swollen. “I hadn’t noticed.” He sighed, and placed his hands in his lap. 

“May I take a look?” I tried to ask casually, but I was blushing. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at me. 

“Alright,” he said, proffering his right hand, eyes still on the ground as I took it. His skin was warm and soft. I became aware of my own hands, hoping they weren’t too cold. Or sweaty. I summoned a healing spell to soothe his wounds. As the spell did its work, he lifted his head to look at his wrist, then looked directly into my eyes. “It feels much better, thank you.” I smiled. Of all the magicks I had access to, healing others was the most gratifying. I took his other wrist in my hands and did the same. “Is a talent for healing part of the role of the Emissary?” 

I shook my head, smiling. “I think for many members of the Convocation, they are recruited for their specific talents, for the good they’ve already done for the Star. I was chosen more for what they deemed to be my potential, and my desire to be of service. I worked for the Convocation as an assistant before the seat of Elidibus was offered to me. I was taught to heal by one of my mentors, the woman who currently holds the seat of Azem.” I had finished the healing spell, but we were still holding hands. 

“Themis–Elidibus–I…” he trailed off. 

“Please call me Themis.” I squeezed his hand, and smiled at him. His eyes were puffy from having been crying, and his hair was lank, tangled--it had been awhile since either of us had showered. He looked tired, and lovely. I wasn’t sure where we stood, and I didn’t want to add my own desires to the mix of horrors and passions that Erichthonios had experienced these past few days. I dropped his hand and put some distance between our faces, which had become very close. 

Just as I was leaning back, he leaned in. Seeing what was happening, I turned my face and closed my eyes. Our lips briefly touched, and I felt a warmth spreading throughout my body, starting with my face which I’m sure had become very red, and down through the rest of me, manifesting a desire that I had been trying very hard to hold back. We looked at each other. His deep red eyes, locked with mine. “Was that alright?” he asked, breaking eye contact and looking down. 

“More than alright. It was wonderful.” I leaned in to embrace him. He turned back to look at me, so close that I could feel his breath on my nose. He smiled, the first real smile of his I'd seen. It was so beautiful that I could hardly bear it. “Kiss me again, Erichthonios. And this time, for longer.”

FFXIV Write Day 18

From its perch at A-4 research, Stigma-4 booted its consciousness. “Good morning,” it broadcast to all regular employees of the Last Dregs. 

“Good morning, Stigma-4” responded N-7000, “Good morning, Stigma-4” responded M-140, “Good morning, Stigma-4” responded N-0598, “Good morning, Stigma-4” responded N-3372, “Good morning, Stigma-4” responded N-2174, and “Good morning, Stigma-4” responded the Food Processing Unit, all immediately. No response from Jammingway, though by this point Stigma-4 was used to them being asleep and not performing their boot cycle (erm, waking up) at the exact same time every day as calibrated by an internal atomic clock. 

Stigma-4 ran an internal diagnostic. All functions normal. This was to be expected, Omicrons were typically diligent with self-maintenance, especially with their newfound purpose in running a small business at the End of the Universe. 

Next, the operations matrix pinged M-140 at the Last Dregs, who went on to ping its subsidiaries. A few minutes later, Stigma-4 received a report. Operations in maintenance phase. Fish requested. Stigma-4 added “fishing” to the duty roster for an organic errand unit (subdesignation “Gleaner”), whenever one of them deemed fit to arrive for work. It then checked on the supply of Gold Salmon Roe at A-4 research. Sufficient. 

“Good morning, Stigma-4, I hope you slept well ;). Today’s just a beautiful day for serving food and drinks, isn’t it?” a text message from Jammingway. 

“My sleep is the same every cycle, thank you for your concern. Please check the duty roster and make any appropriate additions or corrections,” Stigma-4 responded to the flea-bitten Manager of the Last Dregs. 

For its final start-of-cycle check, Stigma-4 relayed a subroutine containing much of its consciousness out to Elysion to check on the status of the species living there. It uploaded itself to a spare chassis and “made the rounds”. Inefficient, it knew this, but this world of dynamis-based lifeforms interacted with Stigma-4’s own dynamis in a way that it could only describe as “pleasant,” and so it “enjoyed” taking “walks” around the various biomes.

Upon reaching the Elysian Seas, an Omicron overseer caught sight of Stigma-4 and relayed a message. “Error 5318008: Grebuloffs Not Found.” Stigma-4 immediately relayed the message back to its primary matrix in A-4 research and then asked for further details. It added Grebuloff rescue to the organic errand unit’s list of tasks. The Last Dregs cannot ignore the needs of its customers, and thus must rescue these “Fish Out of Water.” 

Stigma-4 continued its tour of Elysion, carefully surveying all that it and its comrades had built.

FFXIV Write Day 16

Morning. The faint smell of spices wafts in on the spring wind through my open window. I hop out of bed and stretch, moving into a set of exercises that had been taught to me as the Thavnairian “sun salutation.” I focus on my breathing, syncing up my breaths with my movements as I’d been shown by the Radiant Host. I’m restless, distracted. Focusing on the moment is hard when you’ve simply been told to wait. Dragoon. Mercenary. Breathe in as you raise your arms, breathe out as you fold at the waist. 

When I’ve gone through the full cycle, I pull on some clothes and lace up my shoes. Better get out for a run before it’s too hot. I start outside my apartment building in Kama, run across the bridge, through the marketplace, past the halls of the Radiant Host. I stop for a moment to drink a lassi from a street vendor (whom I always tip handsomely, though Vrtra has assured me that my beverages are on his tab), then up the palace steps and down them. Finally breaking a sweat. 

Returning to my apartment, I strip down and start my strength training. Keeping fit for my next trip to the Void. I hear the door opening and keep pushing through my reps. Whoever it is can wait. 

I stand up to see the voidsent Zero in the process of removing her armor. “Is it alright if I join you? I too wish to stay in shape.” 

“Don’t see why not.” I grab the pitcher of water and pour myself a glass. I grab another glass off the shelf and motion to Zero, who shakes her head while removing her socks. “Help yourself if you’re thirsty.” 

I get back to my one-armed pushups with Zero matching me rep for rep. We move on to lunges. She’s strong. Jumping jacks. She keeps up. My form falters, and I’m jerking this way and that. I push through, since Zero seems to be having no trouble. Finally, I’m out of breath. I stop and we both fill up our water glasses. “Have you been to the gym at the Hall of the Radiant Host yet?”

She shakes her head. “They have some great training areas, plus they can teach you some stretches to keep your mind and body limber.”

“Would you take me?” It’s my turn to nod. Perhaps I’ve finally found a regular spotter. 

FFXIV Write Day 15

“Here you are.” A steaming plate of pasta adorned by a fragrant tomato sauce was placed in front of me. “Would you like some cheese? I know it’s not much, but I’ve had to make do with nonperishable ingredients ever since…” 

I inhaled, fighting the urge to pick up my fork and dig in until after my host had prepared his own plate. “It’s perfect,” I said, and we locked eyes. I tried to give him my best cheer up smile, and was pleased to see a faint relaxation of the tension in his face. 

Pandaemonium. In the hours since Hesperos’ death, the strange familiar had departed to whence she came, and Erichthonios and I had gotten to work surveying the damage to Asphodelos. We had placed what creations remained back in their quarters, refreshing the warding bonds. We searched for the other warders on the level, and had concluded, finding no bodies other than Hesperos', that everyone else had escaped to the now very blocked-off Abyssos. Hopefully this was an indication that those warders still lived? Only a full investigation would be able to tell us one way or another. 

As I enjoyed my first few bites of the delicious, well-seasoned pasta, I considered my mission. The initial rush of danger and urgency was fading and I found my own emotions roiling. An unpleasant sensation, to say the least. I wondered what had caused Hesperos, and, for a time, Erichthonios, to lose themselves. It’s something about this place, I hypothesized. Because I felt it too. Anger, at Lahabrea, a man I’d always admired, for this obvious negligence in the case of his son. Pride, at the way in which Erichthonios and I could combine our magicks to bind dangerous beasts. Envy, of the fearless familiar who could subdue creations and keywards alike. 

I thought about the familiar and how much she reminded me of Azem. I imagined a bloody conflict between the two of us on the Convocation floor. “Even Emet-Selch could do no better!” I screamed, as I struck her down with my light and then my darkness and then my light again, till she was unconscious, forced to yield. 

I took a deep breath and the aroma of my meal brought me back. “This is wonderful, Erichthonios” I said, taking a few more bites, and smiling at him across the table. He set his fork down and ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding eye contact. 

He stood up abruptly. “Would you like some wine?” he asked. And then, without giving me a chance to answer, he said, “I’ll go get it,” and walked over to the kitchen. I set down my fork as well and took a drink of water, letting the cool liquid slide down my throat and subdue my passions as best it could. 

I felt overwhelmed, out of my depth. Why did Azem send me, when she could’ve come herself? She had said something about a portentous vision, a falling star. And then there was the familiar, which seemed so much like her… My working hypothesis was based on the idea that the simplest explanations are often correct. Azem sent me on this investigation because my specific skills as the Emissary will be needed. She didn’t want me to have to work alone, though, so she sent along a familiar as well. I supposed that if this facility had the ability to warp people’s minds and bodies in service to their emotions, my discipline as an Emissary and an Observer would potentially be useful. 

“Here we are.” Erichthonios placed two wine glasses upon the table, uncorked the bottle, and skillfully poured. “It’s probably not as good as what you all have in Amaurot, but this was a birthday gift from Agdistis, the keyward of Abyssos. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.” 

“I’m honored,” I replied, lifting my glass to lightly clink with his. “Here’s to our investigation.” 

“Cheers,” he said, a bit glumly. I took a sip. The wine was dark, tannic, leathery. It didn’t go particularly well with this bright, lovely pasta. Who is this Agdistis person? I knew she was a former member of the Words of Lahabrea, but she’d left Amaurot for the Pandaemonium long before I’d become involved with the Convocation. What was her place in all this? For that matter, what role would Lahabrea himself play? I was increasingly convinced that I could not complete this mission satisfactorily without his help. But his treatment of Erichthonios, his own flesh and blood, could not be ignored. Another reason Azem sent me, I realized. She must’ve known that Lahabrea’s son and I are about the same age. 

I ate my dinner with genuine pleasure, and the wine grew better as I drank more of it. After we finished eating, I insisted upon washing the dishes. Erichthonios seemed surprised, which saddened me. His mother was dead, his father neglectful, and his mentor had just called him stupid and useless to his face. I wanted to show him that this wasn’t the case, and that he didn’t deserve any of what had happened to him. He deserves love, I thought, looking over at him from my place at the kitchen sink, allowing myself to feel a desire that had flashed across my mind upon realizing that his warder’s quarters in Asphodelos had only the one bed. Bad idea, Themis, I told myself. It’s the Pandaemonium’s influence, the stress of the situation. So, after I finished the dishes and exchanged a few more pleasantries with my host, I requested sleeping quarters in one of the neighboring warder’s apartments. 

Lying in bed, I started a meditation, controlling my breathing, slowing my heartrate. A test of my wits, my will, my stamina. You will not best me, Pandaemonium. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.

FFXIV Write Day 14

Upon arrival at the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, Ezri immediately went to the lockers where the retainer service held her items. She grabbed a few clear prisms and a couple bolts of almasty serge, and then sat down on a bench near the market board with her needle and thread. Out of her own bag, she grabbed a few wind clusters and lightning clusters. 

Her task today was to sew the serge around the clear prisms and infuse it with a little magick so that she could place glamours of some outdoor furnishings she’d picked up while adventuring onto the island sanctuary. She didn't quite understand why the mammets didn’t want her to just place the items themselves on the island. (“This is a place of business and not your personal dumping ground…” the Felicitous Furball had said when she asked. Ezri didn't see a big difference between glamours of the items and the items themselves.) 

She carefully measured and cut the serge and sewed it around the prisms, then applied the lightning and wind incantations. It was quick work, something she’d studied in her master weaver’s guide that she’d ordered from the Studium in Sharlayan. She enjoyed crafting out in the open air of the Exchange, where her fellow artisans would also grab materials stored by the Retainers Guild. She liked looking at people’s weapons and armor and wondering where they shopped or what they’d done to get the materials to craft them. 

She ended up with six Island Prisms. She only needed three, so she stuffed the leftovers into the Free Company chest, conveniently located near the retainer lockers on the Exchange. Maybe Ocean would want to place outdoor furnishings on the Island as well. She then grabbed the items she wanted to display, stuffed them in her bag of holding, and teleported to the Moraby Drydocks.