Mahina Moui

“Do you think they’ll hear me?” The Keeper repeated her question, over and over; her voice trembling in the dark of her bedroom. The quill in hand worked feverishly over the page, etching line after line of memorized geometry she knew. Her geometries. The ones she’d crafted for herself cycles ago in the darkest pit of her life. The geometries that kept her from ending herself so long ago. Her lifeline. “If I offer up something good enough... something dear enough, they’ll hear me. Right? They’ll listen.” She’d spent the last day or two aimlessly wandering. Both physically and mentally. Sacrifice. Such a heavy word for something she was so new to. Loss wasn’t a stranger in her life; in fact, it was more of a constant companion. She’d never had to give something up before. Not willingly. Now, she had to make a choice of what to offer from her meager stock of things she held dear and she had to do it quickly. Before the irritation got much worse or she was thrown out for being too slow. She wanted to do this right. Sure, she could off someone and be on with it, but that didn’t click with her. The gesture wasn’t personal enough. Teal eyes scanned the lines of her work, examining it. It was good. She could work with this. Each of her hands hovered the open tome on her bed, weaving the lines to life. A summoning. One she hadn’t brought herself to do in weeks after the loss of her tattoos. “I only just got the replacement ink, too.” A familiar chirp cut into her murmuring, snapping her from her thoughts. “...Chubs.” The Carbuncle nudged towards her hand, rubbing into it with another cat-like trill. The gentle gesture brought a weakness to her and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. A familiar mirroring her own image. A reflection of herself inside and out. Her truest thoughts and feelings showed through Chubs to the world, whether she intended them to or not. If she liked someone, if she hated someone, if she wanted to investigate something and needed eyes elsewhere-- all of it went through her Carbuncle. Her head sunk over the tome, opening herself to the tears she’d been holding back. She’d sever that link tonight. Before any one learned of it and how much it meant to her. No more tattoos, no more tomes, no more Chubs. From her pocket, she’d pull a small bag of iced cookies and two vials; one a shimmering blue and the other an inky black. Opening the bag in front of the Carbuncle, she watched as the familiar plucked up one and began to nibble across the edges as it always had; the crumbs falling to the bed underneath. Her head hung low again and flung the blue vial from her hand, shattering it against the far wall. She took the gem seated on her forehead and opened the hidden compartment, filling it with the black vial and changing its appearance to that of a hardened gem of blood. It snapped back in against her gilded forehead. A fail-safe. A slow, agonizing, maddening death should she fail to upkeep her oath going forward.  For now, she’d begin with Chubs and see where that got her.

A serenade of broken tide and perfumed winds beckoned her as one might a lover, entrancing the Keeper to the water’s edge once more. She’d been there every night this week. Unable to sleep. Think. Unable to calm her unsteady heart and mind unless it was steeped in the ocean and drowning her senses. Even then, they came.  Whispers.  Sweet nothings from a part of herself she was certain had began a slow slip into madness from indulging in her work and personal life too much. They came first as thoughts she could relate to. Fringe thoughts of a sleep deprived mind addled with emotional stress. And then...  They came when she wasn’t trying to sleep; having given up on napping entirely and burdened with work alone again. There was no time to sleep. To think. The whispers became something to focus on. To keep herself awake and alert in feigned conversations with when she was alone. A strength.  A crutch. 

The Keeper sank her spent body into the sands and let the tide wash over her. She wasn’t going to float tonight. No. Tonight was for whispering. A tug at the back of her head told her it might not be her she was talking to. She might not be insane. Another tug. That’s exactly what an insane person would say. [  We only desire to give them what they want.  ] “What I want...?” Aquamarine eyes shut under a knitted brow, recalling a familiar conversation. What do I want more than anything... Who said that. ...Spots. “A family then.” Hers had been torn from her, time and time again. A place she belonged. He told her she had one again. One she could make with her own two hands.  A family she could keep. The Whispers agreed. [  Without Us, they would not exist. Without them, We would not thrive. ] True. She couldn’t be in one by herself. You can’t thrive entirely alone. She knew that painfully well. As with the whispers in her mind, eventually, people gather around those who are alone. For better or for worse.  [ When will the Children see?  ] “Children...?” The warmth of the La Noscean tide cupped her cheek. It felt like a parents hand. Perhaps it was the whisper. It felt safe. Wanted. If these whispers were meant to guide her to what she wanted, she’d heed them. In the place of things -- that would make them the parent? Suddenly, it wasn’t apparent in her mind what gender the voice was. Both? Neither?  [  We are everything and nothing. ] She wasn’t about to go judging the help. She sat up from the waters and rubbed at her eyes. She’d fallen asleep sometime during the conversation. “Eh... Family, huh?”  

The Wolf

The Wolf is an animal that is both revered and hated in its symbolism. Oftentimes, the negative idea of Wolves is as an aggressive, instinctive creature that is distrusting of others. In other views, it is seen as a intuitive and free; A representation of the beauty of the wild and the great unknown. In a similar way, you are seen differently depending on the viewpoint of others. You may come off as dark or intimidating at first, but are undeniably loyal to those who have gained your trust.

“Well, that was creepy...”  Mahina spat and outstretched her arms, allowing herself to crash back into the high tide of the Mist. The sound of her heavy sighing mingled with the waves and covered the sound from her sensitive ears, allowing her a few precious moments to reflect on the joke of a meeting she’d subjected herself to earlier. She’d met with him. Again. Against her better judgement. Her reward, more unwanted confusion than she could ever hope for. 

A scowl carved her lips at the memory of him greeting her with an excess of cheer she’d not seen from him in cycles. Like his old self. The one she’d loved and waited for to return, but never did. Until now. So alarmed by his demeanor, she couldn’t even bring herself to partake of the cake and cookies that he’d prepared for her, thinking them poisoned.  A week ago, she’d saved his life outside Abania; dashing into unknown lands at the moment their pearl went off only to find him bleeding out and herself without time to react. She’s managed to save him, but it came with a price. Her arms, her tattoos-- torn open from her efforts and the geometries interrupted. Useless. She saved him and he turned right around and screamed at her, howling over how she was being too apathetic towards him. How she didn’t care. All of this while tossing the key to his recovery at her feet.  She spent the next week sleepless and scowling over those documents; dragging them with her to whatever event she was attending. To all of her meals, to her cafe. All to help. The kicker in all of this was, as she’d only just learned, that he planned to go back. He’d infiltrated and escaped Abania twice now. Barely. There was a reason why people said ‘third time’s a charm’ and one way or the other, she knew he was about to find that out for himself. He was already losing his memories and now he wanted to throw his life into the basket, too. “He must’a been gone. He e’en asked me t’spend the night...” Her brows knitted across her forehead upon recalling the offensive offer and she slapped her head into the waters with a groan. “I ain’t learned nothin’ at all, have I...” [ Without Us, they would not exist.]

The Mace

The Mace is a weapon that is often overlooked; Its rather grim-looking, and doesn't seem as noble to wield as a sword or bow. Yet this weapon packs a serious punch in battle! The metal ball, about a foot in diameter, and sometimes covered in spikes, is set at the end of a shaft or (in the case of a Flail) held on by a chain. Just swing it at your target, and momentum does the rest; Its one of the few weapons that is able to easily smash through metal armor. The force of it is incredibly powerful, and fairly easy to use compared to a sword, so any enemies around you will be down very quickly.

A Mace may not be pretty, but it definitely does its job out on the battlefield...

As a Mace-wielder, you very likely don't care what other's think about you. So a Mace looks frightening and a Sword looks noble? They're still used for the same thing. You are not easily swayed by the decisions of others, and prefer to follow your own ideas. Just be careful with that ambition, as if you aren't careful, you tend to be abrasive and push others around to achieve what you want. Mace wielders often act for the greater good, or causing harm to a few people to save many more. Therefore, you are not as mean as some others may think, but you look at the big picture when making decisions. Tagged by: @repose-and-run Tagging: @paradymeshift @eorzeanincubus @red-astaire @uiske76 @staresinxaela And anyone else that wants to take it.