Behold! A Sorcerer of Eld!

"But I don't know anything about FFXIV--" GOOD NEWS. YOU DON'T HAVE TO.

Aymeric de Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights

18+ | semi-selective | crossover friendly | single-ship (Estimeric) | Post-Endwalker (usually) | open

I do feel some slight pangs of wanderlust...

((This is what we call a pro-gamer-move, kids...

aka i'm too tired/in too much pain to edit a proper announcement at this moment but if i don't do it now i never will.

Hey! This blog exists!

Fundraising Stream Continues!

My partner and I are disabled queer folk facing homelessness. We finally both have emergency plans in place, but we need moving money. We also will likely need to split up unless we can get enough money to get a place together very quickly. We’ve been together for over six years and we have cats and a dog we take care of as a couple, and we’re trying our best to stay together. All funds will go to moving expenses, household necessities, and rent wherever we end up going. My goal is to get to 5,000 before I stop streaming. I will be trying to stream CONTINUOUSLY until this goal is reached. If i am unable to do so, i will take breaks to sleep, then promptly resume when i awake. I’m going to be working on commissions and trades the majority of the time. I’m going to attempt to get as many finished as possible. All donations help, even something as small as $5. If you cannot donate at all, please share this post around social media, discord servers, and anything else you can think of. If you know someone inside the US willing to take in the two of us, our four cats, and my service dog, please contact me via Discord at shinigami_of_excellence . Here are the links to help us: Our GoFundMe: https://gofund.me/4da28a83 Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/shinigamiofexcellence/goal?g=33 PayPal: https://paypal.me/excellentshinigami?country.x=US&locale.x=en_US Amazon List: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/2CE66WB1CWVZ9?ref_=wl_share STREAM LINK: https://picarto.tv/ShiniDraws

Facing Homelessness - UPDATED GFM

We officially have less than 2 months to leave our apartment. Anyone willing to offer advice or help, please do so. I can no longer be picky about where i get help from or how much i ask for. If we don’t find a new place to live by the end of February, us and our animals will be homeless. If this happens, i will no longer be able to post art, i will not be able to continue working on comms, i will not be able to preform any of my work here any longer because i will not have stable internet or electricity. UPDATED GOFUNDME: https://gofund.me/4da28a83

Xerxes had never flown so fast. The little eel traveled at speeds even he didn't think possible, panic written all over his gills.

Anyone. ANYONE would due at this rate. He didn't have time to be picky. His master didn't have many friends... any, besides him, really. But in this moment, it didn't matter. The night was cold, but it didn't slow him down. If he slowed down, his exhaustion would catch up to him. And he couldn't allow that to happen-- not while his master was in such a dire position.

"Ey! AYE! Help! MASTER! MASTER NEED HELP!" he called out, his raspy voice echoing through the streets. Dead silence. No one was about at this hour, and even fewer were likely to actually answer a flying sea creature's call. But he had to keep trying. The appearance of his master lingered in his mind, driving him forward.

He'd left through the bars of the cell, where even the moonlight didn't reach. The gaunt figure, stripped naked and beaten raw, lay curled on the cold, stone floor, several heavy chains keeping it in place-- not that they were needed. Truth be told, if he was in better condition and could stomach the pain-- which he absolutely could've, his history with the gauntlet making the frail man shockingly tolerant-- he could have slipped out of the cuffs, his wrists and ankles so thin and his joints easily pliable. But, he didn't-- he couldn't. His chest just barely rose and fell, broken ribs rolling visibly under his ashen skin, barely enough to signify life. He'd long since stopped shivering. He looked dead. He felt like death-- or, rather, in that moment, he felt nothing. He'd lost consciousness hours ago. That's when Xerxes knew he needed to leave. He hated the idea of leaving his master in such a state, but if he didn't... gods, he didn't want to think about the possibility.

Mozenrath was actively dying-- and not even at the hands of Aladdin or someone else even slightly worthy of his life. He'd had the misfortune of falling fowl of one of Destain's former "allies." The mission wasn't even one of revenge-- they didn't have such care for anyone, let alone that deplorable excuse for a man. No, it was a matter of pride, of power. The Black Sands would be easy takings with Mozenrath gone. And to say they'd defeated Mozenrath would be a badge of honor. No one had to know how they came in the dead of night, while the man was exhausted from work, his gauntlet still missing from his last tussle with his number one foe. No one had to know how they'd used his fear against him with visages of his former master. And no one had to know the things they'd done to him after catching him. No, they only had to know that they'd been the ones to end him. That's all that mattered.

At the very least, it was an embrace, something to hold him as his life was slipping away. It was more than he thought he'd get-- more than he thought he deserved.

One of his eyes opened ever so slightly-- the other seemingly swollen almost totally shut from the bruising. It might've been worse had he more blood to pool in the area. When the elixir was lifted again to his lips, there was thankfully no choking that time-- for a few moments. Once three quarters of the bottle was gone, he started to heave... Though, heave was almost too strong a word. His chest bobbed with what little strength his abdominal muscles had, bringing up a belch of the liquid as it spattered down over his chin and chest.

A weak cry left his throat-- he sounded almost like a small child.

Neither Xerxes had to be told twice. They both took off, splitting up to scour the Citadel. He didn't like leaving his master, neither of them did. And the familiar of the smaller Mozenrath had every reason not to in that moment... But, he would also do anything to keep his master safe, and if that meant dispatching any guards-- or at least warning of them-- then that's what he would do, even if it meant leaving Mozenrath in the care of his double for the moment.

To the question, Mozenrath's single open eye searched for his double's face. His gaze was unfocused, staring off somewhere behind the other's head-- glassy, grey, neigh devoid of life. His lips quivered, as if he would attempt to answer, before a bubbling wheeze caused him to choke.

A cough. That was his attempt at a cough.

The smaller Mozenrath’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown out. As he moved forward, he seemed to become less and less human. The smell of the blood made him dizzy– and it was exquisite.

He paid no heed to the warnings. And when the arm was moved and the blood flowed heavier, he lost the last shred of control he had. He leapt forward onto the larger man, claws digging into his shoulders. He lunged forward, teeth sharpened by tainting of dark magic sunk into the other’s neck. Deep, deep– breaking skin and sinking into the muscle. He gnashed his jaw to open the flow further. And as it was opened, blood poured into his mouth like a fount. He suckled on the open wound like a freshly ripened fruit, blood dripping from his lips and down his chin and neck, all over both of them.

He just figured the Agrabah royalty they were dealing with wouldn’t agree.

“Give me your hand,” he murmured, and then took it anyway. He turned it over, bare wrist up, and pressed his thumbtip over a certain spot between two tendons.

“This might do nothing–” he circled his thumb, firm but not too hard– “but may as well try.”

It was nearly pitch black. A new moon, everyone else was asleep, and most of the light came from his eyes. The unnatural color of the magic inside him– and inside his friend, now, too.

As much as he wanted to bitch, he couldn’t at that exact moment– not without making himself sick. And even if it would be satisfying… it would also be rather disgusting to render his pain as sick all over his counterpart. So he put aside his childish anger to slowly calm himself instead, slow breaths willing his head back down into the cushions and his roiling stomach to stay put for the moment.

And as much as he refused to let himself acknowledge it… the touch did bring a calm over him. Whether it was from the pressure point itself, or the– sensation of something non threatening pushing into him… No. No, sod it. It had to be where the other man was pressing. There was no way he was getting comfortable with this son of a bitch.

Xerxes had never flown so fast. The little eel traveled at speeds even he didn't think possible, panic written all over his gills.

Anyone. ANYONE would due at this rate. He didn't have time to be picky. His master didn't have many friends... any, besides him, really. But in this moment, it didn't matter. The night was cold, but it didn't slow him down. If he slowed down, his exhaustion would catch up to him. And he couldn't allow that to happen-- not while his master was in such a dire position.

"Ey! AYE! Help! MASTER! MASTER NEED HELP!" he called out, his raspy voice echoing through the streets. Dead silence. No one was about at this hour, and even fewer were likely to actually answer a flying sea creature's call. But he had to keep trying. The appearance of his master lingered in his mind, driving him forward.

He'd left through the bars of the cell, where even the moonlight didn't reach. The gaunt figure, stripped naked and beaten raw, lay curled on the cold, stone floor, several heavy chains keeping it in place-- not that they were needed. Truth be told, if he was in better condition and could stomach the pain-- which he absolutely could've, his history with the gauntlet making the frail man shockingly tolerant-- he could have slipped out of the cuffs, his wrists and ankles so thin and his joints easily pliable. But, he didn't-- he couldn't. His chest just barely rose and fell, broken ribs rolling visibly under his ashen skin, barely enough to signify life. He'd long since stopped shivering. He looked dead. He felt like death-- or, rather, in that moment, he felt nothing. He'd lost consciousness hours ago. That's when Xerxes knew he needed to leave. He hated the idea of leaving his master in such a state, but if he didn't... gods, he didn't want to think about the possibility.

Mozenrath was actively dying-- and not even at the hands of Aladdin or someone else even slightly worthy of his life. He'd had the misfortune of falling fowl of one of Destain's former "allies." The mission wasn't even one of revenge-- they didn't have such care for anyone, let alone that deplorable excuse for a man. No, it was a matter of pride, of power. The Black Sands would be easy takings with Mozenrath gone. And to say they'd defeated Mozenrath would be a badge of honor. No one had to know how they came in the dead of night, while the man was exhausted from work, his gauntlet still missing from his last tussle with his number one foe. No one had to know how they'd used his fear against him with visages of his former master. And no one had to know the things they'd done to him after catching him. No, they only had to know that they'd been the ones to end him. That's all that mattered.

"Xerxes--!"

"Master!" cried two voices.

"Master need help," wailed one, to the bafflement of the other-- and before the other could cut in, Mozenrath swept past them both and went to get dressed.

"Master hurt! Master hurt!"

"Where is he?"

Mozenrath turned. His hair was tied loosely back, and he was dressed light-- just enough to go out in.

"Take me there!" he demanded.

...

The sight stirred up... something. Something like the floor dropping out underneath him.

His hand curled into a fist. It took all he had to unclench it-- any spells would knock what little of life was left right out of his husk. His dying counterpart.

He braced his left hand against one bar. His right on another. His veins burned, scalding and icy all at once.

With a groan that turned into a scream, the bars shrieked and parted.

"Not like this," he gasped, and then fell to his knees at the feet of the double. "I'm not dying like this." He repeated it, under his breath, and without thinking he clasped his gauntlet and ripped it off.

When he put it on... him, it... his hand was so small.

Thank whatever entities were watching that the gauntlet took to it's new wearer like the glove it was. Yet another gesture that would've left the man shocked could he have perceived it. Seems the size difference didn't bother it so much with how attuned the other man already was to such an item. As the small tendrils of black and indigo snapped it in place, a small gasp wracked the chest of the weakened man. It sounded like a long rusted-shut door to a dusty room being forced open. He was so cold...