NOTICE

I am moving Dion over to my multi blog: @captianimarum . While I would prefer to keep him on his own blog, I just don't have the time to blog-hop so often and I'm missing writing him because of that. I'm hoping that in moving him over there I will be able to actually write him more often than not.

Love you all and I hope to see you over there.

This was why she never tried to offer help. Why she failed so miserably at being sympathetic. It conjures a touch of annoyance when her words are met with ideals that counteract her efforts and nullify whatever thought, or intent she had in trying to offer something more... positive to someone else's struggles.

"Do you see your gift as a sacrifice?" Questioned the Hunter as she considered him, "That you carry it within you, only to become obsolete in the end so that it might carry on in another?"

"That is precisely what it is, is it not? My body and soul is bound to that of an Eikon - and in using its power for the safety and betterment of my people do I pay a hefty price. Slowly, I degrade and eventually perish from the curse that is coursing within me - - - and when I do perish, such burden will simply pass on to another. There is no denying the truth of it. It is how it works."

Mid keeps her box in her arms as they start walking together. The truth is that she usually doesn't mind doing such things on her own. She's used to it because people around her are often busy, but she also appreciates when the others offer her some help, too.. even if she tends to never actually ask for it. When she does, it's usually because the mission would be too dangerous for her.

" Congratulations to your prey, " she said coolly, without a single twitch to her features.

Her words were almost bitter; the slaughter of one beast would do little in the grand scheme of things and yet he gained more praise for that than he did descending into large battles where countless men were lost and more casualties piled up every time. What of his spats with Odin? What of the wars that raged just upon their borders that he fought tooth and nail to keep at bay, to protect his people? Never was it enough.

"There is a second set of tracks. Slightly smaller, but the same species. Its possible it could be its mate and if its nearby, it'll soon come raging." They could sense when one of their own fell, after all - and killing one often meant that others would come flocking soon enough, or their angered output would be focused 'pon the weakest. Once again, it was best that he took them out while he was there to spare innocents the vulgarity.

Jezebel -- Can't offer even a smidgen of remark on this. She's left in silence. What can she, so completely inexperienced with love, truly offer to console such a man? He was clearly pained. Grieving. Her head bowed slightly in thought. An arm folded about her midsection, and the other rested to her lips while weighing the words she might utter next.

"It's -- Well." She considers, "It's quite likely we'll continue to exist beyond these bodies. I imagine wherever you may venture after your life has concluded, with a bond so strong, he may be waiting." A partial attempt at a smile which probably doesn't properly convey her efforts in helping him feel a little less emotionally disheveled over the loss of his beloved. But she's trying! "Then you'll no doubt snog plenty. Your own private heaven."

Dion had naught more to focus on, nowadays, than the difficulties at hand. He dedicated the entirety of his life to the protection of his people, to attempting to make certain that they would have a comfortable and safe future ahead of them. That purpose alone was all that now kept him going, a focus that allowed him brief reprieve from the burning ache of his wounded heart.

"A beyond where we need not our corporeal bodies?" Truly, Dion had never thought much upon a subject; life after death, something of that variety. Did he personally believe in such things? No, he didn't' he had tried to, for comforts sake, for hope - - but in the end it simply felt bitter. "Perhaps."

He falls briefly to silence, mind lingering 'pon his love for the extent of a moment before he shakes his head, attempts to refocus his mind to something else.

❝This venture of yours...❞ His movements are steady and calculated, the fear of the enemy coiled tight as a spring, hanging on Odin's every word. The tension lingers thick enough that no more than a breath might once more set the pulleys in motion, turn an otherwise placid interim into another battle in this already TEDIOUS war. ❝Do you not find it foolish?❞

The Warden of Ash is not oft regarded as a man of great humor. He is pointed as a blade, straightforward – relentlessly so. And thus has he seen fit to extend such an offer: To put an end to the pointless quarrel that does naught but waste both time and resources. There is NO THRILL to be had in skirmishes for Sanbrequois territory, in batting away House Lesage as one might a petulant insect.

A fly, after all, shall ALWAYS return to the stench of rot.

The boy is not at all unlike his father's pride: Fragile, a vessel of little value were it not for the brilliance of the Eikon that roars within. A pretty porcelain thing, dressed and polished so that his lord father might FEIGN CONTENTMENT with a bastard son. Sylvestre's lust for power is no great secret, one that remains as poorly masked as Bahamut's sympathy for the thralls cast into battle.

Honeyed eyes move not away from his unwanted company; tracing and scrutinising each movement as it is made. There is no denying that Barnaba's very presence feels akin to a flocking vulture seeking an easy meal, but for the moment Dion chooses to not relent his position and stands firm; knuckles beneath gauntlets white as he grips the shaft of his lance. But he does not threaten to use it, not yet.

"My men would heed no such order." His vocal tone remains level, even with the beginnings of anger brewing in the depths of his chest; "They choose to fight, to protect those they love, to perish in the name of something more than idle pride. We will not yield to your tyranny."

Mid really wants to help her friends. It's a way to keep honoring her father's legacy, of course. She misses Cid. She lost him too early, and she wasn't even there when it happened. And the truth is that she also refuses to lose her friends either. She needs to remain optimistic and to believe they will come back to her and to everyone at the Hideaway. They deserve to live in peace, too, because they are working so hard to make sure all of Valisthea becomes a better place again.

He takes pause in their conversation only long enough to bend down and pick up one of the larger boxes, heaving it into his arms so to lift it - fully ready to carry it to where Mid wanted it. The others he would come back for; taking a few at a time seemed the best course of action, especially given their weight.

FFXVI | Kingslayer - The Depiction of Emperor Terence I in Art Through the Ages

AU where Ultima is not present in the game and Terence agrees with German Dion “Would that you were my emperor”. Written in the style of a historical documentary.

I had actually written a fanfic to accompany the fanart. You can check it out on AO3 to get a better picture of the story above.

I’m still mentally ill over them, in case you were wondering