#asketheirys

Borrowing an Ala Mhigan Resistance uniform was not a decision the keybearer made lightly. Slipping into their ranks was easy enough. Her guilt ran deep, churned her stomach, and rewound memory after memory.

Fact remains that I've not once corrected the error. Took advantage of it, and their history to rewrite my own past. 'Tis the least I could do to atone for it... Selena mused to herself, tugging the hood down and flicking her wrist to call the Heartsickness keyblade to her hand.

Amidst the chaos of the infighting, the keybearer had lost track of the soldiers she had entered the Ala Mhigan Quarter with. Selena held her own, exchanging blows with the Imperials and knocking them down. She aimed to disarm and knock them out, killing only when absolutely necessary. Not the best trait for a soldier in the midst of a war.

Selena suddenly hears cannon fire landing and exploding behind her. Crying out when a sharp pain sears up her side as the shrapnel strikes her. Leaving behind a trail of blood droplets, she dragged herself around a corner, unaffected by the surrounding smoke, to inspect the wound.

"Shit...I could freeze it to stop the bleeding...Hm?" The keybearer hissed, setting the keyblade down as she examined the injury, only looking up after spotting the small creature running up to her, "A carbuncle...?"

"Is that a request?" Hythlodaeus looked up from his desk, his lips already stretching into a teasing smile. "Is the venerable Emet-selch requesting I take time off of my busy schedule as Chief of the Bureau of the Architect to accompany him to Elpis?"

❝ I'll very well go alone if I must! ❞ is emet-selch's immediate huff of a response, cheeks dusting the lightest shade of pink at @asketheirys' probing. going alone wasn't exactly an option, hence his request at all, but his dear friend always had to rub a little salt into the reluctant wound. his arms cross over his chest; ever defensive, ever unwillingly to be truly vulnerable.

"...Haruchefant." Artoirel spoke his name evenly, although his gaze held no affection for his half-brother. There was a measure of respect there, for how a bastard such as he had climbed the ranks and earned his knighthood -- but even that would wane, especially in moments such as this. "You ask too much of our father."

Our father. The words left a sour taste in his mouth. They had been sired by the same man, and yet his family had been the one to fall apart. His mother, unraveling with resentment. His father, withdrawing from guilt. His younger brother, misguided and spoiled due to a lack of attention from them both.

And here he was, holding everything together as was expected of the heir of House Fortemps.

"You would have us take in not one, but three wards?" he inquired.

Haurchefant would make his way back to Camp Dragonhead sometime in the morrow. Count Fortemps said he'd give his answer within the next day and be it a welcome or a refusal - Haurchefant would at least know how to proceed forward. Though as grim as he was to admit it... without the Count's support, no other House would offer it, and his friends may be reduced to having to stay at Camp Dragonhead.. the Falling Snows.. for shelter.

The knight would be found praying before a statue of Halone. May her blessings fall upon him, may they fall upon his comrades to offer them shelter, shield, and swords in their hour of need-

"Ah, Lord Artoriel." Lord, even though he was not addressed as such. He didn't expect it and only tolerated formalities on those who insisted upon it. He could not claim he was ever close to the Count's legitimate sons.. the late Countess sought to remind them both the bastard had no place in these halls, had no claim to anything that was theirs. How many fights eventually broke out between a husband and his betrayed wife.. Haurchefant lost count. When he well old enough to run, that's what he sought to do - with angry tears and clenched fists and anger towards a mother who left him there and a father who began to stand up for him too late. Even with her passing.. Fortemps Manor felt no more like a home than the Count his father or Artoriel and Emmanellain his brothers.

He could guess Artoriel's words before they were said, though he does not interrupt. Pushing himself off his bent knee presented towards their Goddess, he turns in full towards his half-brother.

"Three innocent comrades of mine. I've expelled every independent and dependent resource to keep them safe, but Camp Dragonhead is not the fortress Ishgard is. Making contact with Father is a desperate measurement I've tried to avoid." Even now.. saying 'Father' felt strange. Alien on his tongue. But after what may've been their longest conversation ever, would it not be cruel to not address him as such, especially with Artoriel acknowledging their shared parentage?

"A knight lives to serve. Those in need are not limited to just our brothers and sisters of the Holy See and I will gladly sing a ballad of my friend's triumphs that have helped our great nation - including engaging in mortal combat with that shedevil Iceheart and prevailed! My comrades have done much for Ishgard - am I to turn my back because aiding them is not convenient?"

He shakes his head. He cannot do that. He will not do that.

"I know it is difficult to understand. But if you could only meet them - if Father could meet them - you would see what I see. A beacon of hope personified that we have the privilege to call an ally. I know what I ask is no small favor.. trust me, I know.. but I have to ask."

Haurchefant tried to ask the Count for as little as possible for many a reason.. he can't fault Artoriel for the cross expression that when he is finally asked upon, it's to harbor those accused of regicide.

The attack on Baelsar's Wall, the strange cocoon of light, the death of his comrade, Carisle Geaupondt....

The uncertainty left the Miqo'te Adder apprehensive of what was to come. He left the Twelveswood with reports of updates on Shinryu, as well as several that were buried after the Crystal Braves' takeover.

He had been deep in thought as he mechanically walked through the door to the Seventh Heaven, through the door to the Rising Stones, and stepped forward toward the solar, bumping into the young Scion on her way out, dropping the reports. She began to apologize, bending to gather the reports, but suddenly grew silent and straightened up, backing away when she saw his face.

"My apologies, I-" The Twin Adder started, only to recognize the dark hair and the terrified eyes of the young adventurer he watched his comrade push off that cliffside in the North Shroud, growling, "Artemis."

He knew that she must also recognize him, her face pale and her silver eyes wide from fear. The memories of her supposed death, the sensation of falling, rushing to her head. In her trembling hand, the strange, key-like blade unveiled itself into her grip, held defensively. She took a step backward and instinctively glanced back, as if expecting to step onto a ledge where the stone is.

I wonder if Carlisle had ever felt this afraid in the moments before he died.

Ears pricking back, Miqo'te Adder gritted his teeth as he pulled his hand back to grab his lance, only to feel something poking his glove. His head turned to notice another blade, similar in shape to the one she held but made of shadow, floating with its teeth pointed directly at him to prevent him from drawing his lance. The surrounding air around them grew colder.

"Since when can you conjure...? What is this dark magic?!" He demanded, failing to notice how the girl's shadow stretched into his and further behind. The sound of the loud shout jolted them both from this stalemate, and this moment gave her the chance to swiftly turn, dismiss the strange weapon, and escape.

He took a step to follow her through the doors, only to notice the fallen reports, gathered into a small pile, now knocked over by his boot. His ears prick back, and he turned to see the strange blade clatter to the floor, disappearing into a flurry of shadows. The Miqo'te Adder's hand tightened into fists.

"Seven hells..." He growled, growing louder, turning on whoever dared to approach, " Are you aware that the Scions here have a Voidsent under their employ?!"

from @asketheirys: "Still in that drab old thing, are you?" Whether Fandaniel meant her flesh or her clothing was unclear. But with the Unsundered busy with whatever they determined to be important to their mission, there were few Ascians remaining for him to show off his newly acquired body to.

He did a little spin. "Whereas I have acquired the perfect visage: Behold, the face of a man who never amounted to anything but an instrument of misery and suffering for others! And he comes from wealth and power, of course." He stopped abruptly and turned to her, voice dropping. "And what have you accomplished since Elidibus has turned a blind eye to us? Still worried about your little premonition?

— He is a blight, a common pest begging to be digested by a far more patient predator. Halmarut has no reason to interact with Fandaniel. The difference between the two of them is already evident , Whereas she is quiet , he is loud. Where she is plain , he is grandiose . Where she values life , he loathes it . Halmarut had never hid her distaste towards him && instead of feeding his already egotistical vanity that grew further at the passing of / Hades / && / Elidibus / , she ignored him , letting him enjoy her quiet && icy neglect — But now it wasn't an option after all he visited her , or rather forced his presence into her crib for the purpose of discussing what's the next step . ❝ Is this what you came for — ? ❞ the botanist uttered with a scowl . Her gaze never leaving the wilting specimen of flora placed on her desk , denying fandaniel the attention he seek for. / Poor wretched soul / she mused, a fleeting pity for the vessel condemned to harbor a lunatic but then again he reaped what he sow. With a sharp clasp of her palms , the dying flora bloomed into sudden violent vitality. Only then did she turn her eyes , rolling in deep , uninterested exhaustion. ❝ My hour has not yet struck && I have no desire to lay the fruitions of my labor at the feet of someone who sworn to turn everything to ash. ❞ — Moving away from the other , with a seamless tear in reality , her verdant greenhouse dissolved into the black expense of the space . There in the distance was the source , Her Green eyes glowing in interest as she stared at it as realization that her premonitions are taking shape . ❝ Me ? / Worried / ? You must be mistaken Fandaniel . Mayhaps it is you who is trembling at the precipice of inevitable doom ? But of course, weave my words as a jest , if it pleases you. — After all , aren't thy just your boring colleague who is bound to mend the wreckage of your design ? ❞

"It appears little has changed since we last spoke," Y'sthola commented dryly. "I believe that you and Alphinaud are overdue for a talk, Selena. Moping about never solves anything."

@asketheirys | Y'shtola Rhul Inbox Call

Since they last spoke, the keybearer had kept herself busy as an adventurer and a Scion both. She ran herself ragged doing errands and did tasks for the Ala Mhigan Resistance, the other Grand Companies, and the civilians of the Ala Mhigan Quarter. There were occasions when Selena and Alphinaud walked past each other, but neither of them stopped to speak other than to briskly greet each other before continuing on their way.

It is during one of these errands that the Miqo'te mage approached her in the Ala Mhigan Quarter when they were alone.

..."Moping"? I believe that we may have different definitions of that word. Selena mused, bewildered, but also knowing better than to question Y'shtola out loud. Her expression shifted, eyes narrowing at her, and she frowned.

"There's nothing to talk about," the keybearer answered icily, bristling, adding, "Forgive me for not being inclined to believe that he wishes to speak with me."

Selena stepped around the mage to keep walking, but suddenly stopped and sighed as her heart grew heavy. Shaking her head, she glanced back.

“-- I wasn’t staring. I was… observing," Magnai growled, immediately defensive. Borte had not even said anything -- she had merely caught him looking. She was a pretty thing, no doubt; but it was also impossible to deny her obvious weakness. He could not show approval of her. "Your form is poor."

from: SLOW–BURN SPARKS & QUIET HEARTFIRE starter prompts.

Borte lacked the confidence to assume anything more than what Magnai had said. He was merely observing, likely baffled by the ways in which she attempted to handle the axe in her hands. While embarrassed to learn that he had witnessed her, a part of her is glad to only discover it after the fact — she would have undoubtedly performed even worse had she known his eyes were on her at any point.

❝ Oh… ❞ She looked down at her wielded weapon, and then back at him. Mustering up what little courage she could, she spoke up.

Her tone was dry, but there was a hint of amusement there, too. Really, the amusement came from the fact that Alphinaud had asked her to check up on her in his place.

@asketheirys | Y'shtola Rhul Inbox Call | No Prompt

After the Battle of Ala Mhigo, the keybearer was stationed at Porta Praetoria, where she had been either tasked with menial labor or transcribing messages from her Star's language to Eorzean letters to avoid reopening her wound. At present, it was the latter as Selena sat hunched over a table with parchment and ink. She failed to hear the other approach and notice her presence, so focused on the work that it kept her mind off the aching soreness of the injury.

This should be an 'h' and not a 'k'. They must have been in a hurry when they wrote this...

Hearing Y'shtola's comment, Selena flinched, her shoulders tensing as she swiftly turned her head toward her and knocked over the inkwell in the process, spilling the ink onto the blank parchment. She felt her face and ears burn from the mortifying embarrassment, tugging down her cloak's hood to hide them. She nodded, lips curling into a frown as her eyes stared down at the splotch the ink spill created.

How long has she been standing there? The keybearer wondered, then cleared her throat to ask, "A-aye...A-Alphinaud has spoken with you of what happened, didn't he?"